There's Something About Sweetie(59)

He nodded. “I think people who stand up for themselves, especially in the face of being told not to, are the kind of people this world needs more of.”

She grinned suddenly. Ouch. She needed to have a warning beep or something before she unleashed that gorgeous thing on people. “Thanks, Ashish.”

He bowed his head. “You’re welcome, Sweetie.” He looked up at her from under his eyelashes. “You know what? I had fun today.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“No, I mean, I really had fun. Here and at the temple. Doing Indian things. With a girl my parents picked out.”

Sweetie laughed. “You sound a little shell-shocked.”

Ashish shook his head slowly and took a sip of his drink. “I need to watch out before I turn into Rishi,” he muttered. “Not that my parents would mind that.”

Sweetie put a hand on his. “I don’t know your brother. But I’m getting to know you, and I’ll say this: I wouldn’t want you to be anyone except exactly who you are.”

It was pretty wild, but Ashish thought she actually meant it.

Watching her drive away was harder than he’d thought it would be. Being around her, her softness, her kindness, was changing him. He felt like a sharp rock that had been softened by a gently flowing river, succumbing to its beauty without even realizing he’d succumbed at all. When he was around Sweetie, his previous “playerness” felt ridiculous and childish. Being around her, he wanted to be good too. He wanted, he realized, to be worthy of her.

His phone beeped, and sighing, he pulled it out. It’d just be Samir or his mom again, freaking out. But the words on the screen froze him.

I miss you. –C

Ashish read the words over and over again. Celia missed him. She was the one who’d called it off. So … what did this mean?

What about Thumbs? he typed numbly, not even caring that it sounded totally bitter.

Oh Ash there’s no one like you. I’m so lonely. Even in a crowd of people I feel completely untethered.

Whoa. This was serious. Celia never used words like “untethered” unless she was in a Mood. He waited.

Can I call you? Please? I know I don’t have a right to ask

He should say, Yeah, you’re right. You have zero right. Or, Screw you and your untethered face, Celia. He groaned and tipped his head backward. When would he learn? When?

Sure, his fingers typed.

His phone rang immediately. He answered but didn’t say anything.

“Ash.” Her voice, low and sultry, did things to his heart and body that he’d forgotten about. “Thank you for talking to me.” She sounded appropriately apologetic, so he didn’t say any number of biting things he wanted to.

Sighing, he walked around the house to the garden and along the pond path. “I’m actually not sure what you want to talk about. Are you okay?”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “You were always so caring. I miss that. There’s no one here who cares about me. I’m just another body, floating around these halls.”

“What happened to Thad?” Ashish asked, pulling a brown leaf off a rosebush and crushing it between his fingers. “I thought you were all ‘swept off your feet’ or whatever.” He did the air quotes even though she couldn’t see them. That was okay; sarcasm could travel phone lines just like smiles could.

“It was a mistake, Ash.” Celia’s voice was all choked up, like she was going to cry. He felt himself immediately softening, even wishing he could put his arms around her. There was no one more vulnerable than glamorous, beautiful, confident Celia when she cried. “I just … There’s no one I can talk to here. I hate college. I hate it so much. I’m so alone!” And then she was full-on crying, sobbing and everything.

Ashish stood there, staring at the pond, stricken. “Oh, hey. Hey, don’t cry, C. It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it isn’t,” she said, her voice muffled like her face was buried in her pillow. He could picture her then, her small body wrapped up in her bedsheets, her thin shoulders shaking, her mass of curls like a caramel-colored cloud around her.

It struck him that she was about as different from Sweetie as she could possibly be. What his friends had said about his usual pattern of dating skinny, conventionally pretty girls floated into his brain, jolting him with an electric shock of guilt.

Sweetie.

What was he doing? He shouldn’t even be talking to Celia. But then he pushed the guilt away. He hadn’t lied to Sweetie; in fact, he’d been up front about this. Celia still had a piece of him. That’s just how things were. And he wasn’t doing anything anyway; they were just talking.

He sank onto the bench and began to talk in that soft, soothing voice he knew she loved. She used to call it his “rumble.” “It will be okay,” he said calmly. “Like it always is. We’ll get through this together.”

By the time he was done talking with Celia, the sun was sinking, turning the sky the colors of the powders he’d rubbed into Sweetie’s hair and cheeks earlier that day. It had been that same day that they’d kissed, when he’d pulled away, and it felt like ages now. After talking to Celia.

Not a good idea, a voice inside him said. You’re broken up for a reason.

Yeah. So Celia was his first love. She was bright and colorful, the kind of person who, by smiling, made you feel like your entire world was on fire. She got him, and his cocky, arrogant side fit seamlessly with her. He never had to tone down his jockness or his flirtiness; all of that was what Celia liked about him. But Celia was also prone to drama. She was extremely touchy. She could be flighty and unreliable. And worst of all? He’d given her his heart and she’d nothing-but-netted it into the trash. She’d cheated on him.