When Dimple Met Rishi(32)

Dimple was finger-combing her hair when her phone rang. Frowning, she walked over, hoping Rishi wasn’t canceling. But her parents’ faces flashed on the screen.

She grabbed the phone and slid to answer. “Papa?”

“Dimple?”

She straightened up, gearing for an argument. “Mamma.” Papa had probably told her about their last conversation; that she and Rishi Patel weren’t going to happen.

“Kaisi ho? I . . . miss you, beti.”

“I talked to you this morning,” Dimple said, but she knew what Mamma meant. They’d barely talked. And Dimple had been too angry to have a real conversation.

Dimple sank down on her bed, a lump forming in her throat. Mamma’s voice was soft, defenseless like she’d never heard it. It reminded her of being sick when she was little, how Mamma used to come sit on the edge of her bed, smooth her hair back off her feverish forehead, and give her milk with turmeric in it. Haldi doodh, Mamma’s magic fix for every situation. It usually worked. Dimple would kill for some right now. “I miss you too, Mamma,” she said thickly.

“Did you eat dinner already?”

Ha. If only you knew. “Yeah, I ate dinner. At a new restaurant, Elm.”

“Kaisa tha? You liked?”

Dimple blinked. No, I hated, she wanted to say. The people sucked. My roommate has new zombie friends, and they all think I’m a freak. But at least I didn’t have to pay. Swallowing, she said, “Eh, it was okay, I guess. Nothing like your prawns curry.”

Mamma laughed, obviously pleased. “There is no cooking like home cooking!”

Dimple snuffled a laugh. That was one of Mamma’s mantras. Anytime Dimple kvetched about wanting to order a pepperoni pizza because she was tired of eating something Mamma was cooking, Mamma would bust out with that. “Mamma, did Papa tell you about . . . Rishi?”

She heard Mamma’s deep breath. “Haan.” A long silence followed. Dimple imagined little crystals of disapproval forming along the phone line.

“I know you’re not happy. But honestly, I just—”

“Beti.” Dimple stopped. “It’s okay. No problem.”

But she didn’t sound convinced. There was something guarded about Mamma’s voice.

“It’s not that I don’t like him,” Dimple said. “He’s nice. I just . . . I need some time, Mamma. To be by myself. To find out what I want from life.”

Another silence as Mamma processed this. “Okay.” From the slow, heavy way she said it, Dimple knew what a Herculean effort it must’ve taken.

“Okay? Really?” Shut up, Dimple, she told herself. If the woman says okay, just run with it! “Thanks, Mamma.”

She knew Mamma didn’t understand what time had to do with anything. In her eyes, women went to college just to make themselves more marketable to guys. For her to say that just showed how much she was willing to take into account the changing times. And her strange daughter.

“Tell me, Dimple, are you remembering to wear makeup to class?”

Dimple sighed and flopped backward so she was lying flat on the bed. And now that they were done with that, apparently it was on to more important topics. “Um, no? I didn’t even bring any makeup with me, Mamma.”

“What! What about the contacts?”

“Mamma . . . I’m here to learn.”

“You can’t learn with lipstick? You can’t read with contacts? What, Dimple.” What, Dimple. The Indian way of saying, Get your life together, Dimple.

Dimple sat up. “Okay, I have to go now.”

“Beauty sleep time, na?” Mamma said. “You have Pond’s cold cream?”

Dimple paused, confused.

“Hai Ram. I bought from Walmart for you, na? Dimple, Pond’s will make your skin soft. Just put it on at night and—”

“Oh yeah, I remember. I, uh, already did that.” She yawned showily.

“Okay, okay. Good night, beti. Papa already went to sleep, but I’ll tell him tomorrow you send your regards.”

“Thanks, Mamma. Sleep tight.”

“You also, beti.”





CHAPTER 19




At 10:19 Rishi walked around the minuscule space once again, making sure everything was in order. The thought of Dimple, here, made him feel strangely ebullient, like he was filled with champagne bubbles. Obviously he knew nothing was going to happen. He wouldn’t try anything anyway, not when he knew how she felt. It was his damn fool heart. Ever optimistic, always looking for a sliver of sunshine in a sky clotted with thunderclouds. He shook his head and fluffed his pillow.

At 10:20 Rishi laid out a bowl full of sweet and sour khatta meetha, some baadam that Ma had packed for him, and water. He wiped the screen of his laptop with his shirtsleeve, then had to change his shirt because the sleeve turned gray from the dust.

At 10:22 Rishi seriously began to worry that Dimple wouldn’t come. Should he text her? Nah, that would be too needy. If she wasn’t going to show up, then he’d have to give her some space. But who decides to just not show up? he thought in annoyance. At least she should text him. Or tape a note to his door. He glanced at his door. Maybe there was a note taped to the other side.

At 10:23, as he was walking across the room to check for the note, there was a knock. He exhaled.