When Dimple Met Rishi(5)
Rishi nodded and drained the last of his chai. This was true. What was the harm, anyway, in attending a program in San Francisco for a couple of weeks to meet Dimple Shah? Obviously, she’d already agreed, so she must think it was a good idea too.
Everything looked good on paper, he had to admit. She’d just graduated high school like he had, and had apparently gotten into Stanford. Which, of course, was across the country from MIT, where he’d been accepted, but he was sure they could work something out. Their parents already knew each other and felt their personalities would be compatible. She’d been born and brought up here too. They probably had a lot in common. Besides, when had his parents ever led him astray? Just look at them, arms around each other, eyes twinkling with anticipation for their oldest son. They were the poster children for arranged marriage.
“Okay, Pappa,” Rishi said, smiling. “I’m going to do it.”
? ? ?
Rishi whistled as he walked into the den, his heart lifting like a helium balloon in spite of himself. He fully believed romantic comedies were idiotic. There were no insta-love moments in real life that actually lasted. Rishi had watched dozens of his friends—of all ethnicities—fall in love at the beginning of the school year and become mortal enemies by the end. Or worse, become apathetic nothings.
Rishi knew from watching his parents that what mattered were compatibility and stability. He didn’t want a million dramatic, heart-stoppingly romantic moments—he wanted just one long, sustainable partnership.
But in spite of his immense practicality, he could picture her in his life. He already knew the first time he saw Dimple’s picture that their story would become a sort of legend, just like Ma beating Pappa with that umbrella. She’d have some cute, funny quip about the day that picture was taken that would totally endear her to him. Maybe her parents picked that one to send because they wanted to convey her playful personality.
And if it all worked out? If they found that they were, in fact, as compatible as their parents predicted? Rishi’s life would be on track. Everything would fall into place. He’d go to MIT; maybe she’d transfer there or somewhere close by. They could hang out, date for a couple of years through college and maybe grad school, and then get married. He’d take care of Dimple, and she’d take care of him. And a few years after that . . . they’d make his parents grandparents.
But he was getting ahead of himself. First, he’d have to feel her out, see where she was with things. Maybe she wanted to get married before grad school.
He stopped short when he saw Ashish sprawled on the couch, mantislike legs splayed out so he took up every inch of space on the love seat. His hair had grown out, and it curled over his forehead and into his eyes. He was dressed, as usual, in his basketball uniform.
It didn’t matter that it was summer: Basketball and Ashish had been in a serious relationship since he was in elementary school. Now, eight years later, he was good enough to be the only rising junior on the varsity team. He’d been training at a special camp for athletic prodigies like him all summer.
“Dude, get your nasty feet off the pillows. How many times does Ma have to tell you before you’ll listen?” Rishi thumped his little brother’s shoe, but it didn’t budge.
On the TV someone scored, and Ashish groaned. “Ah, man. You’re bad luck, bhaiyya.”
“That may be, but I think my luck’s about to change, my friend. I’m doing it. I’m going to San Francisco.” Rishi’s stomach swooped. If he was telling Ashish, it must really be happening. Whoa.
Ashish muted the game and sat up slowly. Rishi tried not to be too jealous of his little brother’s bulging muscles; they just had very different interests, he reminded himself. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
Rishi shook his head and flung himself into the empty spot next to Ashish. “Nope.”
“You’re actually going to go meet that . . . girl dragon?”
Rishi punched Ashish’s arm and tried not to wince when his fist stung. “Hey. Don’t forget, the first time Ma and Pappa met—”
Ashish groaned and sank back against the couch. “Yeah, I think I have the gist of that story after hearing it four million times.” More seriously, he said, “Look, man. I know you . . . you and I don’t always see eye to eye on everything. You’re, like, some weird thirty-five-year-old teenager. But don’t you think you’re rushing things? First MIT, and now this girl and Insomnia Con . . . I mean, what about your comics?”
Rishi’s shoulders tensed before his brain had fully processed what Ashish was saying. “What about them?” He was careful to keep his voice light, casual. “Those are just a hobby, Ashish. Kid stuff. This is real life. It’s not high school anymore.”
Ashish shrugged. “I know. I just think, I mean, college doesn’t have to mean you just let go of everything, does it? Like, I plan to play ball in college. Why can’t you do what you want too?”
Rishi smiled a little. “What makes you think this isn’t what I want?”
His brother’s eyes, the same color of dark honey as his own, searched his face for something. Finally, apparently not finding it, Ashish looked away. “Whatever, man. As long as you’re happy.”
Rishi felt a pang of something, looking at his little brother. Ashish was now taller than him by a full inch. They were so fundamentally different. And to Ashish, he was just some weird relic, something that belonged in their parents’ time in India, not here in modern America. Maybe this is the beginning of us growing apart, Rishi thought, and his heart hurt. But he forced himself to get up, because he knew they’d said all there was to say for now.