Sunny had taken a shower and consequently passed out in bed, on his side, of course. I was on the couch reading another chapter from this riveting book, avoiding the heat and the bugs outside, when my phone lit up with a text.
Diya: Saw something at the boutique earlier and snatched it for you since it’s perfect. Last one, too! Should fit. It’s on my bed.
Aw. That was awfully sweet of my sister.
I knocked out of habit, also just in case Kimo was here for some reason. There was a wide, rectangular white box—tied shut with a yellow ribbon around it—sitting on her bed. The hotel boutiques had very nice, expensive items, but Diya had a sizable discount that she’d surely used.
Tugging the ribbon off, I lifted the cover to find a lace dress so gorgeous that it stole my breath. White lace overlay on silky fabric dotted with a pattern of small, bright lemons and jade green leaves. I pulled it out of the box, running my fingers across the rough, textured lace. It wasn’t a light dress but had some considerable weight and thickness to it. Holding it against me, I figured the knee-length, strapless dress probably fit. Diya had an acute sense when it came to sizing things up, typically needing to only pull one size off a rack and knowing it worked.
I stripped down and tried on the dress. And true to Diya’s accuracy, this stunning dress fit perfectly. How did she manage that with a strapless dress! The bust was snug enough that I didn’t worry about it slipping; even when I bent over, my breasts were never in danger of spilling out. There weren’t any weird bulges, either, with just a hint of cleavage. The waist was snug but breathable and the skirt flowed as I twisted one way then another. There was a pinkish-purple grosgrain belt in the box, probably optional, but I tried it on anyway. And wow, did it enhance the entire look, adding a burst of color and a flattering line to my silhouette. Not to mention, it brought out the purple in my hair.
I texted Diya.
Bhanu: This is gorgeous!
Diya: Did you try it on? Does it fit?
Bhanu: It’s perfect! How much did you spend!
Diya: You know I used my discount, so it wasn’t much. Don’t worry MOM. I knew you’d forget about the dress!
Ugh. She knew me so well. I had forgotten all about needing a dress.
Diya: Bitch, were you just going to go in shorts or something?
Bhanu: A pair of your slacks, at least.
Diya: You’re hopeless.
I typed as I swirled back and forth, giddy with the swishing of the dress. I typically preferred the comfort of joggers and slacks, but this dress felt absurdly opulent and beautiful. I felt beautiful. I might just wear this around the apartment.
Bhanu: I appreciate this, really. It’s so sweet of you, but the wedding isn’t a big deal. I just met these people.
Diya: One: I checked, and this couple is dropping a lot of money for a fancy wedding/reception, and I cannot have my sister representing my family in shorts. Two: Bitch a man is taking you to a wedding that HE’S IN, a wedding for his BEST FRIENDS…it’s a big deal. All of it.
I sighed, but there was no point in arguing with her, not without telling her the truth, in which case my parents would blow up my phone for a whole other reason and I’d never hear the end of this. A few more days of quiet would be nice.
Diya: I brought some shoes for you to try. In the closet. Borrow whichever you want.
Bhanu: Thanks, sis. Love you!
I opened the closet to find six pairs of dressy sandals, some with short heels, and the ever-daunting high heels.
After trying on, and walking around in, each pair multiple times, going on the tiled living room floor and outside in the grass to really test them, I decided on a pair of strappy sandals with a small heel. Let’s be real, high heels weren’t my thing. I didn’t have the best balance for them, my weight distribution resulted in sore feet and tender calves within minutes and terrible calf cramps later, and I’d probably slip and break an ankle.
Besides, no one was going to be looking at me.
Changing back into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, I carefully put away the dress, keeping it in Diya’s room so as not to disturb Sunny, before plopping onto the couch and sneaking into work. Because, of course, neither Google nor my company had delivered an offer email.
“Where were we?” Verifying all the cards that had been checked off, I was glad to see the steady progress being made in my absence.
“What are you doing?” Sunny asked, suddenly leaning over my shoulder.
“Oh my god!” I yelped. How was he so quiet?
I closed my laptop as Sunny sat beside me, rubbing his eyes. “Not working…” I lied, even though I couldn’t get into the server or lure information from coworkers.
He grabbed my laptop, slipping it behind his back.
“Hey! Rude!” I went for my device, reaching around him as he played keep-away just by twisting his torso. He was all broad shoulders and solid chest.
“No working. Gabrielle will behead you.”
“As if you haven’t checked in, Mr. Workaholic. Always on your phone.”
He pressed his lips together. “I already got blocked from the server.”
“See?”
“Which means I’m not in Hawaii on a beautiful day with my nose buried in work.”
He relented, placing my laptop on the table as I sat back on my haunches. Sunny looked exhausted, but in an adorable sort of way with his hair mussed and a pillowcase crease indented across his cheek. He’d changed into joggers and a T-shirt after his shower, so simple and basic yet unfathomably sexy. They weren’t too snug or too loose, just the right fit to enhance the broadness of his shoulders and chest, lend a little imagery to his abs, and um, lower.
STAHP. I had to stop.
Sunny lay back on the couch so that his head rested on the arm, cushioned by a pillow, his hands folded over his chest, and his body twisted at the hips, bent at the knees so that he wasn’t touching me with his feet. He watched me with hooded, drowsy eyes.
“I check my phone because of my parents, not work,” he clarified.
The same parents who’d called his ex? Why hadn’t they called him? Was he avoiding his parents like I was mine?
I replayed the boat excursion in my head, how Sejal’s video call with his parents seemed as if nothing bad had ever happened between them, like they were still easily a couple and obviously a match that both families preferred. Which was important in our culture. Indian parents typically thrived on being included in their children’s big decisions like colleges, careers, and spouses. It was beneficial to understand the wisdom and tradition of older generations, to view things outside the scope of one’s life experiences by seeing them through their parents’ eyes. Usually, those types of families were close, which meant there would be a lot of future interactions. It was helpful to have good relations.
I turned toward him. “Is everything okay with them?”
He watched me without a reaction, but there was something in his solemnness that said maybe there was something wrong.
After a long minute of silence, as if deliberating on answering, he replied, “I worry about my dad being sick, or rather, getting sicker.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head.
In my family, we took care of our parents. It wasn’t a strange concept that he wanted to make sure his were healthy.
“They seemed nice. On the video call,” I commented.
“Yeah. They’re excited about the wedding.”
He’d spoken with incredible ease with my parents and didn’t bicker with his own. They’d all been so natural with one another on the video call. It was good to see this side of him. Sunny other than a grump, other than a coworker who spent dauntless hours on projects, Sunny who had a life where he was loved, where he thrived with others. He’d never been one-sided, and it was nice to see those other sides of his world come to life.
“Do your parents call Sejal often?”
“What?” he asked, his voice gravelly, still full of sleep.
“She was so comfortable with your parents.”
“My parents are nice to her, hers to me. They’re not the type to hate us because our relationship didn’t work out. They were friends before us and stayed friends after.”
“That’s good. What happened? With you two?”
He kept that intense, solid gaze fixed on me. Not one of anger or annoyance or amusement. Sunny was so difficult to read sometimes, and I wondered if this signature expression of his was purposeful. A poker face.
I should’ve told him never mind and remember the rules, but he could decide if he wanted to share or not. Maybe it was just me, but it seemed that Sunny and I were finally getting to a place where we could be, dare I say, friends.