In the bathroom, all I could think about was our new complicated work situation.
On the way to the bar, all I could think about was Sunny saying, “A reality where all this is over.”
It absolutely sounded like a statement. A big, cruel fact.
But what was worse was hearing Sunny say so. I had sidestepped a large, wandering group, who’d forced me behind one of the large pillars wide enough to fit six people across. Turned out, Sunny and his friends were talking loudly right behind it. I caught the last of his words.
Bhanu is just my coworker, and the entire thing was fake.
My legs nearly gave way. I’d started the entire lie. And now he was confessing to his friends to undo it. It was over. No reason to continue the charade. He’d come clean.
Utter stupidity and naivety rained upon me to have thought there was a chance he’d keep the ploy to himself just in case what we had contained an iota of truth.
I just wished he’d waited until he returned home, or at least after I had said my goodbyes.
Mortification had pinned me into place. Anxiety was catapulting me into true panic mode. The kind where combusting chemical reactions grew tentacles to squeeze my brain. As if saying, “Ha! You thought work and being his boss were bad because you believed you had a chance at a real relationship? Sucker!”
My body was both fire and ice, blistering and freezing. Goose bumps tightened my skin, and my breathing turned erratic.
It wasn’t just the mortification. It was the full-faced actuality that these past few days were nothing but a wandering ghost in the timeline of our lives. Surreal and unreal.
Part of me wanted to woman up and take ownership. Part of me wanted to prove to his friends, who’d been nothing but welcoming, that I wasn’t some two-faced liar. To at least apologize. But the growing dread of anxiety had deadened my legs and I wanted to crawl into a corner and never see these people again.
I even made it a few steps before Sam and April appeared and excitedly waved. I really hoped they were waving at their friends around the pillar, but turned out they were also waving at me.
“Bhanu! There you are!” April sang as she hurried over.
And with that, Sunny had backstepped and leaned around the pillar. He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, “Shit, Bane.”
I squeezed my eyes and forced my legs to move forward, to meet the small band of college friends with as much of my self-declared “big UX energy” as I claimed to possess.
My heart was beating out of control with everyone staring at me like I had sprouted horns. The newlyweds had walked into a very awkward mess.
I gave a mediocre wave to pair with my apologetic expression. “Ha. Bane. Get it? Because I’m the bane of his existence. At work. Because we’re coworkers.”
“You don’t have to explain anything,” Sunny said.
I shrugged. “We’re adults. You all have been very kind and lovely and I hated that I lied to you.”
“What’s going on?” April asked, perplexed.
I turned to her and said, “I’m not Sunny’s girlfriend. I’m sorry I lied. I was trying to get a certain someone off his back and blurted out that I was. And then went with it because I didn’t want anyone to give him a hard time or feel bad or tense or anything negative during your week. He really meant to give you a stress-free, blissful wedding.”
“Oh. Wait,” April said, knotting her brows as if deciphering an algorithm. “That can’t be. You two are so perfect together.”
Heat crept across my face. I almost told her that we acted so well, but the truth was, I hadn’t been acting for a while.
Sejal scoffed from the corner of my eye. “This is really so sad.”
She was speaking to Sunny, not to me. I was no one to her. Yet the way she continued to berate him snapped my last nerve. Anxiety and mortification be damned.
I turned to her and said, in my most deadpanned, flat tone, “I did it because you were being awfully cruel to a kind and truly genuine man.”
Although I refused to glance at Sunny—I couldn’t bear it—I saw glimpses in my peripheral vision of him watching me.
I went on. “I don’t know if you’re still in love with him or actually this vicious, but you should stop. He doesn’t deserve to be cut down by anyone, especially by you, who, no matter what you think, mean nothing to him.”
Sejal scowled, but I wasn’t done.
“I said the first thing that came out of my mouth because you were scolding him for not having a date. I wanted you to be quiet, instead of ruining my calm because I was sitting there first, and not tear down the best dev on my team who absolutely did not deserve that attack.”
“You don’t know us,” she spat.
Oh, hell. She was lucky I wasn’t Diya, who would’ve started with, “Bitch, I know enough.”
Instead, I replied, “I know that you think you left Sunny because he wasn’t good enough, but the truth is that he couldn’t thrive around your toxic fumes. Deleterious people create detrimental environments. And you leave a trail of rot in your wake.”
“Damn,” someone muttered underneath their breath.
I turned to the others and said, “It was truly lovely meeting you. But I’m going now, because this is really embarrassing.”
I walked away before anyone could say a thing, so quickly that it could be considered sprinting.
“Bane! Wait.” Sunny was right behind me, all the way back to the restrooms near the front of the lounge.
“What?” I said, willing my eyes to stop misting. My face was on fire, and I couldn’t bring myself to stop, to look at him.
We were partway underneath the awning between the lounge and the lobby when Sunny took my wrist and forced me to face him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what? It’s not your fault. I started this entire ruse.” If only he’d waited to tell his friends. Tears prickled my eyes, and I pulled out my phone to glare at something other than his sorrowful face.
“Bane—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I interjected. “You should get back to your friends for the farewell. I’m sure things will smooth over, and you’ll all be laughing about this in no time. See? It wasn’t so bad after all, them knowing the truth.”
He hadn’t released my hand until his phone rang. “I’m sorry. I have to take this. Don’t move.”
As he answered, I finally looked at him after having blinked away any lingering tears. I forced a smile and said, “No worries. Just leave the key card on the counter when you go.”
I walked away but made the mistake of glancing over my shoulder.
Sunny had taken a few steps toward me, his brows furrowed, but he was already on his phone. He was talking to someone, thrusting a hand through his hair.
Sunny didn’t follow.
We weren’t a rom-com.
We were not a couple.
We were coworkers who got so caught up in the lie we’d created that we ended up sleeping together.
This wouldn’t happen again. Ever. Because clearly, we were truly nothing more than coworkers and even a phone call was more important than me.
The probability of any of this mattering to Sunny after a few days, a few weeks, was slim.
What mattered was how my legs wanted to give way from beneath me. What mattered was how my stomach twisted into tight, painful knots, how my heart squeezed a little too aggressively on every beat, how my throat turned sore and raw, how every labored breath pained me.
I swallowed and clutched the strap of my purse. My nails dug into my palms.
Why did this hurt so much? Why did this hurt at all?
My brain screamed that none of what Sunny and I had done on this island was real. What had tricked my body into thinking that any of it had been? The fake dating, the fantasy relationship, even the flirting, the touching, the mind-blowing sex…it was all pretend. A game we’d chosen to play. A game I’d gotten lost in. And obviously, he hadn’t.
Sunny deserved to be at ease with his friends. Surely they’d forgive him and laugh about this together. Sunny deserved to be happy in a real relationship, one where he didn’t have to hide or pretend or keep anything locked up.
My parents kept hammering the importance of moving forward, not staying stagnant. For Sunny, the phase of inertia had been truly detrimental. But he seemed ready to leave that behind like he was leaving behind this lie. How wonderful he must feel to have this weight off his shoulders.
Logic must prevail. I mustered up enough sense to stop myself from reacting, enough strength to take an emotional step back.
I called Diya. “Hey, can you pick me up?”
“Sure! Are you done? Is Sunny gone?”
“He’s on his way out.”
“Are you going to tell me everything about him now?”
I forced a laugh. “Forget him. I have to tell you about my promotion!”
Diya squealed and met me in the parking lot with Kimo in the driver’s seat.
Her window was rolled down as she hollered, “We need to celebrate! Kimo’s mom is making you a giant ube cake!”
My sister and ube: the best celebration and a cure-all for heartache.