Borrow-A-Bridesmaid by Anne Wagener

Author:Anne Wagener
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Star

Twenty

Kalil steps in front of me, holding a bouquet of purple flowers. It takes me a second to process. I must have inhaled too much incense; for one beautiful moment, I thought the hands over my eyes were ones I held that night at Susan’s wedding. The hands that got tangled in my hair as we slow-danced outside the reception hall.

Back to reality. Kalil holds the flowers out to me, trying to breach the space between our bodies. He looks as good as he ever did, but the only thing I feel is a sense memory of his shirtsleeves slapping my cheeks, which are likely tikka-masala red.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He clears his throat. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you. You know, explain.”

“You can’t be here! How did you even know I was here?”

“You mentioned on our last date you had a wedding gig tonight at an Indian restaurant in Sterling. This is only the third restaurant I tried.” He offers a sheepish smile to supplement the bouquet.

The line is building up behind us, and my stomach is growling for naan. I say nothing to Kalil and turn to pick up a plate, fork, and napkin. My hope balloon has popped, its pieces tangled in a nearby shrubbery.

“Listen, I know I can’t make up for what I did to you that night, but I thought coming here would count for something,” he says.

I begin piling food on my plate, taking in the smell of the warm naan and samosas. I’m hoping the pleasant sensory boost will quell the urge building up inside me to grab his neck and give his head a swift dunk in the tin of spicy curry. The thought of the yellow curry dripping from his eyelids makes me smile, and Kalil mistakes this for a weakening to his plea.

“So, can I join you for dinner or what?”

Do not dunk him in the curry. My hand flutters up, beginning to indulge in the urge, and I scratch my ear instead.

“Leave me alone.” I’m hoping my six-inch voice can sound formidable. The last thing I want is to cause a scene on Stacey’s special night. She and Raj are standing by her parents’ table, and she’s planting a kiss on her mother’s cheek.

Must. Not. Dunk. Head. In. Curry.

I cram some golab jamun onto my plate and walk to the nearest empty chair. Kalil trails behind me. The nerve—he’s pilfered a samosa!

“Anyone sitting here?” I ask Raj’s family pleasantly. They smile and gesture to the seat. As I set my food down, Kalil sits opposite.

I raise my eyebrows and grip the back of my chair, cocking my head toward the door. “Did you hear me? I said leave me alone.”

He sets the flowers down on the table. “Please sit. I just want to talk for a minute.”

My hands are gripping the chair so hard my knuckles are white. “Hand over the samosa and skedaddle.”

He looks at the offending samosa and laughs. “Seriously? C’mon.”

I close my eyes.

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