Chapter 31
*One Month Back*
Dave and his colleagues are still celebrating New Year, one month into January. I keep telling him not to get drunk so much, but who cares what I say? Apparently, he doesn't drink too much, only three bottles of beer every week, and he says he can gulp down five of them easily, so I should worry less about him. Moron.
He is drunk again, and his eyes are again unfocused on the screen.
"Your network connection is poor," he laughs.
"And you are not drunk at all, right?" I ask.
"Nope."
"Shut it, Dave. I'm warning you. Stop drinking so much or I'm going to tell your father," I tell him.
"You won't," he looks at me, horrified, "he will kill me."
"It's either him or the alcohol. Something sure will kill you. And I'd rather it be your father whooping your ass with a belt. Also, you're not driving that bike tonight. Stay wherever you are."
"I have work tomorrow," he says.
"I don't care. Skip work."
"Can't. Father will call me and ask me and I can't lie to him."
"You're a grown man living two hundred miles away from home. Look at yourself, you're as big as the King Kong. Why are you so scared of your father?" I ask him
"Look at you, a pig calling a human 'King Kong'," he laughs.
"Very funny. Your father looks so cute, like a teddy-bear. And you behave like he is some kind of a monster who will chain you in the dungeons. Why?"
"You don't know my father. He is not a monster, but he is really strict. And in our families, we can't talk to our parents like friends. I respect him a lot, but I'm also scared of him. So scared that I can never marry the girl I love."
That's sad.
"Ooh. So Mr. Davenport Kelly is in love..." I say in a singsong voice, "tell me everything."
"Shut up. Don't call me Davenport, it's Dave. And I'm not in love. I just like this girl. She did her Engineering with me, we go to vacations together..."
"Oooooohh..."
"I'm not telling you anything else, bye."
"No, please. I will be good. Please?" I look at him with puppy eyes, and thank goodness he is drunk, because he actually proceeds to tell me.
"Okay, so. Well, she likes me as well. She writes about me," his eyes look all red and splotchy as he says it.
"Oh my God!" Man, I can't control my excitement.
"Okay, that's it. I'm not telling you anything at all. I have to go to sleep. And you are never bringing this up, ever again." He hangs up.
I grin like a maniac. I have all the information I need.
Since Dave and I aren't connected on Facebook, it takes me a while to find his profile. Damn. I did send him a request, but he hasn't accepted it yet.
Alright. So, let's start the detective work.
I scroll through his photos, most of them in those hideous sunglasses. Why would a person with such beautiful eyes wear sunglasses at all? And the photos aren't even that sunny!
Travel pictures. Yes, finally. Three guys, and two girls.
The first girl is wearing darker shades, she has wavy hair and a bright, wheatish complexion. Her broad grin tells me that she is loud and rowdy.
The second one is wearing bright colours, pink and orange; she has an oval shaped unblemished face shining like pearl; her hair is straight and shiny, and she looks shy and composed.
I follow my hunch and click on the second profile.
The next evening we return my room after a session of intense libidinal workout, and Dave has no intention to leave me. He brings his face near mine and runs his hands on my waist.
"Stop it. There are people around," I laugh.
"It's dark, c'mon," he smiles mischievously.
"No. We need to get you married soon, you are getting way too desperate. And old, you're old," I say.
"I'm five years older than you. I'm not old," he says.
"Yes, you are. Get married."
"Okay, let's go right now and get married," he pulls me towards him.
"I'll text Sharon if you don't," I try to untangle my hands from his grip.
This gives him a pause, and he leaves my hand in shock; I flex them. He looks confused, scared and embarassed. And perhaps a little relieved, as he rolls his eyes at me and says with exasperation, "Are you done?"
I'm definitely not done.
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Since the fateful hour that he has mentioned Sharon, Dave must have scolded himself a thousand times for doing it in front of me. Every conversation of ours is laced with the same question, "When are you going to tell her you love her?"
"I'm not going to tell her anything. And I don't love her." I can tell he is getting tired of the same conversation on a daily basis, but I can't help being myself. Also, I can definitely not let this man marry some stranger when there is a girl back home who he is in love with. He is my best friend, for Pete's sake!
"You do. And why not? She is so cute!" I wail.
He has a slight smile as he retorts, "Because my parents will kill me, alright? She is from a different community from mine, and I belong to a very conservative family, as you know very well. So, if I have to choose between my family and her, I would choose the former."
He is so cute!
"But you don't necessarily know that your parents would not approve of her. See, you are the oldest of the three children, and you are earning so much. You are their pride, and you are a mature person. You care about your family, and your family must know that, right? So, if they care about you as much as you care about them, they wouldn't just let you be sad. And I'm sure your father will approve of your choice because he knows that you will make the right decision, whatever you do." I really should do a TED talk.
"Yeah, whatever. Not happening."
"Alright, then. Give me your father's number. I'm getting pretty good at talking to older people, thanks to working at the customer service area of my bank. I'm sure I can persuade them."
"Thank you very much. I'll tell you when I need your help. Can we talk about something else?" he asks.
"Yeah, sure. Give me Sharon's phone number."
I am literally the nosiest person alive.
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*Present Day*
I get a call from Sarah the next day. I go up to my Branch Manager to ask for a leave.
"You went home just one and a half month back. I can't grant you another leave so soon. Is everything alright at home?" he asks me.
"Yes, sir. It's my friend. She is going through a rough patch in her relationship, and she needs me," I say.
"So, your friends are more important to you than this job?" he asks, pushing my leave application away and looking back at his computer. "Your juvenile relationships and this young age agony that you face; do you think there is nothing in the world worse than these?"
"No, sir. I just need to go, I am the only girl friend she has, and I can't desert her in her time of need."
"Let me tell you this, Miss. You do whatever you want, you leave this office in the state of low manpower, you take leaves like those are your right, but I am not granting you leave. You can take Paid Leave or stay, it's upto you."
I don't pick up my leave application as I run to catch the next train back home.
I ring the door bell at two-thirty in the afternoon, and mother opens it. She is shocked to see me, but not as much as I am shocked to see her protruding belly over the loose clothes she wears. I try to keep my composure as I enter the house, put down my baggage and then, as she is trying to explain something, tell her that I need to meet Sarah and I'll be back the next day. And I leave without looking in her eyes.
I tell Sarah to meet me in the AirBnb I booked as I took a cab here. Tears threaten to spill but I know this is not a place to let go of my emotions. I wait for the driver to look away from my face in the rear view mirror, pull myself up, cough and sneeze for a few moments before pulling out my earphones and start watching a comedy show. I'll face my emotions in the middle of the night, with Sarah asleep and I, drunk and high and in the full protection of the dark in the middle of a stranger's home, where no one would ask me the reason for my tears.