46. REEMA

He picks me up like it's nothing, and I'm carried over the mud by Coleman, bridal-style. My hands go around his neck. "This is not necessary!"

"Yes, but we can't ruin your fancy shoes."

"I got them on sale. Found them in the discount bin. I had to glue a piece of the heel down, but it's good as new now."

The tops of my cheeks heat with embarrassment. Why did I just admit to DIY-ing my heels? I shouldn't have said that. I brace myself for mockery, but it doesn't come.

He is grinning at me. "Nice work."

The appreciation in his tone is obvious.

I—like it. A lot. But dwelling on how Coleman is probably a paragon of fiscal responsibility is dangerous. If he starts talking about his retirement plan, I might wrap my legs around his waist and grind myself on his crotch. When I was younger, artfully gelled hair and bulgy muscles got me going. If a man could play a guitar, I'd puddle more. With Harry, it was his oozing charm that I found attractive.

At thirty-five, my legs go boneless for security. If I ever try the whole love thing again, I want a partner I can wholeheartedly trust. Someone who doesn't pull me down, but lifts me up.

The irony is not lost on me that Coleman is literally carrying me right now.

And if the bus driver hadn't yelled at us minutes earlier, I'd have done something really stupid. Like kiss him, not caring whether relatives were around to see. Kiss him because I wanted to kiss him. Kiss him because I couldn't stand not kissing him in that moment. Fuck, this isn't good.

I need to remember this isn't real. I can't forget that. It's a game that finishes when the reception is over tomorrow, and after that we go back to work and pretend it all never happened, even though it has, and everything I'm feeling for him is a mind-fuck of sneaky desire, and this new, but nameless well of something growing inside me.

I notice Coleman's breathing has deepened.

"Sorry," I say in a rush.

"For what? I'm not struggling." He tosses me slightly into the air and catches me again.

"Stop that," I shriek.

He chuckles, a smug throaty sound that makes my belly clench.

"I meant for the whole thing. You spent the last half-hour on a bus full of sweaty people drinking. That's probably not what you imagined would happen today."

"No, it isn't. But I'm not upset."

"So you aren't going to lecture me about seatbelt safety?"

"I'm saving that for later, Patel."

"So other than that, today's been?—"

"Not terrible."

I rap my knuckles against his chest. "Could there be a wild side in there? If so, we must alert the media."

"If you do that, I'll blame you. The recklessness must be contagious."

"And yet, you don't sound like you hate it."

"I don't," he admits. "It's—different. Not that my family isn't reckless. My brothers would fit right in with everyone here."

"Not you, of course."

"Well, I'm a bit rigid."

"Hm. Can't say I've noticed."

He laughs.

If I could bottle the sound, I would.

"Though, this week you've made me think," he says.

I almost say, How painful, but I don't. I'm too curious. He seems to be struggling with this confession, as if it could be that new to him.

He clears his throat. "I plan. For almost everything. I need to research and understand what to expect, because it makes me feel in control. Because I'd rather know what the worst thing is going to be, then to not see it coming."

Did he see any of this coming? Impossible considering the late invite and how I didn't give him any real information about what to expect as my fake-boyfriend. No, he had no idea what my loud, pressuring family would be like.

"And I made you walk into a room full of strangers and act out a lie," I murmur.

"I'm surviving. More than that. Enjoying myself even. Maybe you're a big bad influence. You've influenced me too much."

Except he doesn't say that like a bad thing, but with a thread of fondness. His mouth is curving, and despite lifting me down this trail, which doesn't seem to end, there's a relaxed warmth to him. Almost… as if everything is alright as long as we're facing this together with both of us on the same side.

But would he feel the same way if he learned the full truth about me? The state of who I really am back home, and all the mistakes I've made for the last few years. I hated the person I was two years ago, but he'd be even more disgusted by her. How can a person so in control of his life ever understand the out-of-control and really stupid things I've done?

All of a sudden, I'm not feeling right. Looking around, I see the mud has mostly dried around us. I tug at his shoulder. "I can walk the rest of the way. Please. Let me go."

As soon as my feet hit the ground, I march ahead of him. The back of my neck burns as if I feel his stare on me.

Around the bend, we arrive at the most idyllic clearing I've ever seen.

"Well, I'll be damned," says Coleman, coming to stand beside me.

"Worth getting on the bus?"

"If asked later, I'll deny this, but yeah."

The thick trunks of different trees have anchored themselves deep into the ground, so every few steps, you have to lift your foot to go over a root that's broken through the surface. Over them, moss grows, a soft carpet of surreal green so bright, stirring, and padded that any toe-stubs don't register. Beyond that are the outer tentacles of a babbling brook filling the air with soul-soothing white noise, the wind helping to carry a fresh, clean scent across the whole clearing. Above us, leaves of different shapes and textures form a prehistoric canopy of cover, branches so intertwined it appears as if they are embracing in a way you could never tease apart.

We watch the photographer move Esha and Gurinder around. With the rays of sunlight breaking on their faces, they look incandescent. When the photographer directs them to laugh, they don't fake it. Gurinder is goofy. All he has to do is make jokes with a silly expression, and my sister breaks down, her high-strung worries melting away.

I'm so happy for her. They work so well together, and soon they're going to be incredible parents.

But seeing the two of them trembles some strict foundation inside me. For the last two years, I've built a fortress around myself, each stone laid with the same philosophy. Never fucking again.

So-called love was not for me, because it didn't work the right way. Instead of lifting me up, my marriage had me acting like an idiot. I turned into a woman willing to give up everything—dignity included—to make it last another day.

Not that my efforts mattered in the end.

He left me, calling me the enabler I was.

But now I'm thinking foolish things again. Like maybe with the right person… it could be different.

"They seem happy," says Coleman.

For a second, I think he sounds as wistful and torn as I feel, but I don't have time to dig further because a ravaging crowd of lunatics surrounds us.

My cousin Frank throws an arm around Coleman's shoulder. "No need to be shy," he says, pushing a drink in his hand.

"You are family now," claims his brother, Vikram.

"But how do we initiate you?" wonders Frank. "Back in uni when I wanted to join the fraternity, there was a paddle involved."

"What's this about spanking?" asks Manu, overhearing.

"I think Frank wants to spank Reema's man," says Vikram.

"And I think Reema should keep that honor for herself," says Jyoti.

"Or," says Pooja. "How about we don't scare the newbie off?"

"But how else are we going to make sure he's worthy of Reema's time?"

Coleman suffers a bit of chest-poking from Frank, who says, "Do you know Reema used to climb every tree in all our backyards to prove she could reach the highest branch? And she loved water gun fights, filling hers with ice-cold water because it made the other kids more afraid of her."

"Oh, and she ate her Halloween candies the slowest, but always got the most since she'd go around the same houses twice. Remember that?" says Vikram.

"I didn't know all that," says Coleman, ignoring the jabbing. "But I'm not surprised." He looks at me. "She's tenacious."

"Oh, I have a brilliant initiation idea!" says Frank. "Let's get in a circle and see who shotguns their beer the fastest!"

More than one of us groans. Frank has one very specific bar-trick. He can dump a whole beer down his gullet in less than six seconds. He always wins, no matter what, and yet, enough people still agree to play, shifting into battle formation. Cans are weighed in their hands. Some have already been opened and drunk from. Complicated math is attempted.

"Do we need men in our lives?" asks Manu, looking at her husband, who has jumped in to help.

"In many cases, no," I answer, speaking for myself.

"Sex toys," supplies Serena, as if they are the answer to everything.

"Yes, but my dildo lacks a certain spirit," says Manu. "A certain je ne sais quoi."

Her husband gargles beer as mouthwash, then spits it on the ground to clear his throat.

"Then again," she deadpans. "I could manage."

He goes and brings the cooler over to the group, handing out beers to anyone who needs one. And he takes empties over to the bin.

Beside me, Manu abruptly smiles. "And my love is back. I remember why I married that man. You should see the new patio set he surprised me with on my birthday. It's great for hosting—which—actually—" She grabs my hand. "Do you think you'll visit us soon? I would love to have you and Jake stay over."

"They need to see me first," argues Priya. "After med-school, I bought a place and have an extra bedroom. Seriously, come whenever you have holidays."

Her sister, Miya, sighs. "You haven't visited since you and Esha were in college. Remember when we used to have all those sleepovers?"

"I do." We used to get in our coziest sleepwear, drink loads of soda, and talk about famous actor crushes. The memory feels like a distant sunset on my face.

"Do you and Jake have holiday plans yet?" asks Manu.

I—have no answer. And she seems to be pulling out her phone as if trying to pencil a date in for our visit. More lying is needed. Some sort of excuse as to why we won't make it together since post-wedding we won't be together. But I'm suddenly so weighed down by it all that I don't trust myself to act naturally enough. It's like my head is torn thinking this is real, and jarred whenever I remember it isn't. Instead of answering, I pull away. "We'll figure it out later, but I'm going to join the shot-gun circle. It seems they haven't started yet."

Jyoti and Manu give me shouts of encouragement as I flee.

"Room for one more?" I ask, inserting myself into the beer circle.

"For you?" Vikram shifts over to give me more room. "Always."

"Hand the woman a drink," says Frank, clearly itching to get on with it, so he can win.

Coleman is across from me. He gives me his and goes to grab another.

"Have you shotgunned before?" I ask him when he's back in place.

"Not since college."

He holds his beer up. I tap mine against his.

"Just try not to gag," he advises. "And you'll be fine."

"Gagging isn't an issue for me."

"What—" he sputters.

"Stop distracting him," complains Frank.

"How am I doing that?" I wonder innocently.

Coleman opens his mouth, then shuts it again. Before he can form a coherent sentence, the contest starts.

I open my beer and the first half goes down smoothly, but after the can somehow fumbles in my hand, making the stream divert slightly up my nose. Suddenly, I'm sputtering and the rest of the drink spills on the ground.

Sexy.

Frank is already done. No surprise, he wins.

Pooja thumps me on the back. "You okay?"

I laugh—cough. "I'm good."

Raising my eyes to Coleman, I wait for some dig on my so-called gagging abilities, but he's staring at me with a lop-sided smile. He comes over and uses his sleeve to clean the beer dripping off my nose.

What an epic failure. I can't help but laugh more.

His smile goes full wattage.

My preference is when you laugh.

Can I… Do I… believe him?

When I give him a sloppy grin, his mouth stretches even wider. Like I might even take his breath away.

Fuck, I want to shot-gun another beer badly so he keeps looking at me like that.

Someone suggests a second round, but before we can set up again, thunder rumbles through the sky. Everyone groans when they feel drizzle on their faces.

Before it can get worse, we rush back to the bus, but find it's locked. The driver is nowhere to be seen.

A search party begins with people shooting off in each direction. I would join, but I don't think my shoes can handle stomping around the forest bush. Thankfully, there's a little ledge coming off the rear of the bus. It's a puny bit of cover, but Coleman claims it for us. At least the rain is only a soft mist against our skin, I think, thereby immediately cursing our fate.

Droplets thicken. More thunder crackles overhead.

Coleman takes his jacket off and holds it above our heads. The sides fall down, blocking out the light. Suddenly, we're in a private space of our own making. The smell of him surrounds me. I very much don't hate it.

He shifts to face me, so his large body protects more of me from the rain. Even his jacket is unequally held to favor my coverage. His back must be getting wet. Thank you is what I meant to say.

"I'm glad you are here," is what comes out.

He blinks. "I'm glad I'm here, too. With you."

"You know, I never thought you would agree," I confess. "Back in the office when Mr.Davies made us enter all those clients in, you were really upset that I beat you. But then you still offered to do this for me."

When my palm rests on his chest, I feel his thudding heartbeat. He doesn't say anything for a long while. And then he pulls back slightly. "About that. I need to tell you something."

"No, you need to come closer. You'll get even more drenched. More of you can fit under here." I pull at his shirt with heavy-handed strength. An amount he doesn't expect, since he's brought forward and squished against me. Noses find each other. A corner of a mouth grazes a bottom lip.

We both suck in sharp breaths, as if singed by the contact.

Faces try to re-align, but without any coordination. Our cheeks drag against each other. It's soft versus light scruff. Coleman tries to go the other way in the same breath that I have the same idea. Now we're breathing each other's air. A droplet of rain falls from his hair and splashes on my lip. When my tongue comes out to wipe it away, his forehead drops to mine, almost surrendering.

A heartbeat passes.

I don't know who crosses that final distance, but our bodies surge closer. The jacket falls, lost somewhere as Coleman cups my face with his palms desperately. By contrast, the kiss is slow, drug-like, and searing with quiet exploration.

Finally. This.

It feels as if we've been pushed off the ledge somewhere, but instead of falling, we are drifting downwards. Delirious excitement curls warmly inside me. I'm not afraid. I'm too content and overjoyed to let anything else in. All I want is to keep doing this. To not stop. For our private world to last forever.

Because our week is almost up and who knows what happens after?

"Reema!"

"Jake!"

It's the shouting voices of relieved family members looking for us. We pull apart, breathing heavily. From the corner of my eye, I see the bus driver has come back. There's a lit cigarette dangling between his fingers, somehow persevering against the rain.

Coleman rests a hand on the middle of my back.

"Should we… get inside?" I say faintly.

He reluctantly nods. There's new tension on his face.

Going around the bus, we see the driver has opened the door. He boards himself first. A line of people rush behind him to get inside. The two of us are at the back of the line when a flash of lightning brightens the sky.

"My jacket," says Coleman, remembering. "I'll be right back. You get on ahead of me."

The line moves quickly, but right as it's my turn to board, a hand hooks my elbow and holds me back. It's Esha. She's grinning. The baby hairs on her forehead are curling wildly. Gurinder is behind her, holding an umbrella up.

"What is it?" I ask. Everyone is waiting for us, and I'm not sure she should be out here in the rain in her condition. I try to move, so she gets on before me, but she shakes her head.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I just want to call it now," she says. "He's the one for you. He's nothing like Harry!"

"Who is Harry?"

That's Coleman. He's come up behind us.

My sister looks back at him, then at me. She's eyeing me down, clearly shocked I haven't told him about my divorce.

Nobody speaks?—

Until the driver barks at us to enter.

Almost blindly I get on, shuffling through bodies to find a spot for myself somewhere. My mind is racing. Coleman heard Esha. He's asking who Harry is. How do I explain that to him? What do I tell him? The sanitized story I've been giving everyone in my life? Or the raw, ugly version?

Everyone is wet and somehow that makes the space feel more crowded. As the last of us board, more bodies reshuffle. I see Coleman wade through people until he comes to stand behind me. His hand grasps the pole I'm clinging onto, fingers curling on a spot above mine. He doesn't bend closer and ask any questions. He doesn't say anything.

The joints of the bus creak as it pulls out of the lot and shudders its way back onto the road. In this weather, even our crap driver is taking it slow. Voices rumble around us, but those become muffled when the overhead speakers start playing music. It's not the exuberant noisiness of bhangra music, but the wistful ghazals of a woman crooning in Hindi.

When the tires hit a bump, my bum knocks back into him.

I think about moving forward again when the rockiness evens out, but I don't. His hand comes around and grips my hip possessively. He encourages me to stay there.

There is fire in my blood.

It's not the rain that has made me wet.

I know he'll ask me about Harry soon. And I'll have to explain why I kept him and the divorce a secret, even though I'm not sure of that answer myself. Probably because I don't like talking about that part of my life to anyone, so I pretend it never happened.

But Coleman doesn't miss a beat, so I know he'll ask, but for now I don't want us to go there. All I want is this. Our bodies pressed against each other. That slow falling feeling again that intoxicates your veins with pleasure. Where you're not thinking straight or being logical, but swept away, unbothered about whether you are headed towards disaster or not. Happiness. Thrill. New discovery. Hearts racing.

As soon as the bus pulls up to the hotel, everyone escapes. People are tipsy, yawning, and drenched. Promises are made to meet later, but for right now, rest is needed. It's been a long day.

Coleman lingers behind, distinctly telling me I should go to our room first.

It's so he can sneak to his own room when the halls are more empty.

Not knowing what else to do, I leave him. But then when I get to my room, I can't seem to unwind. I'm pacing back and forth. It feels as if I'm too warm and this buzzing inside me won't settle down. It's making my skin feel hot, tight, and so sensitive.

I want?—

I need?—

There's a knock on the door.

I run to open it.

It's him. He's there. "Patel I?—"

"Come inside."

He does, and he's scrubbing at his face. "We should talk…"

No.No talking.

I kiss him.