56. REEMA

I might be sick with nerves, or it's this gorgeous outfit cutting off my circulation. It's fitted down to the millimeter over my bust-line and then sucked in even tighter, so I look like Punjabi renaissance royalty with the globes of my tits serving extra cleavage. There's more skin showing where the rich taffeta transitions to shimmery chiffon at my waist, before connecting back to taffeta, the material of the full-bottomed ballgown skirt. Good thing the fabric is a dark plum color, because aside from beautifully warming the undertones of my skin, it's also a great absorber of palm moistness. Dangling from my ears and my neck is the jewelry Leo gifted me. Perfect sparkly accessories.

Even after my sister finished my make-up, I'd spent an extra half-hour in front of the mirror. One hand was trying to shoo butterflies out of my stomach, and the other was wafting around, trying to imagine all the things Jake and I are going to say to each other today. It's so important to figure it out, because we'll be back to normal in the office in two days and I don't want normal. I don't think he does either, but he's had more time to think about my past, so I don't know if it's sunk in enough to make him back away… or regret… or have doubts…

No.

I'm walking into the event venue without mentally sabotaging myself. Inside the foyer, a few people are milling around, but he is not there. I'm craning my neck, watching for him, even though we've only been apart for less than a day. My feet tap against the marble floor. I wonder what he'll wear tonight, with this being the fanciest event. And, more importantly, what will he think of what I've got on? Can I expect any jaw droppage?

A relative (third cousin, maybe?) crosses paths with me near the exit, saying she'll be back after she finishes getting ready at the hotel. I reassure her that she has time. It's still early. I'm only dressed because someone has to greet all the new guests coming in. The numbers for tonight are bigger than they've been all week, as some people are driving in just for this part. The finale.

That being said, Jake is an early kind of person. He could walk in any minute. I bring my phone out of my purse and notice a missed call. It's from my boss. That's odd. There's also a followup text message that says I don't have to call him back, but need to meet him in the office tomorrow before the work week starts. For a moment, I'm concerned about what that means. Old me would obsess. Work ruled my life—a lot of it for good reasons—but right now I can't worry. My mom walks into the building and sees me.

She wraps me in a hug. "You look beautiful, Reema." Her hand squeezes mine. "You've always been beautiful."

She remembers what Jake said last time. Not that I mind. Her compliment still sings genuinely inside of me.

"Thanks, mom. You look incredible tonight, too."

She does. Her cheeks and lips are rouged in mauve, there is a brilliant flower in her updo, and curled tendrils of hair are artfully arranged to frame her face.

The Patel family is dressed in our finest clothes, celebrating Esha's last event. This night is going to be monumental and give us memories for life.

"I love you," says my mother. "Seeing you makes me so happy."

"You and dad should visit me. I'll take you around the city."

She beams. "You and Jake both?"

I—

Hopefullyis what flashes through my mind.

The door opens and my dad walks in. He's flustered and rushes towards us.

My mother grips him by the shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"We need to go to the other entrance. There's been a mix up. The cards have the wrong place written on them for the reception." He looks at me. "Don't tell your sister. She panics."

Understatement. My perfectionist sister will call the card-printing shop right now to express her furious disappointment.

Especially since my sister arranged this week very specifically. All her previous events have been held in the same hall, but there is a mega-hall in Bells Estate she's reserved for the final party. To make sure we don't have guests go to the wrong spot, my mother and I go to the old venue.

Good thing too, for some people have already gathered there. I'm about to guide them away, but the hotel staff flag me down. The mega-hall isn't quite ready yet. It needs finishing touches. So in a quick rush, refreshments are brought to this foyer so early-bird partygoers at least have chai to sip on while we wait.

My hair and makeup no longer feel like silky perfection, but have a healthy dash of frazzle to them. At least this small crowd of people is entertaining themselves. Just as I finish arranging for additional seating to be brought over while we wait, Jake finds me. I'm crushed because I don't know how long he's been there for, and then I'm confused by the tightness around his eyes. So much so, I barely register how jaw-dropping he looks in his suit.

When he doesn't say anything or get closer, I get concerned.

Going up to him, I poke him. "What's wrong?"

His green eyes watch me as if he doesn't know who he is looking at. My heart picks up speed.

"We can… talk afterwards," he finally says.

"No, this is the only quiet moment we'll get, and it's slipping away from us."

He seems to be struggling. There's a purposeful blankness to his expression.

"Jake, come on."

"I—Did you need a date for your sister's wedding because you knew your ex was coming?"

That's not at all what I expected him to say. "I…" Yes?

"You've been watching the doors at every event. Have you been waiting for him to show up?"

Someone calls my name. It's Bebe. She's wheeling towards us with fervor. Within moments, she chats to us like we are her favorite couple, launching compliments and questions at us. The whole time, I'm trying to meet Jake's eyes. He's playing the perfect boyfriend role, but I can't get him to look at me. He needs to let me explain! Yes, that was the whole reason I invited him in the first place, but it's not why I want him here now.

The actual reception hall must be ready for most of the crowd is moving away. Someone walking by says my father sent some sort of mass-text to everyone he can think of, giving the right place to go. Still, newcomers filter in and out. My mother and Serena are guiding them away. Dad is here now, too.

Bebe makes a conversation detour to the topic of babies. I'm wondering how to shut her down when a commotion erupts by the doors. My parents are greeting someone warmly, as if they've not seen them in a long time. Blood drains from my face when I see who it is. He's being hugged and laughed with, although Serena is shooting him bloody daggers.

Harry.

He's shown up.

He's tall, dark-browed, and pretty with his debonair slicked hair. My parents hug him… because they don't know the history. See, Harry was the kind of man who neglected our marriage, but shone in front of others. He remembered my parent's birthdays and anniversaries every fucking year and had flowers delivered. It was a mind-fuck at the time, but it's even worse now because it's led to this.

They think we had an amicable separation.

HAHAHA.

What a horrible joke.

He walks my parents over to me. Bebe's face pinches at the intrusion, especially when she spots Harry. She rolls herself away, joining Serena, who is also a few steps away.

"It's been too long," croons Harry, trying to go for an embrace.

I'm frozen. I let him do it.

"And who is this?" he asks, pulling back, gesturing at Jake.

"My—" I can't finish the sentence.

"Boyfriend," says my mother, gladly stepping in for me.

Harry and Jake don't shake hands. Tension ratchets between them.

Someone laughs nervously.

"So you're the new one?" says Harry, as if I've had so many boyfriends or as if I've duped Jake into being with me. Either meaning is insulting.

My mother takes it upon herself to recount the great week Harry missed out on, how all my friends and family are happier than ever that I've found Jake, and that he's been fitting perfectly into our family.

The more my mother gushes, the stonier Jake looks. I'm getting sicker, too.

It's such a show of trying to prove I'm at the right place in my life, and that I'm not a thing to be pitied. Magic, wonder and fate are spun around my life as if it's all happened for a purpose to lead to this moment. Jake is buoyed as the perfect antidote against the track record of my divorce. Harry can't look at me and laugh. I'm not a loser.

This is what I wanted, right?

Except I could give a flying fuck about impressing Harry right now. My teeth are grinding with outrage. How dare he come to the reception? How dare he show his face as if he can still be around my family and friends? Also, I'm nauseated because what is going through Jake's head? I can't let him think this is what I care about. That he's a game I've played to prop myself up. That's not what we are any more!

"Be careful," says Harry, interrupting my mother. He's facing Jake. "She's a handful."

Jake stirs. The first sign of life.

Green eyes go glacial. There's an expression on his face I've never seen before. It makes Harry take a step back, which as soon as he notices he's done that, he looks pissed off at himself. Before Harry can recover, a man calls out his name.

We can't forget there are guests milling about. Jyoti is handling most of them, but this man strides toward us.

He's visibly distinguished by the amount of pommade in his beard, the ornate cane he holds, and the neatly tied turban he wears. Each layer of cloth is crisp and of equal width around his forehead, the emerald color matching the exact tone of his pocket square and socks. He seems the sort who is very intentional about everything in his life, almost as a matter of mental health. His teeth are so symmetrical I suspect they've been shaped that way or high-quality veneers are involved.

He stops beside Harry, who laughs and hugs him boisterously.

"This is who I've been looking for," says Harry. He clasps the man on the shoulder. "Patels, you might have been wondering why I've come tonight. Obviously to catch up with my favorite family since it's been too long, but Mr.Singh told me he was attending, so I had to come." He turns to my dad. "You know Tarun Singh, right uncle?"

"Of course I do," my dad grunts. "He's my college best mate from India. How do you know him?"

"We're business partners. Or we will be soon."

I laugh. So loudly. "You are going to be trusted with money?"

Everyone stares at me. I don't hide. Nowhere to be found is the woman who let herself be kicked out of the apartment before she could walk out herself.

"What is she talking about?" asks Mr.Singh. He glances around the group as if hoping to find an answer. All of a sudden, he visibly startles. "Oh, hello. Sorry, I didn't see you there, Mr.Coleman."

What?I turn to Jake. "How do you two know each other?"

"He's a recruiting agent for FINAN," answers Mr.Singh. "The consulting agency my firm is thinking of partnering with."

"Connections all around," says my mom with forced enthusiasm.

I blink slowly at Jake. "You've been recruiting…"

So that means…

It suddenly hurts so much. I didn't think anything could tear into me so viciously, but I'm in pieces in an instant.

"That's why you came this week," I whisper. "To work."

My mom shakes her head, having heard me. "No, he came for you."

"No, he didn't."

"Your boyfriend?—"

I don't know what else is said, because I'm struggling to keep standing. All I want to do is bend over and throw up. I can't even look at him. Why does it feel like I've been ripped apart? It's not like Jake hid the fact that he had his own reason for being here. In the beginning, he flat out told me he did. And he said he wasn't going to tell me what it was.

Technically, I was warned. And I never followed up, too busy and overwhelmed with everything else, and then, later, so fucking grateful he was here. It was nice. More than nice. This illusion that we were together was such an intoxicating lie.

Jake is calling my name. I ignore him. "Mr.Singh, sorry to ask this question, but what is your company worth in dollars?"

He names a figure that makes me flinch. What a perfect coup. Tarun Singh is a whale. Signing him would win Jake the bonus, after all. I've been duped.

Jake tries reaching for me, but I push away from him, dully shaking my head. I still won't look at his face.

"Now, you can answer my question," Mr.Singh says to me. "Why did you laugh at Harry and I going into business together?"

Harry tries blocking me. "Don't listen to her. Reema is my ex-wife, and she's got no idea what she's talking about."

My mother gasps. Dad is red in the face. Behind Harry, Serena's hands curl into fists. As for Jake—I'm not looking at him. I can't.

No, I'm laughing again. Anything to avoid the gaping wound inside me. "Harry is a gambler and a fraud," I say. "I've seen him do this before. He convinces a business to invest with him, and then he mismanages the money for his own benefit. Going into business with him is financial suicide."

Fingers grip my arm with bruising strength. Harry squeezes hard. "She's not right in the head. Our divorce broke her. Everything she's saying is about herself. She's the gambler. The one drowning with debt. Ask her to pull up her accounts and it will tell you what you need to know. She owes the bank a fortune!"

Whispers spike around us. People are staring. I notice a line of relatives watching this whole thing go down. What is everything thinking? Will anyone believe me? For I'm the bad daughter who failed at marriage. The recluse who disappeared in shame for two years. The one whose life is better described with disappointments than accomplishments.

A six-foot-two shadow falls on Harry. "If you don't let her go, I'm going to break your arm."

There are no theatrics. The threat is glacial and precise.

Harry is surprised enough to let me go. Immediately, he's blocked from my vision because Jake stands in front of me. "This is the only warning you will get. If you ever speak about Reema like she doesn't deserve your respect, I will hurt you."

"You don't know who you're protecting. She's no victim. Frankly, she's the bitc?—"

Jake's fist connects with Harry's jaw.

Harry drops to the floor, gasping.

I'm so shocked that it takes a moment to remember to breathe. When I can, I move so I can see Harry on the ground. Mental picture taken immediately. He's glaring at me. His mouth opens. More venom is going to spill out. Him trying to hijack the narrative so he can twist our story to his benefit. It's what he's always done, and I'm so sick of it.

"You left me on the street." My voice rings strong and clear. "I made mistakes and gave you money trying to believe in you—and us—long after I should have learned my lesson, but it's you who gambled. I've long accepted my faults in that, but you clearly haven't changed, you deceptive little snake."

He fumbles up to a stand, holding his jaw. His eyes have widened with realization. Oh, yes. This is happening. I'm not who he thinks I still am. Too bad I'm not done yet.

"These hands—" I show both of mine. "—are no longer sweeping your problems under a carpet. That's your mistake and arrogance. You thought you could walk in here and I'd still be the same, scared Reema. I'm not her anymore. I don't care about protecting your precious masculinity. You can't lecture me about the changes I need to make you feel like a man." I snort. "There's no welcome for you in this family. Because fuck off, you shouldn't be here. Get out. Leave now or I'll keep talking about all your stupid business decisions."

Not that the damage isn't done. Mr.Singh is looking at us like we're a circus he wants no part of. He turns around and strides away—and Harry, seeing that, goes and runs after him.

Pity. I could have said more.

Not because Harry is worth it, but because adrenaline distracted from pain. And now it's no longer doing that, and there's a wail inside me that no one else can hear.

"You should go after them," I say, staring at the exit. "Your bonus is running away."

"Reema. Please. You have to understand–" Jake pleads.

"That's why you volunteered. That's why you are here. Being with me—pretending to be with me—I should have asked. Pushed for an answer. Why else agree to this—this—charade?—"

Bebe rolls her wheelchair into the center of our gathering. "What are you talking about, Reema? Pretend? Charade?"

How could I have forgotten? We have an audience.

"What are you saying?" my mother asks. "Why are you upset at him? Especially after he protected you."

"He is your partner," my dad says. "And we don't mind if he was working this week?—"

"He's not my partner."

"You're breaking up?" Bebe's question is incredulous. "Why?" She wheels to face Jake. "Is it because she used to be married to that animal? Because she divorced him? Don't believe his words!"

"That's not it," I say, speaking before he can.

"Don't break-up. We can figure this out," cries my panicked mother. When she looks at me, I can tell she's frantic that her vision of my perfect life is about to tumble down. Guilt chokes my throat. I should have never given them this lie in the first place. I can't take that back now, but I need to stop hiding.

"There… is nothing to figure out. We were never together. I've been lying to everyone."

Louder gasps and murmurs spread.

"The truth is I'm thirty-five, single, and alone. This man is my co-worker—" Who I refuse to make eye-contact with, even though I feel the constant press of his gaze. He's been staring at me this whole time.

"I asked him to pretend to be my boyfriend, because I was afraid of being talked about—pitied—of not having anything to show for myself at my sister's wedding. But I was wrong to lie. What I should have done is come here as myself. Because I'm not sad or behind or whatever you'll tell me I am. No, I get to be whatever I want myself to be, and that—" I sigh. "That can be sad and disappointed and full of regret some days. But that's not what I'm made of, either. I'm fucking proud of myself and of everything I'm trying to do to find my own happiness. I'm on a journey and allowed to take my time with it, and to decide what my own goals are. You don't get to tell me what makes a good life. I decide that."

From the background, Serena thumps her chest and the room echoes with her stretched out, "Yessssssssss."

No one else cheers, but it's fine. I've shocked people, especially my parents. I'm not done. I take turns pointing at everyone in this room but him.

"We're not going to talk about this tonight. This night is to celebrate my sister who is waiting in her room with Gurinder, super excited about their big walk-in entrance. Nobody is going to gossip about me tonight. I don't care what you say when you go home, but if anyone is doing anything less than partying and being happy for Esha, I will personally kick them out of here!"

My reminder works. My dad jolts into action. He exclaims we are late and says we need to go to the other hall. People start moving. My mother doesn't want to leave, but Bebe forces her to go, mumbling something about giving Jake and I some time to talk. As if that will help.

"Reema."

Judging from the surrounding quiet, we're alone. I shut my eyes. "Fuck." It hurts.

"Please, let me explain?—"

"Leave. I'll beg you if I have to, but I can't have you here. Go away?—"

"Yell at me. Hit me. Scream. Anything, baby. I'll take anything you want to do, but please look at me, Reema." His voice is full of such terrible anguish, but I refuse to let it sway me. I can't. My chin trembles. Doesn't he get it? I was brave with everything else, but I'm not strong enough for this.

One day, he can explain how he never lied to me, and that we both got what we needed out of this arrangement. That he did a great job convincing my family of his love and devotion, and that—hey—we got some great sex out of it, too. That the process made us even bond a little. That wanting to win the bonus isn't personal. We're competitors. There are no rules when it comes to beating the other person, so why is this any different? If anything, I should be impressed by how far he's gone to win.

One day, I'll be able to listen to all that and not be shredded.

Today is not that day.

"You need to go." I clutch my stomach. It hurts everywhere, but it's the place I can hold most easily. Tears brim my eyes. "Please go, so this whole night isn't ruined. You have to leave. Don't make me beg. I'm already so tired. Go… Coleman."

I keep my eyes closed and wait.

When I finally open them, he's gone.