“Nope. And anyway, if you decide you want to marry a Muslim girl, I’m pretty sure there are loads of them outside the village. Some might even be nice to you.”
“I guess. But it’s our ‘kismet,’ she says, because I only have a father and she only has a mother.”
She hoped the dark hid her wince.
“Hey, is Bandit with you?”
“No, beta, he’s at home.”
“Can we go see him?”
“Maybe some other time. Your father must be very worried.”
“Nah, I’m no baby.”
Geeta had planned to leave the boy at his door, but Karem opened it immediately. He blinked at his son. “Oi! Where’re your brothers? They’re supposed to be watching you!”
“Dunno.”
“I thought I’d better walk him home,” Geeta said. She smiled at Raees because it was easier than facing his father. “Even though you’re no baby.”
“Thanks,” Karem said.
“Anytime. Good night. Oh, and Eid Mubarak. I didn’t wish you earlier.”
“Geetaben, wait. Raees, inside.”
“Why can’t I stay?”
“Now.”
Raees went, cowed. Karem shook his head and stepped outside. “New crush, I suppose.”
Her temperature spiked. “Huh?”
“Raees.”
“Right,” she said. Then: “Huh?”
“He likes you. It’s cute.”
Geeta laughed to avoid answering. She knew herself well enough to know she’d later regret most of what she said now as being too stupid, too self-conscious, not funny or casual enough.
“Listen, I owe you an apology. You came into the store the other day to be nice, and I wasn’t. I’d been fasting—you know, Ramadan—and I was cranky. I lashed out at you and I shouldn’t have. It took me some time, but I think I understand what you meant…that night. You’re a woman and it’s not the same. It’s not fair that it’s not, but you were just trying to protect yourself. And you had every right. My meter skyrocketed because I was thinking about my feelings, not yours.”
Geeta was not accustomed to men apologizing. Her father had never said sorry to either her or her mother. He hadn’t been a tyrant; it simply hadn’t been expected of him. “Sorry” was an English word, brought to cover all manners of sin and, with the increased use of English in films, “sorry” （as well as “thanks”） was bandied about more often. It was more casual than the literal equivalent, which Indians only dusted off for the really big slights, not bumping into someone or being tardy. Ramesh, for all he impelled her apologies, had certainly never offered one. She wanted to hug Karem, but she tamped down the urge to further embarrass herself.
“Me, too. You don’t believe the rumors about me, but I didn’t return the favor.”
He thrust out his hand. “Friends?”
She held up her painted palms. “But yes, friends.”
“Oh, did you go to a party today?”
“Yeah, Saloni’s.”
“That’s great.”
“Is it?”
“Sure. People can always use more friends.”
“But,” she said, “the problem with friends is that they ask favors.”
Karem shrugged. “One should always help a friend if they can.”
“Even if what they’re asking isn’t good? I mean, isn’t right?”
Karem’s lips rolled inward as he thought. “I guess intentions are what matter. Sometimes to do the right thing, you have to do the wrong one first.” He held up one finger. “？‘If you can’t get the butter with a straight finger…’？”
Geeta smiled as he hooked his index finger. “？‘…then use a crooked one.’？”
Their truce was a new and precious thing. She said good night before she could poison it. Above her, the moon was fat and swollen, and the way home was easy. As she walked, she rubbed her palms, dried henna flakes leaving a trail behind her. It was true that she had a host of problems currently squatting on her head: Samir’s death, Farah’s threats, and Preity’s demands. But Karem didn’t hate her, and that left her a bit lighter.
When Geeta approached her home, Saloni was pacing in front of it. No, not pacing. Marching. Ample elbows at right angles, pumping them as her knees rose considerably higher than Geeta assumed a sari permitted. Saloni spotted Geeta, but continued.
“Hi,” Saloni said, pivoting. She was a bit breathless. “Just getting some exercise while I waited. Couple more, hold on.”
Geeta’d had more visitors in the past month than she’d had in the five years prior. “What’re you doing here? What about your party?”
“Oh, it’s done. We ate and then the power was cut and everyone got sleepy. You forgot your gift pot.”
“Huh?”
“All my guests get a bunch of, you know, goodies. Like bangles and candies and stuff. You forgot yours.”
Geeta then saw the clay pot on her doorstep, next to Bandit’s empty water bowl. Saloni marched onward. “Okay, stop. I’m getting dizzy. Did you want to come in?”
Saloni hesitated. “I should head back.”
“Right.” Geeta felt foolish for opening herself to certain rejection in the first place. But the clay pot had seemed like an excuse and she’d responded in kind. She picked it up. Saloni had painted it red, with yellow swastikas.
“Well”—Saloni blew out her breath, disturbing a stray strand of hair—“some water wouldn’t kill me.”
As Geeta unlocked her door, Bandit ran down the lane toward them. When Arhaan had summoned her, she’d left Bandit outside, which had been wise considering how long she’d been gone. Though a solar light had been installed in their alley, Geeta could have recognized the outline of his large ears by the abundant moonlight alone. She bent to scratch his striped ear, and he licked her wrist. “Did you have fun today?”
Her body rearing back, Saloni asked, “Is—uh—he coming in?”
“Bandit? He can stay out, but actually…let’s see.” She pushed open the door for Saloni, who went ahead. Bandit aimed to follow, but Geeta stopped him. “Bandit,” she said, pointing at Saloni. “Attack!”
“Geeta! No! What—oh, he’s—ah, he, er, does that a lot.” Saloni actually blushed, turning in embarrassment from Bandit’s obscene self-ministrations.
“Yeah, I think he thinks ‘attack’ means molesting himself.”
“And why do you keep trying to get your dog to attack me?”
“Practice.” Geeta flicked on the light, but it remained dark. She used the lantern to bring Saloni a steel cup of water, which she gulped in one go. “I’m trying to train him. For protection.”
“From Farah?”
“Yeah.”
They considered Bandit, hind legs spread, thoroughly absorbed with his genitals. “I’d get a backup plan if I were you.”
“You were my backup plan, gadhedi! Only instead of fixing my one problem, you broke my head with more!” Glaring, Geeta refilled the cup, which went down much like the first. “Can I ask—why the exercise?”