“I mean, they have a point,” he started. “Maybe we just need to hit the restart button and go back to when we first met. You want this house, I want my reputation fixed, and although this setup is a little . . . unorthodox, we could give it a try.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You still have to have some sort of feelings for me.”
It bothered Prem more than he cared to admit when Kareena shook her head, then turned to argue with her aunties.
“You have lost your damn minds,” she shouted and got to her feet. “I refuse to lower my standards and be with a man who could never love me back. Mom wouldn’t want that for me, and neither should any of you.” She pointed at all the women in the room. “I’d rather be alone and heartbroken then be with a man who could never love me.”
She whirled and stormed out of the house. A second later, the front door slammed shut.
“That went well,” Falguni Aunty said. “Is it time to eat the samosas?”
“You know what?” Prem said, grinning. “I think I’ll have one now.”
Interstitial
Indians Abroad News Dear Readers, It’s important to encourage your children to diversify their candidate pool. In addition to using their networks, there are a slew of online sites available, including ones specifically designed for arranged marriages. For those of you who follow me on my website, subscribe to my newsletter to receive a free spreadsheet of all online dating sites with a high percentage of South Asian profiles.
Mrs. W. S. Gupta Columnist Avon, NJ
Chapter 7
Kareena
Aunty WhatsApp Group
Mona Aunty: What happened between you and Prem? Are you ever going to tell us?
Kareena: Not that again.
Sonali Aunty: Every couple has conflict, beta. I’ll pray for you both.
Falguni Aunty: If Prem isn’t going to work out for you, then we’ll keep trying with the biodatas to see if we can find someone else for you to date. And with the online websites.
Kareena: I appreciate the help. I can manage the online websites myself.
Mona Aunty: Okay, beta. Here is the login for the accounts we’ve already set up. Just make sure to send us any of the dirty pictures that you get so we can inspect them as well.
Kareena: AUNTY!
Kareena: I have a good feeling about this. The aunties set up online dating profiles for me without me asking for help. They sent me logins and everything. I started talking to a guy already and he wants to go out for coffee. That’s a good sign, right?
Bobbi: The fact that he didn’t waste five months of your life sexting through a hookup app? Yeah, definitely a good sign. But then again, you are a smoke show.
Kareena: Good. What color sweater vest do I wear?
Bobbi: Ahh, there you go, being the smoke show that you are.
Veera: Ignore her. Wear whatever you want. It’s a rule that first blind dates no longer require our best outfits.
Kareena: Black sweater vest it is. I don’t anticipate there being a hookup problem this time.
Bobbi: Ooh, bringing out the big guns.
Kareena: Don’t be an ass, otherwise no date debriefing for you.
Bobbi: Nooooo. Okay, I’ll stop.
Kareena stepped out of the car that she’d taken from the train station to the local coffee shop where she was supposed to meet her first date. She’d been a wreck for the last six hours, thinking about every possible way to cancel. It had been her first date in so long—first official first date, anyway—and she had completely forgotten all the rules. Was it normal to want to cancel and go home to read? And damn it, she really had to figure out how to control the sweating.
But she had to face the music at some point. Disregarding her timeline, and all the nonsense in her life that was happening at the moment, thirty was supposed to be the year that she focused on her personal life. This was all part of her life plan.
And she needed to try if she was going to have a fighting chance at her happily ever after.
Positive thoughts. Good energy.
She straightened her black sweater vest, turned her phone on silent to avoid any impending work calls that might come in, and walked into the trendy little shop to half-filled tables and the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans. There were chalkboard walls and a menu that included chai and claimed that it was “organic” and “authentic.” A bulletin board hung on the wall next to the entrance with a flyer for Thursday night poetry open mics.
The air smelled of vanilla and spice.
Hopefully just being in this place didn’t trigger an allergic reaction. She’d forgotten her EpiPen at home. Admittedly, that was stupid when she was going to a coffee shop, but she’d just have to be careful.