Chapters (40)
- Cover
- Also by Saumya Dave
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Acknowledgments
- Readers Guide
- Discussion Questions
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“Again? You mean you thought I was going through one of those times?” Natasha asks, referring to the blurry, exhausting periods in college when she struggled to get out of bed for days. Karan was able to help her the first time but had to call the girls after that.
Payal shrugs and says, “I don’t know. I guess so.”
Natasha’s friends exchange a questioning glance with each other. She looks at each of them, and the truth of why they were so eager to meet today comes into focus.
“Is this some kind of intervention?” she asks.
“I didn’t think of it that way,” Ifeoma says, “but I guess you could call it that.”
“Oh, well, I appreciate you all caring, but I’m fine,” Natasha says. “Really. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Suddenly, it’s too warm in here. The light buzz from her margarita morphs into a pang of nausea. She wishes she could leave this conversation. This restaurant. It occurs to her that no matter where she goes these days, she doesn’t fit in anywhere.
“Okay,” Payal says with a nod. “We won’t worry.”
Natasha knows that isn’t true and they’ll keep worrying. She cuts a massive piece of hotcake, submerges it in syrup, and puts on her best cheerful voice. “I’m so tired of talking about me, especially when I don’t know what’s been going on with you two. I’ve been so behind!”
“Well . . .” Payal shifts her eyes, seeming unsure of whether to move on. “I wanted to tell y’all in person that I got my first med school interview! At Emory!”
“Oh my god!” Natasha shrieks as they clink their glasses together. “That’s amazing! I’m not surprised at all.”
Payal beams and adjusts the ruffles on her floral off-the-shoulder dress. “Thanks. I’m telling myself to stay calm because there’s no guarantee, but still, it’s a fucking interview at Emory!”
Hearing the word “fucking” come out of Payal’s mouth is a giveaway that she’s drunk. She orders another round of margaritas and updates them on her latest Bumble date (hot, boring) and her travels to Iowa for her temporary consulting job (monotonous, almost over). Ifeoma thinks Jordan plans to propose after their second year of law school.