Ed Sheeran slides her the check and a heavy gold pen before Natasha even asks for it. She has trouble scribbling her name on the receipt. When she gets off her barstool, she feels buoyant. Damn it, she shouldn’t have had that last shot. There’s no way she can drive to Suhani’s place in this condition. She fumbles with her phone and somehow manages to call an Uber.

A black SUV pulls up a few minutes later. Natasha watches the driver study her face and then nod with recognition. Once she’s in the car, he asks her what part of India she’s from and tells her about his daughter, who has to be Natasha’s age.

“My daughter’s going to be a doctor.” He smiles in the rearview mirror.

“That’s nice.” Natasha’s words come out slower than she intends, thanks to her drunkenness. Individually wrapped mints and water bottles are in the cup holder next to her. She takes one of each.

“And what type of work do you do?” he asks. He switches the music to Bollywood songs. Indian Uber drivers often do this to Natasha. She’s never sure if they feel more comfortable listening to it for themselves or if they’re doing it for her.

“I, uh, you know, I’m figuring it out. Taking it one day at a time.” Natasha intends to flash a confident smile but ends up feeling like she’s having a facial spasm. She leans back in the leather seat and closes her eyes.

“Make sure you know soon.” He points his index finger into the air as if he’s about to impart some groundbreaking wisdom. “Before you know it, it’ll be time for you to get married, have babies. You don’t want to be too old.”

“You know what?” Natasha asks. “I think I’ll just listen to some music now.”

She catches his judgmental stare and can practically hear him thinking, There’s another one of those girls who has been corrupted by America. Thankfully, they reach Suhani’s apartment quickly. Or at least she thinks it’s quickly but is really too drunk to be sure.

She stumbles through the revolving doors and into the lobby. Carlos tips his hat and says, “Good to see you again, Natasha.”

Carlos looks so kind and easy to talk to. It must be the mustache and potbelly. That’s always been one of Natasha’s favorite combos on an older man (she blames Santa Claus for this). For a second, Natasha wonders if she should just stay in the lobby and tell him everything that’s happened today.

But then she snaps back to reality. There is no need to burden this sweet doorman with her issues.

“Good to see you, too, Carlos.” She gives a quick nod and then heads to the elevator.