REEMA RAO-PATEL

FIRST SUMMER

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At the hour when some are at the tail-ends of their dreams and others are just getting to the depths of a conversation, Leena walks home alone. On any other day she’d like this – the unusual silence of campus and the night’s tepid air. But after fleeing Ronak’s house, she just wishes for the sun’s honey rays to numb her prickly edges.

She scuttles down the sidewalk in a dress that bandages her so tightly she thinks it’ll leave her body white and pruny. Her heels dangle from her hand to save whatever is left of her toes. Her purse hangs on her like she’s a coat rack, so long past her dress that the zipper scrapes white x’s in her thighs. All of it impractical, just like infatuations.

She passes the large windows of the Student Union. The person in the reflection won’t confront her. Leena always thought a “walk of shame” was mistermed; girls she’d seen seemed to wear shame proudly. She tugs at her dress, wishing she could hide beneath it, the way she used to stretch her t-shirts over bent knees as a little girl.

Shame requires having done something. What is it called when nothing happens?

* * *

Earlier on the first day of summer semester, Leena finds herself at Nitra’s door with red plastic cups in hand. She wears a crown of curls, as voluminous as the evening is muggy.

“Oh good, you actually showed,” Nitra says, in lieu of a welcome. She’s holding a sweating beer and her eyeliner is smudging at the corners – the party’s already begun.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Leena says back. 

She steps inside the apartment where the air is thicker and sultrier. Leena was used to a crisp, if not frigid, climate at the university; this was her first time staying for the summer, and she’d forgotten that off-campus apartments didn’t have air conditioning.

She holds up the bag of cups by its plastic frills. 

“A gift, that’s cute. Leave them in there,” Nitra nods towards the kitchen. “And grab yourself a drink. You need to catch up.” 

It seemed to Leena that Nitra, two years older, was always telling her to catch up – for most of the two decades they’d known each other, in fact.

Leena doesn’t actually remember meeting Nitra. It was their parents who had first met before they were born, bonding over being the only two Indian families in the apartment complex and raising daughters together. All Leena remembers is that it was Nitra’s hand she’d held on her first bus ride to school, Nitra’s bed in which she’d spent her first sleepover homesick, Nitra’s critiques of what to wear and not wear to her first high school dance, and Nitra’s disapproval of the modest way Leena had spent her first year away from home.

“You’re not high school Leena who still lives with her parents. You’re missing the quintessential experiences of college,” Nitra had said, elongating the last word for emphasis.

So yes, Leena had actually showed tonight to prove a point.

She makes her way to the small galley kitchen where someone else is pouring himself a drink. Leena’s seen him around the way Indians keep track of each other on campus. She wouldn’t call him conventionally handsome. A clean-shaven face revealed a fleshy chin and round cheeks, punctuated with a dimple on just one side. His body also curved, though not in a paunchy way. He’s full like a man, she thinks – unlike the spindly boys in her class, like weeds caught in sidewalk cracks.

He tips the vodka lemonade in her direction. “Leena, right?” It’s more a statement than a question. 

So he’s seen her around too. She accepts the drink and responds with her own non-question, “Thank you, Ronak.”

He turns to put his weight on the counter across from Leena, closing the gap between them. He’s a good two heads taller than her, even while leaning.

“You must be pretty in-the-know to be at an upperclassmen party,” he says, playfully.

“Well actually, I know Nitra from back home. We grew up together,” Leena says. 

“Oh so it is nepotism then.”

“I didn’t realize these types of things were so exclusive.” She facetiously fingers the sticky rings of alcohol covering the kitchen table.   

“They shouldn’t be. It’s nice to meet someone new.” Ronak’s eyes don’t falter when they connect with hers, and something about this arouses her, electrifying the hairs on her arm.

Their banter continues to flow easily and quickly, just the same as the drinks they down in the meantime. The vodka does little to remedy the summer heat, but it makes Leena melt in a way that feels good. She laughs louder, she touches Ronak’s forearm gently but freely, she doesn’t pull back when he grazes one of her spring coils with the revelation, “I like your curly hair. It’s not all pretend straight like everyone else.”

He’s smooth, Leena thinks, and remembers the times she and her friends would preach to each other, “Men who are smooth have done this too often.” As if they were experienced women. But these conversations were always had in their sheltered dorms, where they were too scared to sneak in so-discussed men.

Almost an hour goes by when Ronak pushes himself up from the counter and says, “Hey listen, wanna get out of here?” He adds quickly, both palms up in innocence, “I have some home cooked food in the freezer, and it’s way too much for one person.” 

He asks if she’s hungry.

Yes, Leena’s hungry for more of his attention. 

She turns to the opening of the living room to scan for Nitra, but doesn’t try very hard. She puts a finger up, telling Ronak to wait, while her other hand digs in her pocket for her phone to text Nitra: Can’t say I didn’t listen to you. And before she can get in her own way, she agrees to get out of there.

At his house, Ronak microwaves dal and chapatis on styrofoam plates and serves them alongside cheap wine in mugs.

“Your food awaits,” he says with an over-the-top wave.

For the first time that night they’re quiet, absorbed by drunk hunger. The wine slightly sours the smell of the spices, and everything sticks on the worn ping-pong table that’s doubling as a dining table, but Leena is struck by its familiarity. Of sitting for dinner with her parents at home, also in silence, palms dusted from atta, staining their fingers in turmeric.  Whenever Nitra and her family joined, the girls ate cross-legged on a mat unfolded on the floor, their thighs sticking to the synthetic leather material.

“What is it?”

Ronak asks. Leena realizes her expression must’ve changed. “Nothing, it’s just funny that I’m here,” she says. 

Ronak tilts his head in question. She clarifies, almost as if to herself, “I just mean, I literally met you, what, a couple hours ago? And now I’m at your place, and we’re eating together like we’ve always known each other.”

“What, you don’t do this every weekend?” Ronak asks sarcastically. He dips another bite of chapati in the dal.

Leena lets out half a laugh, self-conscious that Ronak continues studying her, nodding his head to the pace of his chewing.

“For the record, I don’t do this every weekend,” is all he says.

When they’re done eating, Leena gets up immediately, unsure if it’s the wine or the question of what comes next that’s making her head swirl. Either way, she’s determined to leave before she fucks anything up.

“Wait, let me walk you home,” Ronak says.

“That’s alright, really, I’ll be okay,” she says. 

“Okay, but first –” before he lets her leave, he reaches his palm out – “phone please” – and types his number into her contacts. “If you ever want another nepotism invite,” he says, and the dimple peeks out.

On her way home, Leena checks her phone. She felt it buzzing all night against her leg with a string of incoming texts from Nitra, no doubt. She imagines pouring over the night with her, dissecting the tiniest, meaningless details. But she can already picture Nitra’s smug “been there, done that” face, even if she doesn’t say anything directly. Just the thought deflates Leena. 

She closes the phone without replying to any of the messages.

* * *

Two months later, Ronak and Leena lay on the roof of the Student Union. He points up to the sky, a rare moment when the sun and moon exist at once. 

“I feel like that a lot. Neither here nor there,” he says.

Ronak’s head is cradled in his folded arms. Leena is propped up on her elbows. A pizza box sits between them with the remains of a Thursday night special: medium pie plus breadsticks.

They’ve met like this, just the two of them, all summer – their relationship sprouting like lush grass growing in forgotten places. Our spot, Ronak would text to signal. Or she to him. She likes that they share something – something she hoped he’d shared with no one else. 

Ronak continues reflecting, that he’s been waiting to be a Senior for the last four years, like half of him is already past graduation, living a real life somewhere else, you know? But he’s talking to the sky, not her, when he says this, and the awareness of summer’s fleeting frivolity settles deep into Leena’s chest again. She’s been holding onto him like a firefly caught, burning bright in the confines of her cupped palms, worried that he’ll escape too soon.

“Maybe neither here nor there isn’t so bad,” Leena offers. “Like you’re at the center of many good things at once.”

That makes Ronak turn towards her, and the last bits of sunlight reflect in his eyes. He moves the pizza box to get close and brings her lips to his. 

The first time they’d kissed, Leena had thought of Nitra chronicling one of her own kisses in the seventh grade: “Leens, a good makeout is harder than you think. You have to move your lips like this.” Nitra acted it out, mouth disfigured. Leena remembers watching in awe, not of the kiss itself, but of how unfazed Nitra seemed. Like making out with a boy who’d lent her a pencil the day before was as ordinary an occurrence as taking the bus to school or waiting in line for hot lunch. “But was it special?” Leena had asked, and Nitra just shrugged her shoulders, “Sure, I guess.” 

That’s when Leena had come to understand that the world split into two parts: those like Nitra and those like herself. 

Sure, Leena devoured countless titillating stories in magazines, and even on campus, she was always in earshot of someone recounting their latest hookup. But she remained on the sidelines of others’ sexual awakenings. Unsure if it was because no one wanted her or because she was too afraid to let herself be. Unsure what it’d feel like to know her body in a whole new way.

Ronak’s hand now travels up her arm, grazing her collarbone, moving down to where the flat of her chest meets the curve. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to make a move. Leena tries to give in where his fingers trace, but it has the opposite effect. Her muscles tense and her lips move mechanically like a middle schooler being told what to do. Leena stops his hand and pulls away. 

“Not now,” she murmurs. 

Ronak sits up. “Yeah. Okay.” He huffs out the words, shorter this time than the other times she’s stopped him. And Leena reconsiders whether “neither here nor there” could ever be a good thing for long.

When they get down from the roof, the air between them is heavy with what’s unspoken.

“So I’ll..see you at my place this weekend, for the party?” Ronak asks.

Leena’s relieved he still mentions it. “Yeah, definitely.”

He pulls his lips into a tight line, a trying smile. And the sun sends out one last flare as it dips below the surface. Then it’s only the moon in the dark.

* * *

On Saturday, Ronak’s house is bloated with people, music, and an endless flow of alcohol. Leena is struck by the fact that this is the first time they’ll be together amongst other people since meeting. Though the door is unlocked, meaning he wouldn’t be waiting for her. Possessiveness stings like a growing mosquito bite.

“Leena?” She feels a tap on her shoulder. It’s Nitra. Her eyes widen as she takes in Leena’s uncharacteristic bodycon dress and heels. “Wow, you look like you fell out of the Cosmo issue: how to lure a man to bed.” 

Red blooms across Leena’s cheeks. She fidgets with her earring.

“Oh my god, are you?!” Nitra’s voice rises as she comes to the conclusion.

Leena pulls Nitra aside. “More friend, less mom.”

“People keep secrets from their moms. Not their best friends.”

“Fine, it’s Ronak,” Leena whispers, as if he’ll hear over the raging party.

“Ronak? Like the Ronak you met at my place a whole two months ago?” Nitra is beginning to yell now.

“I didn’t want to tell you til I knew what it was–”

“–Leena, he’s a senior. He probably just wants to fuck around and dip.”

“No. We’re talking. Like actually talking talking. I don’t know what it is yet, but we’ve been–” 

“– but is he pressuring you? If he is, I swear–”

“–will you let me speak! Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me to just put myself out there?”

Before Nitra can interject again, Leena pushes past her, focused on looking for Ronak. This is exactly the kind of energy she doesn’t need. She finds him within a crowd around the ping pong table that’s lined with cups for beer pong. Tonight he looks different, or rather, he looks like just another boy: jeans and a cuffed button up, filtered by a gaudy purple from a strobe light that colors the entire room.

She rubs the back of his arm.

“Hey, you made it!” he says, as if she were an acquaintance he didn’t expect to show. He gives her a side hug. No one looks twice. Despite the obvious height difference, she feels like she’s shrinking.

He quickly introduces Leena to the friends he’s mentioned before, but no one knows her name; and her passing conversations with them reveal that no one’s heard anything about her either. She hovers awkwardly, across the table, watching how immersed Ronak is in the game and this half of his life she isn’t a part of. Had she expected any different? She’d kept Ronak a secret too, even from Nitra. She wants to not want him, but still, warmth glows in all the corners of her body. And the alcohol is beginning to sift out the desperation from the hurt.

For the next two hours, Leena waits and drinks, avoids Nitra, and waits and drinks till the party dissipates. Apparently Nitra had been waiting too. She grabs Leena’s arm like a cuff and drags her outside. 

“Okay, we’re leaving. You’re too drunk.”

“You are always acting like you know more than me,” Leena slurs. 

“Because I usually do. Now let’s go.”

“See, that’s what I mean,” Leena pulls back, struggling to push Nitra’s arm off of her. “You treat me like a little girl who needs protecting. But you’re just jealous.” 

Nitra stops. “Okay. Just say what you want to say.”

“You already rushed your way through all of this.” The words tumble out, but Leena feels like they came from someone else’s mouth. “And now you’re just controlling me like your do-over.” 

Nitra seems to be searching for the next command, but surrenders with both palms up instead. 

“You know what, we’re no longer the eight and six-year-olds we act like. So why don’t you just deal with this on your own, since you know what’s best for you.” She stalks down the stairs, leaving.

For a moment, Leena wants to run after Nitra and take it all back. But she hears Ronak call behind her, “You’re still here?” He smiles, the curve of his lips meandering as if they’ve been drawn by a child with an unsteady hand.

Instead of answering, she grabs both his arms and leads him back inside, pulling him into the blue-black of his windowless room. She imagines picking up where they left off on the rooftop. This time though, she will initiate, make him give in.

Until Ronak starts grabbing her blindly, and now he’s the one pulling her into bed. He’s fumbling instead of grazing, hurried instead of gentle. More and more of his weight presses onto her until she’s pinned under him. His carnal energy makes him unrecognizable. Leena doesn’t like that she can’t see his face; she hates that he doesn’t care to see hers. 

She could be anyone right now and it would all be the same. 

Suddenly, blue light flashes on one side of Ronak’s face, sending a jarring vibration through the bed. He leans over to his side, fumbling with his phone to dismiss the call, but Leena, now sitting up, has already seen it. A woman’s name scrolls across the top of the screen. 

“Who is that?” she asks. 

“No one important if they’re calling this late,” he says, and turns back to kiss her again.

But Leena wants to tell him it was nearly this late when they’d first met too. Almost always dark when they’d meet at “our spot.” Much too late when she came back for him tonight. 

Suddenly, their flesh touching feels dizzyingly wrong. Leena forces the word “no” into Ronak’s lips, which refuse to part from hers, and when that doesn’t work, she summons all of her strength to shove his body aside. He finally rolls off of her and stumbles to turn on the light. 

“What now?” he asks. His eyes are more eager than she’s ever seen them. 

Though she has all her clothes on, she feels exposed in the bright light, and pulls the sheets tight around her. 

“Why the fuck are you here then?” he presses.    

Her thoughts swirl, but she can’t form them into words. When she still doesn’t say anything, Ronak pinches the bridge of his nose where his eyes meet. 

“Leena, just go home.” 

She begins to gather herself, but slowly, as if it’s not her body she’s moving. Teardrops trail the length of her face, dotting the sheets. But she knows these marks will become invisible, and Ronak will forget all about them tomorrow. 

* * *

Now, in the lonely streets, in front of the Student Union, Leena checks her phone. No texts. This is shame, she thinks, but a painfully worse kind than she’d looked forward to at the start of the summer. She finds Ronak’s name in her phone and deletes the thread in one quick swipe. Then she finds Nitra’s name.

In this in-between hour, Leena ends up in Nitra’s bed, making herself small against her shoulder. Just like they’re the same little girls from before – six and eight again. Just for tonight.

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