Page 14 of Everything She Wanted

I look through the open doors into the dimly lit ballroom, with chairs laid out around the stage and runway. I’m standing awkwardly on my own as the crowd grows around me. I could grab a seat, even though no one is sitting, and browse my phone, or I could wander outside, grab a drink, and check out the silent auction.

I message Eshaan to let him know I’m here, and I hope he can get away and come see me. I know the drill: When we go to events together, he has to ‘work the room,’ meaning I can’t expect him to stay with me. I get it, it’s not like he goes to these things for fun, it’s legit to market his parents’ business, which I know one day he wants to take over. Still, I wish he would come see me right away to at least check if I’m comfortable. Most likely I won’t see him until everything’s over.

I decide on a drink and wander out of the room. This will take the edge off and help keep my anxiety at bay.

Rachel’s voice plays in my head. You need to deal with that anxiety and not just drink. It’s true, but for now, one drink won’t hurt. I won’t let myself think about how alcohol impacted my family growing up.

I stand in line behind a group of chatty twenty-somethings. One turns to look at me, looks away, and then looks at me again.

“Hey, I know you from Instagram.”

The girls all whip their heads toward me. For a moment, I brim with pride. Did she hear the podcast I recently did about women in tech?

I smile at them.

My Instagram is mainly filled with fun photos of books, coffee, and flowers, but lately I’ve been sharing more about what matters to me: the talks I go to on women in the workplace and inclusion, the clean beauty brands I started using after my dad got sick with cancer.

“You’re Eshaan’s girlfriend, right?”

“Yes,” I answer, hiding my disappointment. Of course, they weren’t talking about my Instagram. They must have seen me on Shaan’s. He has 10K followers, compared to my measly 500.

“Oh, he’s dreamy,” she says. “You’re so lucky.” They all nod in agreement. I sigh, irritated and embarrassed all at once. I can do this. Make small talk.

“Can we take a photo and tag you?” another one of them asks.

“Sure, I guess.”

They swarm in like wasps, surrounding me and blasting their phones several times, and then they buzz away and click on their screens without even looking up.

“What’s your handle?”

“YVRMarketingGal.”

“YVR what? Actually, never mind. We’ll just tag Eshaan.”

I don’t even have time to answer. When they reach the bar they all order the same fruity cocktail and then dash off without even a glance.

Was I like them at that age? I can’t believe I would ever be that self-involved, but I guess no one thinks that about themself.

The bartender turns to me. “What can I get you?”

“Double gin and tonic, please.”

My drink of choice. Not classy, but it does the trick. Sugary drinks make my stomach churn, and the anxiety does enough of that. He hands it to me with a flourish, and I swipe my card to pay.

I look up to see Eshaan beaming at me, and I rush over to him. He’s wearing a silver kurta with a black scarf and looks like he just stepped out of a Bollywood movie. His inky-dark hair is slicked back, contrasting with his smooth, brown skin, making him look like a South Asian Ken doll. He has silver swirls of glitter around his eyes, like most of the models, for the glitter and glam theme they have tonight.

“Hey, babe.” He wraps me in his arms and kisses me. A few people turn to look at us.

“I missed you.” I lean into him.

“The saree looks so good on you.”

He pulls back and looks me up and down. “You changed the blouse.” Disapproval edges into his voice. He had chosen a modest blouse that just didn’t go with it, so I swapped it for a cropped tank top instead.

He looks as if he wants to say more, but a guy comes rushing up to him. He’s wearing a headset and a plain white T-shirt and jeans.

“We have a problem.”