Page 46 of Rebound

Sixteen. This is hazardous

Tamara

Our walk is cut short when a bunch of kids wearing Patrick’s Team India jersey come running up to us for photos and autographs. He’s caught off guard, but drops to his knees to talk to them. In broken Tamil mixed with a healthy dose of Malayalam—which really shouldn’t be sexy—he answers their questions and laughs at their jokes. I step to the side and watch.

Patrick says hockey isn’t appreciated like cricket is, but in the short time he’s been here, people have recognised him. They stop to talk and take selfies. They care. It might not be as much as other sports, but people know who he is and they’re excited someone who came home with a bronze medal is hanging out with them.

When they finally disperse and others start to pay attention, he insists we get off the promenade. I cling to him as we wade through the parked cars and oncoming vehicles to get to the other side where the food trucks are set up. He doesn’t speak until he’s able to adjust his cap to cover his face and even then, it’s pointless. A man like Patrick can’t hide in plain sight, no matter what disguise he tries to use. But I let him believe he’s fine, otherwise we’ll be rushing home and he won’t get to eat at one of my favourite trucks.

“The Momotarian?1?”

“Cute, right?”

He chuckles as we stand in queue and I pull up the menu on my phone. I’ve been here so many times, I know their offerings by heart and the staff know me pretty well too. On either side of the truck they’ve set up plastic stools and high tables for customers. Their truck is much bigger than most of the ones that come by Elliot’s Beach, so they make the most of the space with seating. It’s one of the reasons they’re always crowded. The other is their Fomo Momo Sauce. It’s insanely spicy and despite my every effort to find out what they put in it, they keep it a secret.

When it’s our turn, the staff cheer. “Miss Chandy! Long time.”

I laugh. “Work’s been hectic and life has been…crazy.”

“You have a date?” one of them asks, gesturing to Patrick.

“New roommate,” I offer and they shake his hand. “Know what you want?”

Patrick shrugs. “Why don’t you order for the both of us.”

I rattle off my usual order of mixed momos with extra sauce and a plate of chicken momo?2 in case he’s very hungry. I ask for two bottles of lime goli soda?3, because we’re gonna need them. Before I can pay, Patrick has his phone up to the QR code and takes the bill when it’s handed to him. I huff and pout, but he just leads me to a group of stools.

“This was supposed to be my treat.”

He smiles and sits beside me, the plastic creaking under his size. “You can pay next time.”

“Will you really let me?”

“I might. Since we’re only roommates.”

I roll my eyes and shove him. The man is built like a mountain so he doesn’t even flinch. The corner of his mouth is still tipped up and I frown. “What?”

“This is good. I like this.” At my puzzled expression, he gestures between us. “You and me. Walking by the beach, eating momos. It’s like old times.”

My smile falls at the reminder, but I nod. This is why I don’t want my head and heart to get involved. The memories, the feelings are too much to ignore. We’ve got so much history and while it’s easy to say ‘just tell him what’s going on’, I’m not ready for the fall out. What if he says he didn’t want me back then, but he does now? What if the boy I was in love with isn’t the man sitting beside me? There’s so much neither of us are saying and I’m starting to accept maybe that’s okay. We can live in this awkward balance for the next six months, then find a way to make it work once the baby arrives.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have brought it up.”

More importantly, I can’t keep shutting down when he references our past. I shake my head and offer him a small smile. “No, you’re fine. It does feel like old times, it’s a little disconcerting. But I do agree. This is good.”

Baby steps, pun intended.

“Yeah?”

I nod. “Better than me fighting with you, right?”

He chuckles, but the sound is hollow. A young girl hurries over and sets a plate of momos on another stool, then leaves. I glance at Patrick and he looks deep in thought.

“Trick?”

“Yeah, Lo.”

There’s something so comforting about the way he says it. Lo is softer than Lotus or Tamara. It’s a cosy blanket that keeps me safe. I blink back a surprise bout of tears and say, “You okay?”