45. A MAN NAMED VICKY

A few hours before I meet Vicky, I sit at the computer and think. Yesterday when we were finalizing our date, he asked what brought me to New York. His query caught me off guard. I mean, of course, there is Manhattan herself. But admitting, “I’m looking for my husband,” to a man, even one from a desi matrimonial Website, is going to send him running for the hills of Rajasthan. But it has me wondering. Do I disclose my writing aspiration? Do I confess to being more focused on pleasing my family than myself? Exactly how honest do I have to be with strangers?

The phone rings. Caller id says it’s Jack (Posts 14, 12, 9, 7, 2) and I pick up. “Hey! What’s up?” I say. “Do you want to see a movie tonight?” he asks. “I’d love to but I have a date! He’s coming back from Philly tonight.” “Has he called you today?” Jack inquires. “No, why?” I ask. “Have you been outside?” “No, I work from home. I can go days without leaving the apartment,” I state. “There’s damn near a monsoon coming through the Tri-State,” Jack says.

What? I bolt out of my chair and pull the curtain back. Hai bhagvan! Jack wasn’t joking. Sheets of rain cover everything in a wet, greyness. A light sprinkle in the City creates train/subway delays, accidents on the West Side Highway, and pond-sized puddles. But a real storm with lighting and thunder brings Manhattan traffic to a grinding halt, taxis are impossible to hail, train signals malfunction and airport delays can become cancellations. Is Mother Nature conspiring against me by stranding my date? That beeyatch!

As I watch the rain fall, Vicky texts me. Sure as sugar, he has no idea when he is leaving Philly. I text him back and tell him that I am free tomorrow in the afternoon.

Though I never heard from him again, I hope he made it back from the City of Brotherly Love. It’s okay anyway. How serious could I get with a man named Vicky?