Wait for Me by Diana Persaud

his present.
    I’ll just leave this on the porch. I wouldn’t want to disturb her date.
    He slammed the door shut. He walked by a dark gray Nissan Maxima, carrying a potted plant.
    In state plates. Nice rims. Clean interior. A map. A visitor from her past?
    Sanjay?
    He squeezed the pot as he headed to the front door. He stood on her porch and jammed his finger on the door bell, imagining it was Sanjay’s eye.
    What’s taking her so long to answer the fucking door?
    Impatient, he rang the door bell again.
    “Tommy, what are you doing here?” Anjali demanded in a loud whisper.
    She stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind her.
    The muscle in his jaw twitched. What are you hiding, he wanted to ask. Afraid of the answer, he kept his mouth clamped shut. He felt like a dirty secret, standing in the dark shadows of her front stoop.
    “Is this plant for me?” she asked.
    Her shoulders were tense.
    “It’s butterfly weed. It attracts butterflies. I thought you might like it for your garden.”
    Her eyes softened and she reached for the pot.
    “That is so sweet. I—”
    The door opened. Soft amber light filled the front stoop, revealing his presence.
    “Beti, what are you doing out here?” a dark skinned man asked.
    He frowned with disapproval.
    “Who is this?” he demanded.
    “Dad, this is my…neighbor, Tom. Tom, my father.”
    Confused by her timid voice, he gazed at her face. Her eyes were unnaturally focused on the butterfly weed.
    She’s ashamed of me. That’s why she won’t move in with me.
    A small knot formed in his stomach.
    She’s just having a good time until someone better comes along.
    He stuck out his hand and shook her father’s hand.
    “Beti, why stand outside in the dark with your neighbor? People will talk about you and ruin your reputation.”
    “Dad,” she said, not bothering to hide her exasperation.
    “Nobody is talking about me. People around here mind their own business.”
    “That is exactly what is wrong with society nowadays. No one adheres to-”
    An older version of Anjali appeared.
    “Beti? What is taking so long? Dinner is getting—” She stopped mid sentence, eying him suspiciously.
    Anjali shifted, her nervousness confirming her mother’s suspicion.
    “I’m Tom. Anjali’s neighbor .”
    From the corner of his eye, he saw her lips press together, forming a fine line. Her mother smiled pleasantly, though her smile didn’t quite reach her watchful eyes.
    “Won’t you join us for dinner, neighbor Tom?”
    “Ma, I’m sure Tom has other—”
    “I’d love to,” he interrupted.
    He followed Anjali’s mother into her dining room. Earthy, exotic spices filled the room, making his nose tickle.
    “We’re having chicken curry for dinner. I’ll get you a plate,” Mrs. Singh said.
    Her father sat at the head of the table and Anjali sat next to him. Her mother placed him across from Anjali and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Was it because she remembered how he’d bent her over this very spot just a few hours ago? She hadn’t been ashamed of him then. She’d begged for his cock.
    Or had she been thinking of someone else?
    His fingers trailed lightly over the embroidered fabric.
    “This is a lovely table cloth,” he said. “But it’s a shame to cover the beauty of the wood.”
    Her eyes widened. She lowered her head before her father caught her response.
    “We cover the wood to preserve it,” Mr. Singh replied.
    Mrs. Singh picked up his plate and served her husband.
    “I prefer a lovely table cloth than plain wood,” Mrs. Singh added while serving herself.
    “I prefer the raw beauty of the wood. Don’t you, Anjali?”
    Her cheeks bloomed bright red and she shrugged. Mrs. Singh sat across from her husband, her lips pressed flat.
    Anjali chewed on her bottom lip while she stared at her empty plate, her cheeks flushed.
    “Aren’t you going to serve him, Beti?” Mrs. Singh asked.
    Guilt made him wince when he caught the deep red color of her