The Arrangement

Chapter

One

Leather and Wood is a trendy, upscale restaurant on the corner of Clay and Polk Streets in the heart of San Francisco. It’s a small building with huge, street-facing windows, through which its patrons enjoy observing passers-by during the evening cocktail hour. If you were to have passed Leather and Wood at 7:47 p.m. on January fifteenth, in a year not too far removed from this one, you might have seen a man sitting alone at a table in the center of the restaurant. This man’s name was Arjun Chowdhury, and he really, really needed to pee.

Since arriving at the restaurant, Arjun had ordered seven glasses of water, hold the ice (he’d read once that restaurant ice machines were seldom cleaned). To the casual onlooker, this might seem an inordinately large amount to drink before eating—but Arjun had been sitting at his table alone for exactly forty-seven minutes, and he had nothing better to do.

He did not usually come to restaurants like this, where the dim overhead lighting suggested a mine shaft, and the small steel chairs had small steel arms that dug uncomfortably into his sides. He was not a fan of cocktails with such obnoxiously punny names as Tequila Mockingbird and Lavender Vida Loca, nor their inexplicable eighteen-dollar price tag. He liked least of all the other clientele, whose perfectly paired-up presence seemed to rub it in his face that he was the only single person in this entire restaurant. And this, of course, was the sole reason that Arjun had come to Leather and Wood in the first place: because it was, in the words of the San Francisco Current, The perfect location for a first date.

Arjun checked his watch again. It was 7:48 now. The couple at the table next to him touched ankles and twined their feet together, like birds in a mating ritual.

The waitress came by again. She was older than the other servers in this restaurant, with various colorful pins tacked to her black apron and her gray-streaked hair spun into a messy bun. More water? she asked, holding up a carafe. She wore the same pitying expression she’d had the last three times she’d come by.

I’m good for now, he said, smiling awkwardly. He felt oddly impotent in that moment, like a stray puppy dumped unceremoniously on the restaurant’s doorstep, yet another problem for this poor waitress to deal with.

If she was annoyed, she didn’t show it. Of course, she replied pleasantly. And do you know when you might be ready to order?

I’m still waiting on someone.

The waitress opened her mouth as if to say something—instead, she nodded dubiously and turned to leave.

How long is too long to wait for a date, do you think? Arjun blurted, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.

She stopped and looked thoughtfully at him. You’ve been here for an hour now? she asked.

Forty-nine minutes.

And have you heard anything from this person? A call, a text—maybe even an email? He shook his head, and the waitress smiled sympathetically. I’m sorry to tell you, but there’s a line between lateness and negligence. Your date crossed that line half an hour ago.

Arjun nodded. That seems about right, he said miserably. He stood up, handed the waitress a twenty for her trouble, and asked her where he could find the bathroom.

The light was Arjun’s favorite thing about San Francisco. It had layers here, like panes of colored glass laid one over the other. Gray fog swept over the soft yellow glow of the streetlights, and above the rolling hills soared the inky purple sky. The night was chilly, with a hint of humidity that suggested impending rain, and Arjun slipped into his blue puffer jacket and stuck his hands into his pockets.

This date had been only the latest in a string of disappointments. There had been setups with friends-of-friends and matches concocted by algorithms on dating apps. The San Francisco chapter of the Yale Alumni Association held mixers, and he had spent countless nights riding a barstool, hoping that The One would walk in and notice him. Of course, The One had never shown up—or, if she had, she’d taken one look at him and passed right by.

Arjun wondered if he’d ever find out what happened to tonight’s date. Maybe she really had run into a problem. He pictured a variety of scenarios: a woman plummeting down a crevasse or being pursued by a hungry polar bear. Or maybe she’d gone to another Leather and Wood…although, to Arjun’s knowledge, the only other restaurant with that name was in New York City.

No use fantasizing, he thought, resigning himself to never knowing the real answer. Of course, he could ask Kelley, his assistant, who’d set up the date—but he knew he’d be too embarrassed to tell her that he’d been stood up.

Arjun realized that he was inordinately disappointed—after all, this was just a blind date. He hadn’t even known what the woman looked like, only that she was a brunette named Allison who at one point had been Kelley’s roommate (And just so you know, Kelley had qualified, "she wasn’t a particularly good roommate, either").

So why was he upset, then? Arjun knew it wasn’t this invisible Allison who had this power over his emotions. It was the day itself that troubled him: January fifteenth. Arjun was twenty-nine years old, and tomorrow was his thirtieth birthday.

By this time in his life, Arjun had always expected to have found his One True Love and to be married. He might have even been a father. And why not? His father had married his mother at twenty-eight and had Arjun at twenty-nine. And yet…here Arjun was, on the eve of the big Three-Oh, with no prospects in sight. Incomplete, he thought, imagining a hole tearing through his chest, a void where a vital organ should be.

Perhaps this is how it’s meant to be, he mused. The realization cut like a knife. Arjun knew that some people remained alone for their entire lives…he’d just never thought he would be one of them. You’re still young, he told himself—but, for the first time, that answer did not seem sufficient.

It was a short walk back to his condo in the posh Rincon Hill neighborhood beside the Embarcadero. Arjun’s condo stood in a row of buildings all lined up neatly along a tree-lined avenue; up above, the tip of the Salesforce tower swirled in fog, pulsing with bright blue light.

The metal gate leading to the condos’ entrance was usually locked, but a brick propped it open tonight. Arjun passed through and fished in his pocket for his keys. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the couch, flick on the television, and unplug his mind until he fell asleep. He stepped up the stoop to his front door, turned the lock, and pushed the door open.

The living room exploded with light and noise, nearly blasting him back outside. People leaped from behind the couch, trumpeting kazoos; a hail of confetti rained from the entryway closet. Arjun’s kitchen island was covered in gigantic bottles of alcohol and hotel trays containing all of his favorite foods: mac and cheese from Chez Maman, brownies from Tartine—even a whole tray of bright-orange chicken tikka masala. His initial shock wore off as he recognized the people inside: his friends, practically all of them, crowded into his apartment. He felt a smile stretch across his face as he saw his best friend, Dan, leading a rendition of Happy Birthday—and, instantly, he forgot all about his troubles. He was content to nod along to the music, spread his arms wide, and bask in the company of his friends.

When the music finished, Dan approached Arjun and thrust a bottle of Captain Morgan into his arms. The man of the hour! he crowed. Arjun and I have been friends since we were fourteen years old. And tomorrow, he’s thirty—so, let’s make sure he rings in the next decade with the biggest hangover of his life!

A hearty laugh boomed from the crowd, and then Arjun’s friends began chanting: Speech, speech, speech!

Of course, he had nothing prepared. He cleared his throat, planning to extemporize something. Instead, he just unscrewed the bottle cap. Buoyed by a tide of cheers, he began to drink.

It was two in the morning by the time the last stragglers got in their cabs to go home. Arjun’s condo looked like one of those fraternity basements he’d been so careful to avoid in college. The air was redolent of spilled beer and pot smoke. The trash can overflowed with empty beer cans, and drained liquor bottles hid in strange spots all over the apartment: atop the fridge and inside the cabinets, squeezed between couch cushions, and perched on the windowsill like cats. The trays on the kitchen island were still half full, and Arjun knew he should empty them before they began to smell. Later, he promised himself, crashing backward onto his couch. He hadn’t drunk this much since college, and his head felt full of static, like an old television switched to the wrong input.

Dan slouched next to Arjun and checked his phone. It’s after midnight, he announced. You’re officially thirty.

Arjun groaned. Don’t remind me.

Come on, coaxed Dan, punching his arm. Thirty is a great age to be. All of this. He gestured around at Arjun’s trashed apartment—we never have to do it again, if we don’t want to.

Except for your wedding, of course.

I should have mentioned that. Yes, we’re getting sloshed that weekend.

"It was a great party, said Arjun. Thank you for putting it all together."

A toilet flushed, and a set of footsteps sounded down the hallway. Dan’s fiancée, Erica, strode into the living area. Her blonde hair was covered in glitter, and it shimmered as she threw it behind her shoulders. "You really think he put all of this together?" she asked. She sat on Dan’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I thought I would give Dan at least some credit, Arjun said, grinning mischievously. Seriously, what would I do without you guys?"

She shrugged. You’d probably never have fun again. Are you planning on cleaning any of this up?

Later, Arjun replied, waving his hand. He was too tired for any of Erica’s suggestions now, sensible though they might be. There was practically a siren song emanating from his bedroom, calling him to sleep.

Come on, no use in putting it off, chided Erica, getting up. You don’t want to start off your thirties in a pigsty, do you?

He sighed. No, I suppose not. He rose, ambled over to the kitchen, and started taking storage containers out of the cabinets.

You guys go ahead, Dan said, yawning hugely. I’m going to crash in the guest room.

Erica shot him a withering glance. "I meant after I helped you guys clean up," Dan added hastily.

The doorbell trilled. Someone must have forgotten their phone or something, said Arjun, spooning leftover macaroni into an old yogurt tub.

I’ve got it, Dan said, walking to the front door. He looked through the peephole and recoiled as if it had burned him. "Arjun."

What is it? Arjun replied. Not the naked homeless guy again?

"No, dude. It’s your mom."

He frowned. My mom? he repeated. Why would she be in San Francisco?

I don’t know—but that’s definitely her.

Arjun strode over to the door and peered through the peephole. Sure enough, his mother was standing on his doorstep, dressed in a puffy white coat and Prada sunglasses—even though the only light outside came from the security camera. There was a purple roller bag on the stoop beside her. She rang the doorbell again, thrice this time: dingdingding.

Arjun? she called, shouting in case the doorbell hadn’t worked. Aaaaarrrjuuuuunnnn. She began ringing the doorbell even faster now, like an overzealous Jeopardy contestant.

What are you going to do? hissed Dan, his breath hot in Arjun’s ear.

Arjun closed his eyes and pinched the spot between his eyebrows. Even though his mother was still on the other side of the door, he could already feel the alcohol’s effects ebbing away in her presence. You can’t just leave her out there, said Dan.

I know, Arjun replied. He turned the lock and opened the door to the hurricane standing on his stoop.

Dr. Sarita Chowdhury, MD, was not supposed to be here. She and Arjun had spoken just that afternoon, and she’d been between patients at her private practice psychiatry clinic in Des Moines. Sarita was not the type of woman to withhold details, especially when it came to her only son—but, for whatever reason, she’d kept quiet about her flight to San Francisco.

She stepped into the apartment, handing Arjun her Gucci handbag and surveying the scene. Her lips curled with distaste. I see that the festivities have already begun, she said. She turned and noticed Arjun’s friends sitting awkwardly at the kitchen island, and she beamed. And Dan and Erica are here. Come here, you two. The pair stepped forward and allowed Sarita to embrace them. How are you? she asked. When’s the wedding?

We’re still setting a date, said Dan, rubbing the back of his neck.

Still setting a date? Sarita shot back. This is too much, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve been dating since high school. I remember you two in my basement, making Arjun so uncomfortable with all of your kissing. Arjun shot his mother a poisonous look. She only smiled, impervious to such glances from her son.

Dan chuckled uncomfortably. Let me get your suitcase, he said, taking the opportunity to move out of Sarita’s appraising gaze. He rolled the suitcase down the hallway to the guest bedroom.

And how are you, Erica? asked Sarita, shifting her attention to Dan’s fiancée. Are you still enjoying your residency?

I don’t know about ‘enjoying,’ Erica laughed. But it’s moving along. Thankfully, pediatrics residency is only three years.

Sarita smiled knowingly. I always tell Arjun how proud I am of you. I always wanted him to be a doctor, you know. It makes me so happy that his good friend is pursuing it instead.

Arjun grimaced. Yes, Mom. We’re all very happy for Erica.

Dan returned from the hallway. It was great to see you, Dr. C., he said, rubbing his hands together. But Erica and I should really get going.

So soon? asked Sarita. There was genuine disappointment in her voice.

I’m afraid so, Dan replied, stifling a yawn for effect.

"Well, I brought some kaju katli for you two, Sarita said. Erica, I remember you always used to like it. She gestured for her handbag and drew out a multicolored cardboard box. Enjoy, dears."

Thanks, Dr. C., said Erica, accepting the sweets. She and Dan bade farewell to Arjun and his mother, then donned their coats and stepped outside.

Arjun turned his attention back to Sarita. Well, this is unexpected, he said, draping the trays of food in cling wrap and sliding them into the refrigerator.

A welcome surprise, I hope.

I wish you would’ve called. I could have tidied the place up. Or gotten you a hotel.

"Psh. A hotel? I’m not a stranger, Arjun. And believe me, your room was much messier in high school."

Sarita kicked off her flats and sat at one of the bar stools by the kitchen island. She was a head shorter than Arjun, with a bob of shiny black hair, and once sitting, she was even shorter. Her height made her no less formidable.

I would love something to drink, by the way, she said pointedly. It was a long flight from Des Moines. Arjun’s mother liked sparkling water, and he walked to the fridge to get some. He cursed under his breath. He’d meant to go shopping but forgot, and the fridge was empty.

I’m out of sparkling water. But I have beer, he suggested, proffering one of the few lukewarm cans remaining on the counter.

Do I look like a sorority girl to you?

He sighed. How’s tap, then?

Do you have a filter?

It’s San Francisco, Mom. That’s not really a thing here.

If you say so, Sarita replied dubiously. Arjun filled a glass from the sink and set it on the counter in front of her. He stood across the kitchen island, leaning his weight on both arms.

Mom, is everything all right? he blurted. Are you sick?

Sarita laughed. Why is that always your first line of thinking? Of course, everything’s all right. Can’t a mother come to surprise her son on his birthday?

That’s not really why you came, is it? he asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Sarita rolled her eyes. Honestly, Arjun, she purred, you make me out to be some kind of cartoon villain. You know, I don’t always have an ulterior motive.

Arjun sighed with relief. She’s just here for my birthday. Of course, that’s what it was! Thirty was a big one, wasn’t it? No wonder she’d come all this way. Arjun smiled and kissed his mother on the forehead.

Sarita sipped her sparkling water. All right, perhaps I do have an ulterior motive, she admitted. She inhaled sharply and fixed her gaze solidly on her son. I want to find you a girl.

He frowned. You want to find me...a girl? he repeated. For what?

For marriage, of course! said Sarita, laughing. I mean, don’t you think it’s time?

No, Arjun said reflexively. For the thousandth time, Mom—I’m not getting an arranged marriage.

She grunted with exasperation and rose from her seat. I still don’t understand your hesitation, Arjun. It’s not like I’d be marching you down the aisle at gunpoint. I’d simply be…making an introduction. Finding you a suitable girl, a compatible girl. Taking out all of the guesswork. Doesn’t that sound better than…whatever you’ve been doing? She waved vaguely at the mess.

Arjun noted the judgment in his mother’s voice. Or perhaps it was frustration. After all, this wasn’t the first time she’d offered to arrange a marriage for him. Her pleas had only become more frequent as he neared thirty, and each time he’d refused point-blank. This is America, he would explain, and people get to find their own spouses here.

Still, his mother was an Indian mother, and meddling in her son’s life was hardwired into her DNA. I’m not having this discussion with you, he said for the umpteenth time, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Sarita sighed. You’ve always been difficult, you know, she said. Can’t you, for once, listen to your mother?

Arjun shook his head. I love you, Mom…but this is the one area where I don’t want your help.

"And when will you want my help? she countered with sudden forcefulness. When you’re forty, and no one wants you anymore? When you’re too old to play with your kids? He didn’t reply, and, sensing an opening, she pressed her advantage. You are ready now, she said. You have your looks, your health, and all the success in the world. Trust me, beta. I know what’s best for you."

"I will never want an arranged marriage, he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. Never ever. I don’t know how I can make that any clearer to you."

Sarita sat down again and looked disconsolately at the floor. Arjun felt guilt flood over him—and, as always, he went to his mother. It’s fine, Mom, he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. There’s still plenty of time for me to find someone.

She brushed his hand away and looked up at him. No, she said, and her voice was full of sadness. "You’re thirty."

Chapter

Two

H ow was your weekend, Kelley? asked Arjun, striding into the brightly colored offices of Pay Systems, Incorporated.

Same old, same old, his assistant replied, her beach-ball belly looking like it might burst at any moment. She bounced up and down on the exercise ball Arjun had bought for her, which he’d read would help relieve back pain during pregnancy. Cramps, mostly. I had a really strong craving for steak, too, which is strange because I’m a vegetarian. Do you think that’s weird?

He thought about it for a moment. I have no idea, he decided. So, did you get your steak?

She grinned wolfishly. Extra bloody.

He laughed. "Now, that’s weird."

Kelley’s desk was right outside Arjun’s corner office: a glass cubicle overlooking California Street, with a view of the Ferry Building in the distance. She swung herself off of the ball and waddled in after him. So, what’s on the docket today? Arjun asked, sitting.

Kelley swiped her phone a few times. I just emailed you your itinerary, she said. You have a meeting with Mark Thayer from Regulon at four. Other than that, you’re pretty much free, although Jason in HR has some forms for you to fill out.

I have them right here, said Arjun, reaching into his desk drawer for the manila folder that Jason had dropped off on Friday evening.

Kelley grimaced and clutched at her spine. Are you sure you don’t want to go home, Kelley? he asked, rising as though he might need to catch her if she fell. Honestly, if you need to rest⁠—

I’m fine, she replied, waving her hand. She winced suddenly. Okay, maybe I’m not totally fine. Distract me. Tell me how your date was with Allison. Did you two hit it off?

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I had to cancel, actually, he lied. My friends threw me a surprise party, so I couldn’t go.

She raised an eyebrow. A surprise party? What for?

He smiled sheepishly. I turned thirty this weekend.

"Thirty? she exclaimed, as though Arjun had announced instead that he’d spontaneously grown a tail. Happy belated birthday! God, Arjun, I’m so sorry I forgot!"

Really, it’s no trouble, he said. I try not to make a fuss about my birthday, anyway.

"Well, maybe any other birthday, she replied. But thirty is the exception, isn’t it? That’s a big milestone. Huge."

If you say so, he said, thinking briefly of his conversation with his mother. It isn’t a big deal, he told himself. Thirty is just a number.

I’m sure you can reschedule the date, Kelley said. I can ask Allison again, if you’d like?

I don’t think that will be necessary, Arjun replied, wanting to terminate the conversation about Allison as quickly as possible. But thanks, anyway.

Of course, she said, returning to her desk for a well-deserved nap.

While Kelley dozed off outside his office, Arjun opened his laptop and found the bookmarked page he’d been obsessing over for the past month. He sighed, staring longingly at the screen. Is today the day? he wondered, scrolling past pictures of empty storefronts. Am I actually going to do it?

As long as Arjun could remember, he’d wanted his own restaurant. He spent summers in India as a child and remembered going to the market with his grandfather in Hyderabad. The sun would still be rising, but the narrow alleyways were packed with people and produce. Different kinds of colorful vegetables were laid out at dozens of stalls, and vendors stood before each one,