“Yes, let’s celebrate your anniversary today,” Malathi said.

“So be it,” Murthy said, and beckoned to the waiter.

The deed had been done; it was too late to withdraw from the evening. Sukanya squelched the worry that bubbled to the surface as she watched everyone discuss choices from the menu. The hostess was called in for expert advice. By the time the waiter came to her, Sukanya settled back to make the best of the evening. The details of the prank played on Murthy were repeated in earnest detail, each one lauding the other on their contributions to the charade.

“How did you know about Mr. Richardson?” Sukanya asked Sivarajan.

“I met Murthy in Bangalore last week and he told me his grand plans,” he said.

Ah, his pipe dreams. Murthy kept the conversation going, not missing a step in the badly choreographed evening. He cleared the table in front of him while he elaborated on his business plan to his friends using plates, forks, knives, and spoons to show the complicated world of networks, servers, web domains and routers. Business models were configured and reconfigured by the mere removal of a fork or the addition of a spoon. Soon all the delicate bone-china plates mapped Murthy’s path to success. When the waiter arrived with their order, the business model was collapsed and plates went from being network servers to being served on. Only the rapid shaking of Murthy’s left leg under the table revealed his distress.

In the past Sukanya would have placed her hand on his thigh and stilled it, but now she would have to reach across a void to still his agitation. Instead she reached for dishes she wanted to try; she smacked her lips and urged Murthy to try her choices; she called the waiter to ask him about the ingredients in each dish. She hoped her desperation would be masked by her vociferous appreciation of the choice of restaurant and company.

*

After the business plan had been relegated to its proper place by the arrival of their food, Murthy saw his sure thing recede into the background. He watched with appreciation as Sukanya took charge of the evening. As she leaned forward, he caught a faint whiff of her familiar sandalwood and basil talc. She didn’t care; maybe she was relieved by this public humiliation of his dreams — relieved that he wouldn’t go to her for money again. This time he intended to keep his promise. This was all a bad dream. He squinted his eyes against the dim lighting of the restaurant and willed Sivarajan to turn into Mr. Richardson. Instead the white metal Thai statues and raw silk paintings that formed the restaurant’s décor wavered before his half-shut eyes. 

*

Sukanya’s right hand felt weighed down, even though she was done with the meal and was no longer holding a fork or spoon. She willed it to stay on her lap. If she reached out to stop Murthy’s shaking knee, it would be like admonishing him in public. Determined not to look at him, she did not notice that the waiter had brought the check.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Sivarajan tried to grab the check, but Murthy got it first.

“It’s my anniversary,” Murthy said.

“But I won the bet. Dinner is on me,” said Sivarajan.

The others tried to persuade Murthy, but none saw the vigorous shaking of his left leg. Sukanya turned away.