I watched outside the sliding glass door of the ski chalet as Priya stepped into her room. It was cold outside, and I was eager to get inside and warm up. Warm up inside of her: she wore a white bathrobe set off beautifully against her olive skin, tied carelessly at the waist and almost giving anyone spying on her a glimpse of her dusky breasts.
Here I was. I was going to rape her.
Let me back up. It’s not what you think.
The fact is, Priya and I grew up together. We lived next door to each other from the time we were toddlers till… Well, forever. Our parents still live next door, and are close friends. As kids, we always played together, going over to one another’s houses constantly, having family barbecues weekly, walking to school together and doing homework in each other’s rooms.
As you might imagine, we drifted apart as we got older.
Yet, if this change were apparent to our parents, they gave no indication. If I were ever home on a Friday or Saturday night, they’d casually suggest I call Priya and see if she were busy. I’m sure both sets of parents fantasized about us getting married, and family vacations together with a cadre of Irish-Indian kids toddling around.