Chapter 49 #2
“How so?” She spots one last chair in the corner, the one she’d taken from a classroom. She goes over to grab it.
Rajan reaches it first. In unison they walk out into the school hallway, him dragging the chair by the backrest. “Well, you were so busy tonight you didn’t notice two of them snuck out to smoke weed before dessert.
Chicks were high as a kite while you were handing them cake.
Does that make you regret hosting this thing? ”
“No. It must’ve been a stressful day.”
“This other dude was making fun of the way Paul talks. And someone else had to be seated at a different table from this other guy because they were about to get into a fight. Almost turned your little dinner into a WWE match. Does that make you feel stupid for hosting this?”
“No, Rajan.”
“Another one was shoving the cutlery into his jacket pockets. That’s why they had to keep restocking table three.”
Simran is starting to enjoy this game. “They were fancy forks. I’ll be sure to pay those compliments forward to the caterer.”
“Stop fucking smiling!” While Simran unlocks the classroom door, Rajan drops the chair. “You’re not getting it. You can’t fix them, and they won’t appreciate you trying.”
“I’m not trying to fix them. I’m giving them the grace everyone should get when they make mistakes.”
“They’ll take advantage of it. It’ll make your life miserable.”
“I think I get to decide how much I’m willing to put up with.”
“You’re pissing me off,” he says. “You’re pissing me off so bad right now.”
Her smile grows. She pushes the door open, flicks on the light. “Why are you here if you think it’s so stupid?”
“Because it’s not.” He sighs and parks the chair in front of its desk. “It’s not stupid, because it’s you, and somehow when you’re like this it’s not annoying, it’s...” He makes a frustrated sound. “It actually makes them want to be a better person.”
Then he looks at her, gaze warmer than sunshine. She finds herself flustered, and whips off her glasses to polish them on her shirt. But the fancy, satiny material only makes the smudging worse.
Rajan watches her attempts for several seconds. “Give them to me.”
She hands them over. He brings the glasses to his parted lips, nearly kissing them before he exhales, his breath sweeping over the lenses and fogging them. Heat sweeps over the back of her neck as if his mouth is there, too.
He wipes the lenses with the hem of his shirt and hands them back. She puts them on. Suddenly, her vision is crystal clear. “I missed you.”
She fully expects him to recoil like last time, to suggest they go, but he doesn’t. He seems unusually pensive instead. He hops onto a desk and pats the one beside him. “Sit up here for a sec. I wanna ask you something.”
She obliges, heart thudding. Is this it? Is this where they acknowledge what happened and say goodbye forever? “What is it?”
He leans back on his hands. “Do I make you happy?”
Simran blinks. For several seconds, the only sound is the classroom clock ticking loudly at the front of the room. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Just answer,” he says. “Not like, do I turn you on, or make you laugh at some stupid joke, but do I really make you happy?”
Her chest aches. How could he even question that? “Of course you do.”
“Even if your life imploded because of me?”
“It didn’t.”
“Really? Because the fact that you almost died, the fact that everybody will gossip about us forever, the fact that you fought with your mom, that’s because of me—”
“No, it’s not,” Simran interrupts. “That all happened because of my ego and my lying and my mistakes. If there’s anything that happened because of you, it’s that I’m here alive today.
It’s that even when I didn’t listen, you were still there to help.
It’s that I know it’s possible to keep going after the worst has happened.
Because you’ve shown me that every day.”
Rajan smiles dryly. “You’re laying it on kinda thick, Sahiba.”
“It’s true. I learn from you all the time.
” Simran tentatively moves closer. He doesn’t pull away.
“You’re smart in so many ways I’m not. And you’re kind despite everything you’ve been through.
” After what happened with her mother, Simran appreciates that even more.
His ability to maintain levity and an open heart.
His courage to. “Of course I want to be like that.”
“Nobody’s ever wanted to be like me.”
“Well, I do.”
Rajan’s quiet for a long time, his brow furrowed now. She draws a breath to say more, though she doesn’t know what else she would say; she’s just terrified that if she stops talking he’ll leave her side.
But he speaks first. “You should go to UBC.”
She blinks. “What?”
“That letter in your truck,” he says. “From the math prof. You should email them back. Tell them you changed your mind. Beg them to let you transfer.”
She doesn’t understand. That conversation was forever ago. “You...You want me to leave?”
“No,” he says, and repeats, sounding anguished, “No, Sahiba, I don’t ever want you to leave.
But you should. You should go to Vancouver and level up to the sort of math nerd you’ve always wanted to be, and I should stay here and go back to school like Kat has been telling me to do, and you should rejoin debate and I should teach my brothers how to play baseball.
We should both...We should...” He takes a breath. “Live.”
Simran’s already shaking her head. These are arguments she shut down long ago. She’s not sure she can bear to open them again. “I am living.”
“Yes, but not the way you want,” he argues. “I know you, Sahiba. You need a challenge. You’ll be miserable here. Did your parents not let you go before?”
“I never told them,” she whispers. “They would’ve let me. But they would be unhappy.”
“Then let them be,” Rajan says firmly. “Let them, and me, and whoever else, be unhappy you’re not around twenty-four seven. Jesus Christ. You’re not in charge of our happiness. We are. And it’s better for all of us not to be dependent on you. Go, okay? Go.”
His gentle urging has tears forming in her eyes and she doesn’t know why. She didn’t realize how much she needed it; for someone she cared about to not only tolerate her dreams but encourage them.
And why shouldn’t she go? Rajan, clearly, has made the choice to hope again.
She sees it now; a lightness, a peace about him that wasn’t there before.
That somehow, since the last time she saw him, he’s forgiven himself for the things he couldn’t control.
And maybe even for some of the things he could.
If he can do that, she can do this.
Simran finds her voice. “Okay. I’ll go.”
His eyes clear entirely. No more words from him; he leans in and kisses her.
It’s different from last time. He is gentle in a way that makes her burn—none of the desperation, all of the heat.
Her chest aches in a good way, a hollow place refilling.
She clutches at his Hillway shirt, and he pulls her closer, unhurried.
Half on this desk, half in his arms—but she’s not worried about falling. She always feels safe with him.
It’s too soon when he pulls away. “Listen,” he says roughly. “Just listen, okay?”
She nods, their noses nearly brushing. He takes a deep breath.
“I’m scared shitless I’ll screw up, and you’ll wake up one day and realize you can’t take it anymore.
” His voice becomes raspy. “I’m even more scared that you won’t.
But if I can stop myself from screwing up, then I will.
And I think this is part of it. You, me, we both need balance.
I want to be part of yours. Even if I can’t be someone your parents like.
Or claim to understand math. Or play tabla like that prick Jassa, or—Dude, stop laughing at me—”
She’s trying not to, truly. “Is this really what you worry about?” She cups his face. “I don’t want a carbon copy of me. I want you.”
At that, any tension remaining in his body dissipates. His hand runs down her braid, wrapping it around his wrist. “Simran.”
Sim-ruhn. Again, her heart flutters. “What?”
“I’m so fuckin’ glad I failed eighth-grade math.” Then he takes her leg and swings it fully over his lap, and they don’t talk again for a while.
Later, Simran finishes locking up and finds her dad’s car waiting in the Northridge parking lot. She wonders if he saw Rajan leave through the same exit. She doesn’t feel the fear she used to about that.
“Where’s Kiran?” she asks when she gets in.
“She asked me to pick you up. I think she’s busy.” Her father sighs. “She didn’t explain, as usual.”
Something about his defeated tone compels Simran to speak.
After all, Kiran stood up for her back at the party.
It’s time she does the same. “You know,” she says casually, “that fight she had with you guys last year—she’s not refusing to get married to spite you.
It’s just not in the cards for her. She’s asexual. ”
“What does that mean?” She tells him, and he nods slowly. “Why didn’t she say?”
“I think she thought you wouldn’t understand things like...” Simran picks at a loose thread on her shirt, feeling slightly awkward. “Sexuality and stuff.”
“Why wouldn’t I? Kiran is by no means the first.” He strokes his beard.
“Not everyone from my village did things the traditional way, you know. My father’s cousin lived with his best friend his whole life.
They were like second parents to all the village children.
Including me.” Simran must look surprised because he gently adds, “Just because we don’t use the same terminology as you doesn’t mean we’re backward. ”
She nods, chastised, but then points out, “You and Mom always acted like me and Kiran were going to marry men, though.”
He sits back. “That is true,” he acknowledges, similarly chastised. “I still have things to learn. About that, and more.” He turns to face her. “I spoke to Kiran after the engagement party. She made me understand some things about you, too. We’ve put too much pressure on you.”
“It’s fine—”
“It’s not. And I think I made it worse when you and I talked about how I wouldn’t be here forever. I didn’t mean to traumatize you. I was just trying to prepare you.”
And despite herself, her chin wobbles. Because that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Today her mom’s news was good, but it’s not really the end of the story. The end will be just that—an end. How can she ever be prepared for the death of her parents? How can anyone? It’s overwhelming. It’s unbearable.
“I don’t want you to ever leave me,” she whispers. It’s unfair to say, it’s childish, but it’s the truth.
“I cannot promise you that. I would if I could,” he says softly. “How long I or your mom will be here, I don’t know.”
That’s the exact kind of straightforward response she would expect from him. She sighs, but he continues.
“But there are plenty of things I don’t know.
I don’t know if a meteor will strike the earth before I finish my next sentence.
I don’t know, every night when the sun sets, whether it’ll be back the next day, or if it will rain for the next two months.
I don’t know if the store will continue stocking my mango ice cream or if the carton I finished yesterday was the final one.
Even this conversation could be the last one we ever have.
Who knows? You could decide once you get out of this car that you don’t want to speak to me anymore, or the continent could split in two between us and we might never find our way back to each other. Every moment in life is temporary.”
“That’s...a sad way to think about it,” Simran says softly.
“On the contrary.” He shrugs. “I think understanding this is a gift. We have the ability to appreciate every moment we do get, as it’s happening. What’s sad is only experiencing happiness in hindsight.”
She’s never thought of it that way before. She studies her father and wonders if maybe he’s thought too much about it. Maybe that’s why he’s avoided confronting her screwups. Like her, he wants to cling to their relationship as is. He doesn’t want to watch the peace between them die.
I don’t believe anything about you unless you tell it to me yourself.
Simran makes a decision right then. If this moment between them was meant to die, she has to do it now, on her own terms. She can no longer leave their relationship as dishonest as it’s become. She has to tell him the thing most likely to break them.
“Dad, I know you’ve heard things about me and Rajan Randhawa.” She traces the dust on the dashboard. “They’re true.”
“Ah,” he says. “I see.”
There is a long, long silence.
She can’t help herself. “You don’t like him.”
“That’s not true. I don’t know him.”
“But?” she presses.
“But,” he acknowledges, “I don’t like the idea of you with him.”
She knew this already, but the confirmation still feels heavy.
He goes on, though, as they both stare out the windshield.
“You have to understand where I’m coming from.
All your mother and I want is for your life to be happy and stable.
Our lives were not. We don’t want you to have the problems he’ll bring.
” He pauses. “But I didn’t listen to everything my parents said, either.
We cannot and should not stop you from making your own decisions. ”
“So you think it’s a mistake.”
He shrugs. “Life is about learning from your mistakes.”
His casual words hit her deeply. Even he has no problem telling her he thinks she’s messing up, in his own gentle way. If she keeps going regardless, does that mean she loses him? Does her relationship with her father die right here, right now, in this car?
“Dad,” Simran ventures tentatively. “Do—do you still love me?”
His eyes crinkle, and a tear slips out, trickling into his beard. “What have we done to you that you have to ask that question? Of course, I will always love you.”
“But will you...still talk to me?” Simran’s voice trembles. “Can we still fly kites together in the summer? Will you still make popcorn and watch movies with me? Will you play tabla when I need you to accompany? Will you teach me—”
“Yes, nikka putt,” he replies. “I will always be your father.”
Her eyes blur with tears. And, earnestly, she begins to cry.
As if it’s an everyday occurrence instead of something that has rarely happened before in his presence, he turns off the ignition and draws her close. Embracing her fully, flaws and mistakes and hopes and dreams and all. He sniffles a little, too.
That makes her pause. What is she doing, worrying him with the sadness that has weighed her down for months—years, really? But when she tries to pull away, he holds on tighter. And she gives in.
Maybe there’s a companionship she never realized in crying with someone you love, as much as in laughing with them. And it doesn’t have to weigh either of them down—but can help them both finally, finally let go of it.