Chapter 7
My movie-perfect exit was ruined when Mihir walked in, and we literally bumped into each other at the door.
“We’re leaving.” I grabbed his arm and towed him out, but taller and stronger, he resisted me easily.
“Why?” He slipped out of my grip and back into the café. “I need a coffee.”
I followed him in with a grumble and silently directed his attention to Tara, who had resumed working.
“Who’s that?” he said, then immediately recognized my expression. “Tara?” he mouthed with a frown.
I shrugged.
“What’s she doing here?” he whispered and sauntered across to the register. I had little choice but to follow.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” I said in a hushed voice. “She’s here on a job. I ran into her at the museum where she’s consulting.”
He studied me, then scoffed as he paid for his black-with-an-extra-shot and a scone. “You didn’t just run into her. What aren’t you telling me?”
I looked away.
“Okay,” he said and grabbed his coffee. I thought he’d follow me out, but to my morbid embarrassment, and in what was a clear defeat of my ego, he walked straight over to Tara.
“Hi, sorry to bother you…Tara?”
She looked up from her computer and responded with a tentative smile. “Hi?”
“I’m Mihir, Sameer’s friend.” He pointed to me standing within earshot, and I managed a sheepish wave. “He’s trying to flee this establishment. I guess that’s your doing?” Tara blushed at his irresistibly good smile and lowered her eyes for a moment.
“I plead the fifth,” she said, interlocking her fingers under her chin.
“Ah, I like you.”
Were they actually flirting? I scowled at Mihir’s back.
“Well, you’re too late. Sameer and I are over.” She looked at me, snubbing my beautiful exit line. “So, you don’t have to like me, Mihir.”
“May I?” he asked.
When she nodded, he slipped into the seat opposite her, his long legs barely fitting under the table, almost touching her.
“But I can like you regardless, can’t I?” He smiled and took a sip from his cup. He was a devilishly handsome, suave bastard, and I could see the effect on Tara, who leaned in slightly with a sweet smile on her face.
“Well, you’re not obligated to, which makes me wonder, what’s your ulterior motive?” She volleyed back with a frown.
He grinned, and I shuffled awkwardly, debating whether I should join them or take my humiliation outside with me. But Tara nodded at me, so I approached.
I was about to slide in beside Mihir, but he spread his legs wider and said, “Sorry buddy, you’ll have to sit there.” He signaled to the seat next to Tara. “Woes of a tall body,” he added for effect.
Tara tucked her bag closer to the wall and scooted over. I smelled her beautiful, aquatic floral perfume as I settled beside her. The warmth emanating from her glowing skin felt familiar even after all this time.
“Sameer and I have issues,” she said, looking at Mihir as if I wasn’t at the table. “But otherwise, I’m a nice person. It’s wonderful to meet you, Mihir.” She extended her hand across the table in a choreographed move.
Mihir played along, taking her slender palm in his big paws, holding on for a moment longer than necessary, ignoring my fiery glare.
“In my line of work, one can never have enough rich acquaintances, preferably ones with dubious tastes,” she teased with a straight face. “You’re rich, right?”
Mihir only smiled.
“He has a girlfriend,” I blurted.
“Good to know.” She smiled, her eyes still on Mihir. “I have a boyfriend…And you, Sameer?”
The crushing feeling sprang up in my chest as I offered a feeble nod.
“Good, now we can all be friends.”
She turned her attention back to Mihir. “I’m sorry. I’m usually not this disagreeable.”
Mihir waved his hand. “It’s all in good fun. Do you mind if we talk more, or would you like us to leave?”
With a shy smile, she responded. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Tell me about your work, Tara.” He turned up his charm, saying her name in a particularly seductive way.
She smiled, pushed a non-existent stray lock behind her ear, and gave a quick swipe of her tongue over her juicy lips. Was she doing it deliberately, or was it an unconscious reaction to Mihir’s charisma? Whatever it was, it pissed me off.
“I’m an art advisor.”
“She’s also a phenomenal artist,” I said, though I hadn’t meant to speak my thoughts out loud.
Her soft eyes now turned to me. “Do you mean that?”
I shifted my body to face her. “I just spent a ridiculous amount on your painting. Do you think I would’ve if I didn’t think it was absolutely worth every penny? You know I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”
Her gaze traveled down to her hands. “Thank you.”
Mihir cleared his throat, bringing us back to the moment. “What exactly does an art advisor do?”
“Um, well.” She stole a glance at me. “We look at our clients’ requirements, the décor, layout, and budget, then recommend artwork that would best accentuate the space. We also help procure the pieces we recommend, providing a platform for new and lesser-known artists. We advise collectors on what to buy. Art education is a big part of what we do for private collectors. Every so often, I work with galleries and museums to authenticate and appraise paintings, trace provenance, that kind of thing. Oil paintings are my area of specialization.” She snuck another glance at me before smiling at Mihir.
“Sounds exciting,” he said.
“It can be. Although most of my work involves long hours of examining old paintings and a lot of research.”
“What would you recommend to a new collector like me?” Mihir asked.
“Since when are you a collector?” I scoffed.
“A new collector.” He shot back fast.
Tara’s eyes darted between us. “I know you’re only trying to prolong this conversation, but alright, I’ll bite. From what little I’ve gathered about you, I’d recommend getting the original works that define the renaissance and impressionist canon, because nothing less will gratify you. They’re difficult to get your hands on, but that’s a part of it, the thrill of the chase. And none of the feminist and queer art that’s so much in vogue now.”
When I turned to accost her, I found her unfazed eyes and sweet smile resting on Mihir. “You’re not serious,” I said. “You’d never recommend that. To anyone!”
“No?” She said and turned in her seat to me. “What did you think I’d say?”
“You’d introduce him to the wider world of newer, postcolonial artists. And you’re not fooling anyone with the none of that feminist and queer stuff. I know your work. Your MFA thesis was on Nilima Sheikh’s oeuvre, and your own work subverts the male, colonial, heteronormative gaze. For fuck’s sake, you wrote a paper on the caste and class juxtaposition of the woman who was our nude model in college. I helped you edit it. Ask me what else I know.” With arms crossed over my chest, I leaned back in the seat.
She slipped me a sly smile as if she had expected my reaction. “Not bad, Rehani. What else do you know about me?” She crossed her arms to mirror mine.
I drew my brows together and fumed with recalcitrance.
She smiled at Mihir. “I apologize for the misdirection, but he’s right. That’s exactly what I’d recommend. After all, the true purpose of art is to disrupt the status quo an—”
“—and unsettle the soul.” I completed her sentence. That earned me a subtle but unmistakably warm smile.
Mihir studied us for a moment. “I need more coffee. Anyone want anything?”
“A cup of water, if you don’t mind,” Tara replied.
As Mihir walked away, I wondered if Tara and I had crossed a critical threshold in our current relationship, as it stood.
“We should talk.” I took the opportunity to suggest.
“About what?”
“About what happened. Why I left. Did Amar tell you nothing?”
She offered a gentle frown in response. “Amar is a loyal friend. He knows the virtue of keeping a secret.”
I sucked in a breath. “Yes, he does.” Precisely why I had trusted him not to spill my shame to Tara.
Her eyes flickered for a brief moment. “Tell me honestly. Why didn’t you reach out in all these years?”
“Would you have responded if I had?”
She took a deep breath and exhaled. Lying didn’t come naturally to her, so she had no choice but to opt for the truth. “Probably not.”
“Let’s talk, Tara. Give me a chance to explain what happened. If we are still not sure we can be friends after that, I won’t insist. Just one more chance, that’s all I’m asking.”
A shuddering breath shook her body, and she nodded. “Alright, one more meeting.”
“At least two. I don’t think I can bring myself to tell you everything all at once.” Honesty was the only way to regain her trust.
“Alright, two more meetings.”
“Next Saturday? Same time, same place.”
She nodded and looked at me. “Sameer?”
“Yes?”
“How do you know so much about my work? And why?”
I shrugged and leaned in. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
Before she could respond, Mihir returned with coffee for himself and water for her. Just then, her phone buzzed on the table.
I felt her stiffen, but she answered with a bright, “Hey, good morning.” Judging by her smile and demeanor, I knew it was the boyfriend. “I’m at a coffee shop. Can I call you when I get back to the apartment?”
“About half an hour,” she said and slipped the phone into her bag. “Okay guys, I need to leave. Mihir, it was very nice to meet you. Hopefully, we’ll see each other again.” She pulled out two cards from her bright, quilted wallet and handed them to us. “If you’re ever in the market for art but don’t know where to begin, get in touch.”
I slid off the booth to let her out.
She stared at me for a long moment. “I’ll see you Saturday, Sameer,” she said quietly as if she didn’t want Mihir to hear it. I nodded, and she disappeared.
Mihir reoccupied his spot in the booth, and I slipped into mine. He was the only friend who knew about my family’s murky past. He also knew every little detail of my relationship with Tara. His father and my uncle were old friends. Years ago, during one of my drunken stupors, I had poured out my heart to him. How much I missed Tara, and how my juvenile decision to disappear from her life still hurt. Back then, he was just a guy I hung out with because our families were close. After that night, he became a friend.
His reaction to my life’s story was neither pity nor ridicule, as I had feared. He had taken a sip of his drink and calmly said, “Look at yourself now, and tell me you’re not a fighter.”
It was a powerful thing for me to hear in my inebriated state, especially from Mihir, whom I had come to admire and respect. It felt like he had cut open the stagnating wounds of my heart, releasing all the rot of pain and bitterness. I had never cried so much, not even when we relinquished our comfortable life in India and moved here. He had been my champion ever since, a mentor, though he was barely two years older. He was a powerhouse in his own right, and those who knew him professionally called him ruthless and cutthroat. The image went well with his six-foot-two, broad-shouldered frame, dark eyes, and bearded face.
“What do you think?” I asked, bouncing my feet.
“She’s quick, smart, assertive,” he said with furrowed brows, then laughed. “She’s way out of your league, man. How did you get her to go out with you the first time?”
“I have no idea what she saw in me.” I sighed and fell back in my seat. “Now, she has a boyfriend who makes her face light up like that.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re smart, well-read, moderately successful,” he teased with a slight smile. Like Tara, he had kept me grounded all these years. “Have you told her?”
“I’ve tried.”
“What about Aarti?”
I looked at him and dragged my fingers through my hair. “You know it’s not that straightforward. I can’t jeopardize our future and my family’s fortune. Not again. If things don’t work out with Tara, I’ll lose everything. Right now, I’m still hanging on to the shreds of my life.”
He sipped from his to-go cup, which looked like a toy in his large hand, his eyes peering at me over the rim.
“You don’t approve.”
He kept staring at me with his deep, black eyes, then threw me a light shrug. “It’s not my place to disapprove.”
Damn straight, it wasn’t his call. It was my life, my future on the line.
“Alright, enough with the wallowing.” He stood and patted my shoulder. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.” With strong arms, he pulled me up effortlessly.
“Here’s something that’ll cheer you up,” he said as we walked out of the café. “She still likes you. Tread carefully, though, because she’s hurt and angry. But she showed her soft eyes for you every time she thought you weren’t looking.”