Chapter 8
Aweek later, I sat in the same booth, staring at an empty seat. I had arrived early, wondering if I’d be sitting across from Rehani, a friend, or Sameer, the boy I had loved. It was the only time I had chosen to put myself first, ahead of my family, my career, my life goals. Like the foolish girl of twenty that I was, I had spun daydreams of our life together, a family with three kids, a Spanish-style bungalow with a large, detached studio in the backyard where we both would work. Careers we’d be proud of. A legacy we’d leave our children. Little did I know I was building castles in the air.
Truthfully, our friendship was never a smooth, easy one because at its heart lay my intense infatuation for him. The furious debates, the incessant discussions, the unnecessary arguments I took on with him were ways of being with him while keeping my feelings at bay. I wanted him, but we were not in the same league. Not by a long shot. The social differences between us were too real, too palpable. Then one day it all changed, when I fell into his arms, literally.
That evening, under the old banyan tree, we sat on a concrete guard heated by the October sun, debating aesthetics, quoting Kant, Hume, Pollock, and Warhol. Our arguments were sophomoric, but they carried the weight of our existential angst. When the shrill call of a bird interrupted our conversation, we looked up to find that the thicket of trees had swallowed the sun.
“We just got scolded by a bird,” I said. “It’s nightfall. The birds are trying to sleep, and we’re bothering them. Come on, let’s go.”
He smiled and leapt off the tall concrete in a valiant jump. In hindsight, it was a mistake to attempt an emulation because I wasn’t nearly as athletic. I realized mid-flight that I was going to miss my landing, but Sameer caught me, breaking a fall that would have injured my ankle or worse. With my body in shock and my heartbeat erratic, I gripped him to steady myself. My chest landed flush against him, his arm around my waist, a pair of beautiful brown eyes gazing down at me. As an electric pulse coursed through my body, I hastily pulled myself away. I couldn’t falter. There was more at stake—not in the least, my self-respect.
“I hate these sandals,” I cried.
He stepped away to observe my feet. “I like them,” he said with his head cocked. “The way your toes peek out. It’s very sexy.”
My heart bubbled, but I tamped it down. “Don’t tell me you have a foot fetish.”
He grinned playfully. “Only yours.”
“Says the playboy to every girl he meets.” I rolled my eyes.
Then, as I heaved my overstuffed bag to my shoulder, my ankle twisted again, only slightly, but enough to compromise my balance. Sameer’s arm was around me again, preventing another fall. It was becoming undignified.
“I’m alright,” I said, promptly shrugging his hands from my shoulders.
“Hey, it’s alright to lean on others sometimes.”
I readjusted the broad strap of my bag and calmly said, “I can’t afford to.”
“It doesn’t make you weak, Tara.”
He always said I saw right through him. I had no clue he saw the real me too. He had just voiced my deepest fear. “I can’t let people think I need help. That I can’t handle it on my own.”
“People who care about you will never think that. Amar doesn’t. I don’t.”
He smiled at me with a warmth that reached his eyes, and I lost all purpose. As I inhaled the night-blooming jasmine studded along the campus wall like a carpet of stars, I said, “I missed dinner. Do you want to eat at the laris outside?”
With shadows of old trees dancing on our bodies in the moonlit night, we walked across the street to the west wall of Sayaji Baug. Every evening, stalls lined the iconic garden, turning it into a popular place for the mingling of minds and bodies. Traffic had thinned out, and the air was breathable. Tantalizing smells of garlic and spices wafted through the air, and the sizzle of oil and water hitting the hot woks and griddles whetted appetites.
A group of high school students gathered over plates of Indo-Chinese noodles, “Schezwan” chicken, and chili paneer, laughing their carefree, youthful laughter. An animated group of poli-sci majors tore into flaky, egg-laden Mughlai parathas while fighting over the validity of a multi-party system for a country as diverse as India. Young couples made little effort to hide the lust in their eyes as they sat around makeshift tables.
But every sight, sound, and smell faded away as I looked into his eyes. With plates of pav bhaji and vegetable-cheese sandwich between us, my body erupted in unfortunate goosebumps. He grinned at the sign of arousal on my arms, and I looked away.
“I’m going to ask you something, and you’ll promise me you won’t lie,” he said.
“I’m going to lie, and you’ll catch me at it,” I replied with a straight face.
“I’m serious. Do you like me, Tara?”
I picked up my sandwich and bit into it. The dome of cheese, sprinkled liberally with the tangy chaat masala, smeared across my lips. I licked them clean while he kept gazing at my mouth.
“Because I like you,” he continued. “So much, I keep worrying I might lose you if I tell you.”
“You just told me.”
“Am I going to lose you?”
I kept nibbling on the sandwich while the spicy mash of mixed vegetables lay untouched before him.
“Let’s go back to my place,” he said.
The desire in his eyes unnerved me. It was what I had wanted to see since that evening on the steps. I wiped my mouth with a paper napkin. “I haven’t been with anyone yet.”
He lurched back in the plastic chair. “Oh!”
“Does that scare you?” I took another bite.
He shook his head. “With you, no. Does it scare you?”
I picked a slice of cucumber from my sandwich, studying the traces of spicy green chutney on one side and smooth, salty butter on the other. “There aren’t many things that scare me, Rehani. But I need you to know because I like you too. Enough to be worried about losing myself.”
A wave of relief mixed with triumph washed over his face when I looked up at him. His body relaxed in the chair before he leaned in again. “We can start slow. I’ll be gentle, I promise.”
“Now, why do I not believe that?”
“Oh, I can be very tender if you know how to play me right. And I have a feeling you do.”
“Hmm, what if I don’t want tender?”
This made him burst into a laugh so loud, we got judgmental looks from everyone around us—from the chatty high-schoolers and heavy debaters to the relaxed uncles and aunties enjoying an evening out without kids. I brought the cucumber slice to his mouth, and he pounced on it with a grin.
“Tell me what you want, Tara.”
“Do you know my caste?”
He frowned. “Do you know mine?”
I shook my head.
“Do you need to know?” he asked.
When I shook my head again, he said, “And I don’t need to know yours.” Then he grumbled with a deeper, angrier frown. “Why are we even talking about this?”
“It is a fact of my existence, Rehani. One that I’m made to live with every day of my life. How can I assume it won’t be an issue between us?”
His frown ironed out instantly. “I’m sorry. You’re right, but it’s a nonissue for me.”
“That’s a privilege I don’t have.”
We let the silence between us drown in the sounds of heavy spatulas banging on cast iron griddles, plastic chairs and tables scraping against the asphalt as people vacated them and new patrons settled in. More laughter, different chatter. An aura of happiness all around us.
“I like you, Tara, so I’m going to ask you again. What do you want?”
This time my answer found the fire I felt in my heart and my spirit. “I want you, Sameer Rehani.”
“And I want you. All of you. Every bit of you.”
“Every bit?” I asked with a cocked eyebrow. “Now let’s see if you can keep that promise.”
He rocked in his chair from another belly-laugh, and this time we got envious looks from the couples around us, young and old.
“Well, here’s something I do promise. You won’t lose yourself, ever. And you won’t lose me either. Even if we don’t work out, there’s no power in this world great enough to prevent me from being there for you as a friend. You only have to ask.”
I refocused my eyes on the empty booth across from me, still hazy with memories of that night. I was so lost in thought, I didn’t realize Sameer had arrived and was standing beside the table.
He looked irresistible in his stylish jeans with his flawless hair, smelling flirty, sexy. I stole a glance at my clothes, into which I had put little thought, except for the bright lipstick I’d had the good sense to choose. My trademark liner and mascara were merely a bonus.
“You look lost in a daydream. Can I get you a coffee?” he asked.
I pointed to my cup. “I already got mine.”
“Tara, just for today, please.”
When you’ve grown up in a struggling family, not accepting favors and freebies becomes a matter of self-respect. But this was Sameer. “Latte, please.”
“And a Danish? Muffin?” He smiled. “Bear claw?”
“Raspberry Danish.”
By the time he settled across from me with the coffee, two perfectly flaky pastries, and a gorgeous smile, my nerves were jangling.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet,” he said after a few uncomfortable moments passed between us, during which I avoided looking straight into his eyes.
“This is weird, isn’t it?”
“A bit.”
“How come it wasn’t last week?”
He shrugged in the cute way I remembered. “Last week we had our claws out, but today we have to behave like mature adults.”
That made me smile. “So where do we begin?”
“Where we left off?”
My jaw clenched and my fingers tightened around the cup at the memory of him leaving me humiliated and alone.
“Maybe not,” he said, looking at my hand.
“I still carry a lot of anger, and one coffee date is not going to miraculously erase it.”
“No. No, it won’t. Tell me what brings you here, then,” he said, relaxing against the well-padded seat. Work, that seemed like a safe, neutral place to start.
I tore a piece off the Danish. “I’m appraising the paintings a local oil dynasty has donated to the museum.”
“Would that be the Arlington family?”
I raised my brows. “You know them?”
“Not directly. Through a friend. She’s a friend of their daughter.”
“Hm, seems you’ve made some pretty influential friends here too.” I meant to tease him, but he squared his jaw and looked away.
“Well, anyway, I’m also helping curate a new wing they’ve donated. And I get to showcase my work at the upcoming exhibition.” I smiled. “I have three pieces, including the one you extorted from me.”
“Extorted. Right,” he replied, his smile brimming with mischief.
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll have you know, I’m donating that money to a very good cause.”
“It’s your money. You can do whatever you want with it.”
“Are you upset I’m giving it away?”
He shook his head. “Never. Are you upset you had to sell it?”
“I was furious. But I’m grateful for it. I’ve been intending to donate to a scholarship program for girls in my hometown, and this money is enough to set up a decent endowment. And my agent says it’s upped my cachet in the market.”
“You’re welcome.”
“That wasn’t a thank you,” I said, and he laughed. The laugh that made my heart take a tumble.
“Are you happy, Tara?”
“Yes. This is a big break for me, and a huge show of confidence from Dr. Hadden.”
“When I spoke with her, it looked like she knew you well.”
“She and I go back a few years. I first met her when she was at a museum in Boston. They’d hired the firm I worked for to appraise some paintings. She was impressed with my attention to detail and my breadth of knowledge, as she put it. I didn’t know how big of a deal it was until the firm’s director sent me a bouquet and personally came over to congratulate me. Then, after I quit and started my consultancy, she sent many clients our way. She’s an institution, and her word carries weight. I wouldn’t be here without her, in every sense of the phrase.”
“Then it’s safe to assume the paintings are worth your while.”
“Oh yes! They’re specially commissioned pieces of the family and the estate created during the early twentieth century and of great significance to the history of Texas art. But there are these two artists that have me puzzled. I feel like there’s some connection between them. I still haven’t figured out what. Their styles are different, as is their palette choice, but I feel it in my gut—” I recognized the smile in his eyes and stopped. “What?”
“I’m happy to hear you talk like this again, passionately. I wish I could see the paintings. They sound intriguing.”
“I can sneak you in someday if you’re interested. Maybe you can help me solve the mystery.”
“I’d love that.” He smiled, and my cheeks warmed. “But that’s not what I asked. Are you happy?” His voice was gentle, bordering on concern. “Is this what you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re an exceptional artist. Are you happy with this advising slash consultation business?”
It was my turn to shrug. “Even exceptional artists need to put food on the table. I couldn’t afford to remain jobless for long, waiting to be discovered. It’s not a fair world.”
“It isn’t.”
“Do you know I got to work with D.G. Groh?”
“Groh! The Devon Groh?”
“The very one.” I grinned. “I was in a month-long student apprenticeship program with him. He’s so humble and unassuming. It’s unreal for such a famous artist.”
“Unbelievable.”
“He’s the one who referred me to my first job as an advisor. I was a struggling student with visa restrictions, and it gave my career a new lease. I learned a lot, the pay was decent, and they eventually processed my green card. I worked there until my mentor convinced me to go into a partnership with her at the new firm she was starting. I did, and now, here I am.”
“I’m very happy for you, Tara. And proud.”
The sound of those words, the look of authentic care in his eyes, knocked down the wall I had built between us. “Until last year, I worked around the clock, till my eyes wore out and my body gave up. I was so tired, Sameer. The opportunities felt surreal, and I couldn’t afford to waste a single second. I read and learned and did everything I could, like a greedy, starved person, and yet I felt I wasn’t doing enough. Now, I embrace every success and every bit of happiness that comes my way.”
“You deserve to be happy,” he said, but I caught a glint of something strange in his eyes, like love, admiration, pity, and concern, all blended into a distasteful concoction.
I sat up with a bright smile. “But it wasn’t all bad. I had a great time too. During my master’s, I got to take courses in folklore theory and black feminism. And I went to Rome! Those were the best fifteen months of my life. I traveled across Europe and witnessed the glorious pieces of art and architecture that I never imagined in my wildest dreams I’d get to see. Never had too much money, but the friends I made were resourceful and inventive.”
“I love your picture from Rome. The one with your hair flying across your face.”
My cheeks flooded with warmth to know he had looked me up. “You know everything about my life, but I know nothing about yours,” I accused with a smile.
“I follow you on social media. I only know what you’ve made public.”
My back straightened. “You aren’t on social media.”
“I am.” He leaned in to meet my eyes. “Hiding behind a different name.”
“I tried looking for you.” I regretted the admission immediately. My stomach twisted and my brows creased. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.”
“We need to do this, Tara. Even if it’s upsetting.”
“It’s beyond upsetting,” I said, trying to keep my hot head from exploding. “Everything you’ve done to me is unfair.”
“Yes, I’ve been unfair to you. But it hasn’t been easy for me either.”
“But you made all the decisions. I didn’t.”
His gaze lowered to his cup, and I looked into mine. The beautifully stained rings of foam had now deflated and hugged the ceramic walls in the hope of holding on just a little longer. I pushed the cup away.“Get me another,” I said to him.
“Same?”
“Extra shot.”
He nodded and left me to my thoughts. The weekend he sent me the text, I had returned home to see my parents, looking for support. But before I could summon the courage to tell them, Baba had a heart attack. A mild cardiac event, the doctor said. And we could get him timely medical attention only because I was lingering outside his room, working up my courage to approach him when I heard the thud. I rushed in and yelled out for Aai and Dada. The ambulance arrived fifteen minutes later. If I had told him, I would’ve surely killed him.
I speared my fingers through my hair, trying to make sense of my turmoil. Because despite it all, I still a felt a visceral draw to Sameer. He was the only one who recognized my spirit, my hunger. He could tell from the way I held a brush, from the look in my eye, what I was thinking.
When Sameer placed the fresh cup before me, gentle steam rose from the surface like a mother’s consoling hand.
“Tara…”
“Don’t.”
I tore open multiple tiny packs of sugar, dumped them into my cup, and stirred furiously.
“I want to make things right,” he said softly.
“How? How can you make things right? Can you bring back my father? Can you give me back those years I spent afraid and unsure? Unwilling to trust anyone with my heart? I didn’t have a relationship until I met Sujit. I was thirty-two! That has to mean something, Sameer.”
“Neither did I, Tara. I could never replace you.”
“But you did.”
He didn’t respond, merely stared back with a tenacity that scared me.
“I have a life, a career. I’m in a relationship that makes me happy.”
“But are you happy?”
This time, I refused to respond.
“I want us to move past the hurt and the pain, to be able to talk, share, laugh like we just did. Right now, I’ll settle for that,” he said.
“We have different lives now. We don’t need to be friends.”
“And yet, here we are.”
Move past the hurt and the pain.Maybe that’s what I needed. For all these years, I had been weighed down by it. Maybe we could get to a point where I could think about him without bitterness in my heart. Maybe that would help me heal.
“You’ve always been a part of my life, Sameer, a part of me even when I didn’t want it. I haven’t been able to cut you out. But I can’t…”
I looked at my coffee again. It had lost its steam and so had I. “Let’s talk about you. Are you happy?”
“No.” He let his undaunting eyes meet mine, but I chose deflection.
“I don’t even know what you do for a living.”
He waited a few breaths, then answered. “I run an investment firm. I took over from my uncle when he retired some years ago.”
“Huh!” I said, lifting the cup to my lips.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. I thought things had changed. You had changed.”
“What does that mean?” he demanded with a deep frown.
“You’ve always had everything handed to you, everything laid out right at your feet. Here I thought you would’ve accomplished something on your own merit. You surely have the potential. But it’s the lack of inclination that was always the problem, wasn’t it?”
I knew I was being unfair, but I wanted him to hurt like he’d hurt me.
His fair face turned red. “What is your problem, Tara? I’ve been nothing but civil.”
“Civil? Is that supposed to be my consolation? My problem is that you’re still the spoilt rich boy, cruising through life, riding on the wave of your privilege and wealth. Demanding me back as if you’re entitled to my love, to me. I hoped you’d changed, but you are still the same. How would you understand what I’ve been through? While I was busy busting my ass trying to find a foothold in the world, you were busy crushing people like me with the weight of everything you’ve inherited, not earned.”
In one swift motion, he grabbed his phone from the table and slid out of the booth. “This is unfair. I said I would tell you everything, but until then, you don’t get to sit here and make judgments about me. If you have issues with me because I’m rich, that’s your problem, Tara, not mine. I’ve always respected you, but you don’t get to insult me like this.” He took two steps toward the exit, then turned around and added, “You’re right, this wasn’t the best idea.”
With angry steps, he strode away.
This time, he didn’t come back.