Chapter 11
Ihad heard Tara weeping before she came to the door. Her tears smudged her makeup, and I saw the pain on her face. The same pain that now stabbed at my heart as I drove back home. I’d just had a glimpse of how she must have hurt when I left her years ago. All I wanted was to stay with my face nuzzled in her neck, holding her in my arms.
Instead, I was driving back to Aarti. Why? Because I had promised her. And because I was too much of a coward to come clean to either woman. I should’ve broken it off with Aarti the moment I realized Tara still harbored feelings for me. And I should’ve trusted Tara with my past.
But there was more at stake. After our disgraceful exodus from India, breaking up with Aarti would make my family a social pariah again. For Dad, my marriage promised the merger of our fortunes and the linking of our family name with theirs. It meant security and status. Aarti’s family didn’t care about that. They didn’t need to. For them, I was the trophy partner who looked really good on Aarti’s arm. That I wasn’t a major-league asshole was what had clinched this relationship for them.
The Bhatia name held a lot of clout in the region, especially in the South Asian community. A single misstep would ruin me, cutting me off from every important social and economic connection I had cultivated. Years of my hard work had grown the company larger than it had ever been. It would cost me more than the stigma of a failed relationship if I messed this up, something I couldn’t do to Mom again. I banged my hand on the steering wheel as I cursed aloud in the privacy of my car.
Everything I had done since that fateful night, every single decision I made, had been with the sole intent of protecting Mom. Within a span of twenty-four hours, she’d lost her home, her wealth, and her name. All on account of the man who was her husband. He’d shattered her entire world in a blink, and she’d deserved none of it.
Mom was a queen in looks, grace, and demeanor. Her family wasn’t exactly royalty, but they enjoyed the wealth and lifestyle that would make blue bloods green with envy. Life in a palatial haveli in Punjab with numerous servants bustling around, catering to their every whim and fancy, was her normal. Her wealth was ancestral, and Mom remembered her childhood as decadent yet disciplined before they settled in Delhi, where her father had set up his businesses.
As the youngest child and only sister to three brothers, she was doted on by everyone around her. Her oldest brother had moved to the U.S. in the 1970s for higher education, fell in love, and settled into a life here. But when they lost the two brothers between them—one to a road accident and one to heart disease—he brought Mom over. He had no children and raised Mom like his daughter. By the time she graduated with a master’s degree in finance, she was also a U.S. citizen. But unlike her brother, she missed having her parents around, and much to his displeasure, declared her intention to return to India. To appease him, she promised to retain her U.S. citizenship and to confer it on her own children.
Upon her arrival in India, Mom had only one condition for marriage: she wanted an educated man. She had seen enough women in her family smothered by the weight of wealth and traditions. She wanted someone who’d see her as a partner, not merely a wife or an asset. And Dad did that, initially at least. He had the trifecta when it came to arranged marriages. He was educated, handsome, and comfortably rich, the founder and owner of a small but successful pharmaceutical company. Mom thought she had hit the jackpot and unhesitatingly pumped all her wealth into his business. Success worshipped them, and they took the company public around the time I was in middle school. Dad was appointed CEO, and we moved into the echelons of the Indian super-rich. This change in fortune accounted for much of my cockiness growing up, until it all came crashing down like a house of cards.
Mom’s brother saved her grace. Uncle invited us to the U.S. and shared his wealth with a generosity we didn’t deserve. He paid for my education and trained me at his firm, then sent me to business school. I worked hard, attending college in the morning and working with him in the afternoon. I had no friends and no social life. I severed all ties with my former lifestyle, surviving on the wages he paid me, which were comparable to others employed at the same level. When Uncle bought a monstrous mansion for my parents, I insisted on renting an apartment I could afford on my own, opting to live in a community that housed graduate students and newly employed young people struggling to start a new life like me.
My uncle offered me access to whatever I wanted, but I wouldn’t accept what I hadn’t earned. Through the years, Tara remained the standard against which I measured myself. I wanted the dignity and respect she commanded. Tara had been right in her accusations. I had inherited the company and the wealth, but this time, I had earned it, made myself worthy of it.
Six years ago, after his wife passed, Uncle became severely depressed and gradually handed me the reins of his company. The keys to the firm, however, came with responsibilities. The professional ones I grasped quickly and conducted competently, but the social burdens caught me off guard. My visibility demanded the apropos performance of success in clothing, cars, and behavior, cultivating the right kind of accent, maintaining the delicate balance between my Indian and American identities. I couldn’t be too Desi, especially because I grew up in India, but I also couldn’t come across as so American that I couldn’t be trusted to be a good Indian. I had to be a good son to be viewed as a good person. But I had to display enough independence from my parents to be considered good husband material.
I changed myself to become the man I had never imagined I’d be. Amar was the achiever in our family, I was a lost cause. My only worth would’ve been to inherit Dad’s wealth. Until there wasn’t any.
But my attempts to rebuild our life did little to heal the scars on Mom’s heart, especially when Dad resisted making the effort. He wallowed in conceit and complacency, refusing to mend the cracks he left when he shattered her life, punishing her for my offenses. So now it was up to me. I had to redeem myself by reinstating Mom’s life to its former glory and give her back the social stature she once enjoyed before he besmirched her name.
As the elevator dinged for my floor, a strange realization hit me. None of this would matter if I had Tara. None of this would matter to Tara. As the memory of her sweet face drenched in tears resurfaced in my mind, I realized she was right. I had left her for money.
The elevator doors opened and closed twice before I could bring myself to exit. Then I stood outside my apartment, preparing to slip into the role of the loving boyfriend. Killing the uneasy clog in my chest, I unlocked the door and stepped inside.
“I’m in here,” Aarti called from the bedroom as I dropped my keys on the counter.
“Okay, give me a minute.” I detoured to the kitchen and poured a glass of water to buy myself a few more moments. Then, leaving the glass untouched, I headed to the bedroom.
Aarti looked up from her Kindle and straightened. “What’s the matter, baby? Are you alright?”
I smiled. “Yes.”
“You look pale.”
“It’s been a long week.”
I threw my jacket on a chair and went into the bathroom with a change of clothes. She was still reading when I returned. I knew where we were headed, but I couldn’t do that to Tara. I couldn’t do that to myself. I climbed into bed and lay on my back.
“Sameer, you’d tell me if something was bothering you, right?” She locked the Kindle and placed it on the nightstand.
“Of course!” I forced a reassuring smile and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Really, I’m just tired. Too much going through my mind.”
“You wanna talk about it?” She let her slender finger trace my jawline.
I took her hand and kissed it. “Not today.”
She snuggled against me with her head on my chest, and I snuck my hands under my head to avoid putting them around her.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Hmm.”
“Does it have anything to do with Tara?” She looked up at me with wary eyes.
My heart thumped. “What?”
“Who is she, really?” She tried to soften her tone, but I felt the fire in her words.
“She’s Amar’s friend. We overlapped at the art college.” I made sure to maintain the equilibrium in my voice. “Why?”
“I got the feeling you two had been close.”
“We were friends for a year. That’s why she dragged me off to share some ridiculous theory about the painting. I don’t know those things anymore.”
Aarti was no fool, but I was a good liar. I had probably managed to convince her because she nodded and sat up with a smile. “What do you want to do for your birthday next weekend?”
“Next weekend?” I hadn’t realized it had already been a month since Tara arrived in Dallas. That funny hole in my chest reappeared.
“Hello-ooo.” Aarti’s singsong voice beckoned me.
“Sorry, yes.”
She shook her head and tousled my hair. “Silly boy,” she said, and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. “I asked if you wanted to go away for the weekend or have friends over?”
“When you say have people over, you mean here, right? Not at my parents’ place?”
“Not unless you want that,” she said with a naughty smirk.
“Here sounds good. Let’s have friends over and get some drinks and pizza.”
She grimaced. “Pizza?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not fifteen.”
“Okay, then whatever you want.”
“It’ll be lowkey, but let’s get some decent food. Maybe some sandwiches and some kind of spread. No, scrap the sandwiches. Let’s make it a Mediterranean spread, kebab, shawarma, gyro. And something vegetarian. Maybe rice and pita and three dips at least. Oh, a baklava cake with honey buttercream frosting. I had it at a party last month.” She eyed my checked-out face and smiled. “I’ll have Shirley arrange it.”
Shirley, her event-planner friend, catered to Aarti’s whims as frequently as she did her parties.
“I thought we were keeping it casual.”
“We are. Very casual,” she said with a naughty grin.
“If Shirley’s involved, it’s going to be anything but casual.” I shook my head and smiled back.
“Well, she knows how to keep me happy.”
“That she does. Better than me,” I blurted, then instantly regretted my words. I had internalized the habit of pleasing her despite how I felt, a habit that was sure blow up in my face soon.
“I wouldn’t say that.” She snuggled against my side and slipped her hand down my pants. Employing both enthusiasm and seduction, she tried for a while but gave up with a frown on her pretty face.
“I’m sorry. I’m very tired,” I said when she pulled her hand out.
“You’re not even trying. Look at your hands, just stuck under your head. Maybe if you slipped them under my shirt, we could get some heat going.” But a smile quickly replaced her frown, and she dropped a light kiss on my lips. “That’s alright, baby,” she said. “Consent works both ways.”
I rolled to my side and kissed her forehead. “Thank you for everything you are, Aarti. And I’m sorry for everything I am.”
She peered into my eyes, and I prayed she didn’t see the guilt in them. “Don’t be silly. It isn’t a big deal. I appreciate who you are, just the way you are.”
My breath caught between my throat and lungs. I was fucked up, and she deserved better. Tara deserved better. And I deserved neither of these phenomenal women. What the hell was I doing?
When she buried her soft body next to me, I mustered up some courage to wrap my arms around her. But at the first sign of her deep, peaceful breath, I snuck out to the dark living room with my phone.
Are you up?I texted Tara and waited. Across the room, two green dots on the oven clock blinked steadily, counting moments wasted on misgivings and heartache. Fifteen silent minutes later, I returned to bed, pulled Aarti’s hand from under her, and fell asleep holding it.
The next morning, Aarti insisted on going to her favorite brunch place in Plano. With one eye on my phone, I pretended to enjoy her company, but felt a deepening ache as I heard nothing back from Tara. We returned to spend a lazy afternoon watching TV, all the while feeling like the imposter that I was. When Aarti left that evening, I was tempted to rush over to Tara’s, but her furious silence had been her response.
Later that evening, Mom’s name lit up my phone.
“Hi, Ma,” I said.
“Are you busy?”
Her tone startled me. Something was up. “What’s wrong?”
“Is Aarti with you?”
“No, she left. Why?”
“It’s about Sangita.”
My anger spiked at the mention of that name. The veins in my head throbbed. My body went rigid with rage.
“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it, Ma. I’ll have nothing to do with that woman anymore. And you shouldn’t either.”
“Sameer, just listen to me for a minute, will you?”
“Haven’t we had enough?” My angry voice ricocheted off the walls in the cavernous apartment. “Haven’t we done enough?”
“Sameer.” Her voice hardened. “You know I’d never talk about her unless it was important. Don’t you trust me anymore?”
“Yes.” Pulling in a soft breath, I ran my fingers through my hair.
“She’s not well.”
My hand flew up in disdain. “Wow, that’s new!”
“I don’t appreciate that tone, Sameer. Call me back when you’re ready to talk like an adult.”
“I’m sorry, Ma. Go on.” Quickly and quietly, I resigned to Mom’s reprimanding me as if I were a child and asking me to be an adult in the same breath. It was a battle I couldn’t win.
“She has cancer. It’s serious.”
I lost my tongue for a moment. Basic human decency mandated that I feel sorry for her, but given her history with the family, my defenses were rightfully up.
“Is this a ploy to get more money?” I asked gently, not wanting to alienate Mom.
“I sent her to Vishal. He’s been treating her.”
Mom’s cousin, Vishal, was an oncologist in Delhi.
I paused for thought. “When did she call you, Ma?”
“A few months back,” she said after a deep silence that I didn’t break for effect.
“When, Ma?” I demanded in a voice I had never used with her before.
“He’s been treating her for almost a year now.”
“A year!” I jumped off my seat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“For this reason. I knew how you’d react. I didn’t want to involve you unless it was necessary.”
“My involvement is always necessary when it comes to her.” I rubbed my forehead with my free hand as I paced around my living room. “But you shouldn’t get involved, Mom. And how does she even know how to get in touch with you? I’m paying the lawyers an outrageous amount of money to keep her out of our lives.”
Mom chose silence again.
“Ma.”
“I had sent her my number two years ago.” She confessed in a barely audible voice.
“What? Why?” I cried. “Why would a sensible woman like you do something like that?”
“For Riya. In case she needed anything.”
“Mom!”
I couldn’t decide who the target of my anger was at that moment. Mom, who had reinstated the woman back in our lives after I had spent the better part of my youth trying to keep her away? Or Sangita, who had managed to crawl her way back to us? Or the universe that had played this cruel joke?
“I know you’re angry,” Mom said softly, “but it’s not the little girl’s fault. She shouldn’t be paying the price for her parents’ mistakes.”
“It wasn’t a mistake. It was cheating, knowing and deliberate.”
“What’s the use of rehashing all that, beta? We know what happened, and we moved on.”
“It’s not over though, is it? Here she is again.”
“The only person who matters now is Riya. She’ll need you if anything untoward happens to Sangita.”
But I didn’t want to think about that little girl, who must be almost a teenager now.
“Is she asking for money?” I asked to redirect my own thoughts.
“No, but I’ve been paying for her treatment.”
I sighed. “You should’ve told me, Ma.”
“I didn’t want you to go through it again,” she said.
“And I don’t want you to go through it alone.”
Mom cut through the bullshit. “Riya will need a home, Sameer. Sangita is deteriorating. We might not have enough time.”
“Yes, I’ll take care of it. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” I exhaled hard. “And please don’t entertain her calls. She shouldn’t be calling you.”
“She doesn’t know how else to reach you.”
“Through. The. Lawyers.” I threw my hand up in exasperation.
“But these aren’t normal circumstances to conduct business as usual.”
“How are you not angry?” I asked.
She sighed. “Because it doesn’t help. Bye, beta.”