Chapter 12
Are you up? Sameer had the balls to text me after leaving me in tears to rush back to his girlfriend. Had he texted me before or after having sex with her? I couldn’t believe I was about to give up my loyal and kind Sujit for the fickle, heartless Sameer. I decided I had to stop obsessing over him and rid myself of the dark shadow I had dragged along for all these years. I was bound to run into him, but now I was going to be indifferent.
Four days later, still fighting my bitterness, I stretched a new canvas to paint away my deepest feelings. Usually, it worked, but today I was smeared in paint, and the canvas resembled a murder scene. I stood staring at it with my head cocked, questioning its redeemability, when the phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number. I swiped it open with the only clean section on my pinky finger.
“Hello?” I said, putting it on speaker.
“Hey.” A vaguely familiar voice responded. “It’s Mihir.” I took a moment trying to put a face to the name when he added, “Sameer’s friend.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“How are you?”
“I’m alright. How’ve you been?”
“Good. Great. What’re you doing this Saturday?”
“Are you asking me out?” I asked with a light laugh. “You know I’m seeing someone.”
He apologized with a deep, throaty laugh. “That came out wrong. Let me start over. I’ve been invited to a party, and I want you to come along as my guest.”
“Aren’t you going ask if I want to come?”
“Ah, see I knew you’d say that. I also know you’ll refuse if I leave the decision to you. So, what do you say?”
“How do you know I’ll refuse?” I smiled at the memory of our lighthearted exchange at the café.
“It’s Sameer’s birthday.”
My smile vanished. I knew his birthday was next Tuesday, but I wasn’t planning on sending a message. I hadn’t for all these years, and now was definitely not a good time to start.
“Mihir, I appreciate what you’re doing, but if he wanted me there, he would’ve invited me.”
“He’s not invited anyone. Aarti’s doing all the planning.”
“Then I absolutely shouldn’t be there.”
“Tsk, where’s the fun in that? If you come along as my guest, he’ll have to behave, and you get to rub it in.”
“Rub what in?” I wondered how much Sameer had told him about our past.
“He’s still hung up on you, but can’t bring himself to own it.”
“Oh, he owned it alright! He owned it with one arm tightly wrapped around Aarti.”
“Exactly.”
I heaved a big sigh. “Why would you do this? I thought you were his friend.”
“To give you both a second shot.”
“What if I don’t want one?”
“That’s your choice. I’m trying as Sameer’s friend, perhaps yours. You can always refuse.” His voice held a veiled challenge, and I found challenges very hard to resist.
I took a moment to mull it over. It would surely fluster Sameer if I showed up unannounced at a party his girlfriend was throwing. It would also allow me to demonstrate how completely over him I was. Which I was, I asserted.
“Okay, I’m in,” I said. “What’s the dress code? I don’t want to be caught under or overdressed among the rich and the bratty.”
He chuckled but it was a sophisticated sound. “Casual. Very casual. Pick you up at seven?”
“Perfect.”
Summer had set in bright and strong, and in keeping with the season, I chose an off-the-shoulder yellow midi dress that Saturday. Instead of using a flat iron on my hair, I fluffed my naturally playful waves. With matching yellow polish on my nails, red lips, and flirty tan heels, I was dressed to provoke. I had found the perfect gift for Sameer, with the perfect message written inside. Grabbing the shoulder bag that I hauled everywhere, I waited for Mihir.
Game on!
When he pulled up, he gave me a quick once-over. “Not bad.”
“Thank you,” I said as we rolled out of the driveway. “I must admit though, I feel like I’m making a dreadful mistake coming uninvited.”
He threw me a reassuring glance. “You aren’t coming uninvited. I RSVP’d for two. You’re my plus one. And this was my idea, and I don’t make mistakes.”
I was starting to like this troublemaker.
“Okay, but I’m leaving immediately if it gets awkward.”
“Of course, if you’re even the slightest bit uncomfortable, give me a sign and I’ll drive you home.”
In about a minute, we arrived at Sameer’s luxury condominium complex, with an emphasis on luxury. Suddenly, the picture of Sameer with the perfect Aarti made complete sense. But it wasn’t jealousy I felt at that moment. Indifference, perhaps. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to play.
We exited on the twenty-third floor, and while Mihir pushed the doorbell, I took a moment to run my nervous palms over my dress. Sameer answered the door, saw me, and stood dumbfounded.
“Happy Birthday, buddy,” Mihir said with a painfully loud slap on Sameer’s back as he brushed past him. Sameer blinked, then let me in.
“Abby was busy, so I brought a friend,” Mihir said to Aarti, who approached us with a smile. “I hope that’s alright.”
“Of course!” Aarti said, and she gave him a hug. “Good to see you again, Tara. Come in, please.” While she led us inside, I found Sameer still standing speechless by the door.
A small group had congregated in the living room, and all eyes turned to me.
“Everyone, this is my friend, Tara,” Mihir said. “She’s a terrific artist and an expert art appraiser, so if any of you are trying to pass off fakes, she’ll smoke you out.” A tide of polite laughter rolled around the room, and everyone took turns introducing themselves.
“Grab a drink,” Mihir whispered in my ear as I placed my bag on a corner table. “Oh, and laugh like I said something funny.”
“That’s your play? To make him jealous?”
“Yes, now play along.”
“I can’t laugh on cue!” I said between clenched teeth. “How about a fake smile?”
“You’re taking the fun out of this,” he said and walked toward the kitchen, where the food and drinks were set up.
I smiled, not a fake one, and spotted Sameer in the kitchen. Taking the beautifully wrapped gift from my bag, I walked up to him.
“Happy Birthday, Sameer,” I said, handing him the gift.
“Thank you,” he said, holding himself in perfect poise for a second before abandoning the pretense. “What’re you doing here?” His annoyed frown was my first reward that evening.
I whipped out my sweetest smile. “Mihir invited me.”
He looked at Mihir, who glared back before taking a swig of the beer he had just opened. “She’s my guest. She better be welcome.”
Sameer didn’t reply, just held his friend in a steady gaze, then took my gift and walked away toward the anterior rooms. I struggled to suppress a grin.
“People are going to talk about us.” I rolled my eyes and poured myself some whisky over ice.
Mihir picked up a meatball on a stick. “Does that bother you?”
I shrugged and took a sip of the very expensive, very smooth liquor. “I don’t live here. These aren’t my friends. I hope you don’t find yourself the subject of a rumor,” I said, although something told me that wouldn’t bother him.
He picked up another meatball on a fancy stick and handed it to me. “Try this. It’s really good.”
“Of course it is,” I said, scanning the spread of Mediterranean food—fresh, decadent, and beautiful.
“Stop being grumpy and work your magic,” Mihir said just as Sameer walked back to us.
“What are you two whispering about?” Sameer asked with narrowed eyes.
“We weren’t whispering,” I said, pushing myself off the counter with a playful grace that earned me Mihir’s approving smile.
When I rejoined the group in the living room, people were curious to know more about me. What did my work entail? Where was I from, really from, because my accent didn’t sound Indian.
What does an Indian sound like to others, I wondered. Eventually, though, I faded comfortably into the background.
When the doorbell dinged again, we dispersed to get more food and drinks. Relaxing on the couch, I had struck up a conversation about art with a woman named Jessica, when we were interrupted by a little boy who came hurtling through the front door.
“Oh my god, Bryson!” Jessica squealed and hugged the little boy.
A well-dressed woman came rushing after Bryson, followed by a man carrying a baby bag. “We’re so sorry. Our sitter had an emergency, and we didn’t have time to find a replacement. I hope you don’t mind,” the woman said, looking at Aarti, who welcomed her in.
“Of course, not.” Aarti smiled warmly. “We love having Bryson.”
“Hi, I’m Amanda.” She extended a hand to me. “My husband, Ben.”
“Tara, very nice to meet you,” I said to Amanda and waved across the room to Ben. “I’m a friend of Mihir.”
Amanda smiled. “Bryson is almost ready for bed. Just a few more minutes and he’ll be out like a light.”
I smiled at the young child, who stood gawking at me with big, curious blue eyes. “Hi, Bryson, I’m Tara.”
When he gave a shy smile, I put my drink on a side table and slipped to the floor on my knees.
“Would you like to draw?” I asked and watched his eyes gleam.
“Come with me.”
He looked at his mom.
“It’s alright, Bryson.”
“Catch your breath,” I said to Amanda.
With a huff, she flopped down on the couch.
Bryson held my hand and followed me to a table by a large window. Propping him up on a chair, I pulled out paper, pencils, and oil pastels from my bag. Beautiful city lights twinkled outside. The Bank of America Plaza was lit up tall and proud, and the Fountain Place stood out in its distinctive shape. The Reunion Tower was slightly hidden from this vantage point, but its glory remained unfettered.
I had loved my job as an art tutor in India and had continued to volunteer at my local public libraries. There was nothing more beautiful than seeing the world through the art of a child. “What do you want to draw, Bryson?”
“I wan draw circle,” he said confidently.
“That’s good! Here, take this pencil and draw a circle. Let me know if you need help, okay?”
He nodded and gripped the pencil in his fist, making curves on the paper.
“That’s good. Can you draw another?”
He threw in more curves, squiggly lines, and a partially decent circle. Then we filled the shapes with color as the party moved along. Mihir joined us, and Bryson pointed to several drawings and shared their stories. I understood about half of what he said. The baby talk garbled the rest. When Bryson was tired, Mihir helped me clean up, and we moved back to the living area. But the kid refused to leave my side, resisting his mother’s attempts to take him to bed. I settled down beside Amanda, and he slipped between us. As he began to recline against me, I caressed his light-colored tresses with faint shhh sounds. In about two minutes, he was fast asleep with his head in my lap.
“You’re very good with kids,” Amanda whispered, gushing with gratitude.
“I have a lot of friends with kids.” I smiled back at her, and then my eyes caught Sameer, watching me intently from across the room.
“We’ll put him inside,” Amanda said, nodding at Ben to take him.
“I can take him, if you don’t mind,” I offered.
With the slight boy cradled in my arms, I followed Sameer down the hall to the guest room, where he turned on a quiet lamp. I walked around him to the bed, laid the boy down, and tucked him under a light blanket. He wriggled but didn’t wake up. As I turned around, Sameer blocked my way, standing so close I could see the individual hairs in his stubble. His eyes glowed like fire in the soft light. I clutched my dress for a small second.
“What’s this new game, Tara?” he growled in my face.
“Game? What game? Showing affection to a little kid is a game for you rich folks?”
His eyes continued to burn amber. I turned my head to look at the child, cozy in sweet slumber. “Or are you embarrassed that I look like a dark-skinned nanny to a rich, white kid?”
His mouth dropped.
“Oh, is that what’s really bothering you? You’re ashamed of how your rich friends might perceive me?” I stepped toward him. “I’m not of your world, Sameer. I don’t share your values, I don’t have to play by your rules.”
“Dammit, Tara, stop trying to pick a fight every time we talk.” He blew out an angry breath.
I smirked. “See you around, Sameer.”
“Tara.” I heard his soft voice when I reached the door.
“Let it go.”
“What the hell are you doing with Mihir? Enough with these ridiculous games. If you want me, just come out and say it.”
I turned around and whispered, “I did, and you flew out of my arms to rush back to Aarti.”
“Don’t do this, Tara. You know—”
“Go be with your girlfriend, Sameer. Go back to your perfect life.”
I walked out to find Mihir in the kitchen, opening another bottle of beer. He stopped midway through twisting the top when he saw me. “Do you want to leave?”
“No.” I sighed. “But for the record, this hasn’t been your most brilliant idea.”
“Well, I’m not ready to call it yet,” he said just as Aarti shuffled past us. “I think she’s jealous of all the attention you’re getting today,” he whispered.
I drove my fingers through my hair. “What am I doing wrong, Mihir? Why won’t the pain go away?”
He chugged from his bottle. “You won’t let it.”
Turning my face to him, I said, “Listen, I’m sorry I misled you. I’m not here because I want him back. He left me humiliated yet again, and I came here to have a little fun at his expense, but now I feel horrid about that too.”
“Alright.”
“Alright? What does alright mean?”
“It means I get it.” He smiled as he broke open an expensive scotch someone had brought as a gift and poured a splash in a glass.
“Here, drink this and relax. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” His warm words and intent eyes reminded me of Dada. “The pain won’t go away because you gave him a second chance, but you never gave yourself one.”
“How’s that?”
“Let yourself feel vulnerable again. Whoever you want to be with, Sameer or your boyfriend in New York, let it flow. Don’t restrict it, don’t put conditions on it.”
I gulped down the contents of my glass. “So, who exactly are you, Mihir, a reincarnated wise sage who enjoys a stiff drink?”
He smiled and gently bumped my shoulder.
Past midnight, as we thanked the hosts for a fun party, Mihir slipped an arm around my waist with the polished brazenness of 007. I wish I had seen the look on Sameer’s face, but not watching him was half the fun.