Chapter 20
Iwas seated at the edge of the couch when the doorbell rang. Sameer had only taken twelve minutes to arrive. I opened the door and fell against his chest. His touch and smell invoked a familiar, comforting memory that said it was alright to be weak, just for a day. He stepped in and closed the door. I broke into tears, which turned into sobs that escalated to breathless gasps.
Wrapping his arms around me, he let me weep. “It’s okay. Let it all out.”
I wailed some more. Of course, I was no longer ashamed of showing him my tears, not after that evening at the museum. He had scooped me up and consoled me, as if he knew exactly what to do, what I needed.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered against my cheek.
“No, I can’t let anyone see me like this.”
“Then let’s go to my place.”
When I tried to step out of his arms, he pulled me closer. “Don’t resist. A change of scene and some fresh air will do you good.” He lifted my chin with his forefinger and smiled. “Come on, I brought my convertible.”
“I hate convertibles,” I said, wiping my eyes with my fingers and the backs of my hands. Some errant tears ran down my arms. “They mess up my hair.”
He laughed. “Fine. We’ll keep the top up and crack a window.”
I blinked away the rest of my tears. “I want ice cream.”
He smiled. “I know just the place. Go change.”
I took two steps, then turned and said, “Just because I’m leaning on you today, doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about us. I need you as a friend, that’s all.”
“I understand.”
Pulling on a white eyelet dress, I bundled up my hair into a loose bun. I brushed on a light coat of mascara and refreshed my muted red lipstick. I wasn’t dressing up for him. I didn’t go to the grocery store without lipstick.
With the top up and the windows down, he drove us to a local creamery. At ten in the morning, it was deserted. “I wonder why people waste their time on breakfasts and brunches when there’s ice cream.” I snorted as I settled down at a table.
“Yeah, silly people,” he said, using his phone to pay on a fancy register.
I had chosen the biggest cup they had with three flavors that didn’t go together, or so Sameer informed me. I responded with a stink eye.
“Are you sure you don’t want any?” I asked as he pulled out a chair across from me.
“No, I’m one of those silly people who prefer to have breakfast in the morning.”
“Your loss!” I scooped a spoonful into my mouth.
He smiled.
“Keep those judge-y eyes off me while I eat away my grief.”
“I don’t have the audacity to judge you, nor the moral authority.”
“That’s never stopped you before.” I stuffed my mouth with another big scoop as his phone buzzed on the table. His smile faded.
“Text from Aarti?”
“Nothing important.” He breathed and clenched his jaw.
“I’m sorry, not my concern.”
“Yes, you’ve made that very clear.”
“You made it clear that night in the car, Sameer.” I tried to produce a scoff, but it sounded off-tone on account of my cold tongue.
“Let’s go,” he said, pushing back his chair, keys jangling in his hand. “Before this turns into another fight.”
I pointed to my bowl of dessert. “And this?”
“Eat it on the way.”
“You’re still heartless, aren’t you?” I cried as I followed him to the car.
Neither of us said a word as he drove us to his place. I considered asking him to drop me back at mine, but his crestfallen face discouraged me. The least I could do was be a good friend to him.
It was the first time I saw his condo in daylight, and the sun streaming in made the tastefully decorated space even more appealing. I had heard everything is big in Texas, but it was enormous, at least five times bigger than my apartment. I could see his artistic vision in the arrangement of furniture and the choice of accent pieces. Big, open glass windows stood in lieu of walls on two sides, inviting in the bright Texas sunlight.
“I never got a chance to tell you what a beautiful home you have,” I said to break the ice between us.
“It’s not a home yet. I’m hardly here during the week, and some weekends I spend at my parents’. Would you like to see the place?”
“Sure.” He went around the house, and I followed him with a sturdy grip on my ice cream bowl. The decor was minimalist but perfect. Everything looked like it had a purpose, and nothing was out of sync.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked as we circled back to the kitchen.
I held up my bowl, and he gave me a restrained smile.
“Would you like me to leave?” I asked.
“Why?” He frowned.
“I’m upset. I need to sulk. But if you’re going to do that too, I’d rather be by myself.”
He smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t know we couldn’t share the sulking. Take turns, perhaps?”
I shook my head and put the bowl to my lips to drink up the last molten bits of the cacophonous flavors, which tasted absolutely fine to me.
He held out his hand, and I placed the empty bowl in it. “Thank you.”
“You’re going to have a stomachache, a headache, or both. I’m waiting to see which hits you first.”
“I’ll gladly take either over the bloody heartache,” I said.
“There’s enough of that to go around. Aarti texted about setting a date for our engagement.”
“I’m not sure how or why to feel sorry about that.”
He let out a deep sigh. “You still don’t mince words, do you?”
“Sorry, I—”
“Don’t bother,” he said. “Sit.” We settled on the couch in the living room, facing the skyline. “So, are you going to tell me what happened? Those were some tears.”
But as I met his eyes, I lost my nerve. How could I reveal the grim, dark secrets of my family?
Before I realized it, I was on my feet. “I think this was a mistake.”
He held my wrist and gently said, “Hey, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright. Stay, we can talk about something else.”
I hesitated but sat down. “Is Aarti coming here today?”
Another sigh from him.
“I’m only asking because I don’t want to be here when she comes.”
“No, she’s not coming this weekend. I wanted to work.”
I sat up straight. “I didn’t realize. I keep barging in on your life. Maybe it’s best if I left.” I stood again.
He held my hand and coaxed me back to the couch. “It’s never a bother, Tara. You know that.”
After a few minutes of silence, he said, “I’m hungry. Is it okay if I make some eggs?”
I nodded and followed him to the kitchen. He pulled out eggs from the refrigerator and pointed to a barstool at the island. “Have a seat. I had just come back from the gym when you called. Took a quick shower and headed out.”
“I can’t believe rich boy is cooking.” I couldn’t hide the incredulity in my voice. “You didn’t cook when you lived alone in Baroda.”
He gave a restrained smile and said, “Times change.”
With a serrated knife, he cut precise slices off a loaf from a gourmet bakery I had seen around the corner and put them in a slot toaster. Then he turned on a fancy coffee machine that ground fresh beans before brewing. The sweet smell of a specialty roasted coffee replaced the delicious, yeasty aroma of the bread.
“How’s the response to your work been since the review?” he asked, working on the eggs.
“Good, a few other media outlets picked up the story, and now I’ve got two people bidding over Healing Love.”
“That’s great, Tara.” He appeared genuinely proud of my achievement.
“Yeah, my agent is hyping me up as the next big thing.”
“And I have the honor of being the first to own a Tara Kadam original.”
I smiled at his back. “And you’ve got the best one yet.”
“Hey, did you solve the mystery of those artists?”
I sat up. “Yes! It’s so intriguing. It was the same artist. Can you believe it?”
“How did you figure it out?”
“When Mr. Arlington showed me the painting, he flashed this sly, crooked smile, which stuck with me because it was at odds with how he had been all evening. So that got me thinking, and instead of focusing on the paintings, I began to research their family history. In one obscure biography, I found a clue. Turns out, Bayles, the artist who was hired by the estate, had a torrid affair with one of the daughters-in-law of the patriarch. So they ousted him and destroyed his early work. But the couple continued their clandestine relationship, and he used a pseudonym to sneak in several pieces depicting sexualities cloaked in landscape art. Dr. Hadden is ecstatic.”
“Then how come they still have the ones with his real name?”
“Ah, see, this is why I love talking to you,” I said, and he turned around to gift me a smile. “His lover hid them, and they were discovered long after the entire generation was dead.”
“That is truly intriguing. Almost like solving a real mystery.”
“Hey.” I frowned. “It is a real mystery.”
He cast me a teasing look, and I rolled my eyes. “I had forgotten you did that.” And I had forgotten how good it felt when he teased me like that.
“So…” I exhaled. “When did you move to the U.S.?”
“Thirteen years ago.”
He didn’t even flinch when he unloaded that piece of information on me. Realization struck me like a lightning bolt as I figured out why I couldn’t reach him anymore. He hadn’t changed his number. He had moved out of the country.
“How could you not tell me, Sameer?”
“Let’s eat.” He transferred the fluffy eggs onto two plates, put the toast beside them, and carried the plates over to me.
“I’m not hungry.” I pouted.
It was partially true, but I was also furious.
“Eat a little or you’re going to be sick.” He placed a plate before me, then took a seat at the island.
“I know it’s too late, but I’m really sorry about how I left things,” he said and placed a hand over mine.
I withdrew my hand, grabbed a fork, and stabbed the egg on my plate. We ate in absolute silence, except for the clink of the silverware. After I helped him clean up, I declared, “I should leave.”
“Stay.”
“I’m mad at you, Sameer.”
“I know, but we’re here now,” he said softly and poured the fragrant coffee into two huge mugs.
We returned to the living room and stared at the city drowning under the bright summer sun. A small button on a tiny remote drew the shades, and just like that, we slipped into a refuge of our own. Away from the noise and bustle of the city, away from the prying eyes of the sun. Wrapped up in a cocoon of safety. The coffee mug felt cozy in my hands. I moved closer to him, pulled my knees into my chest, and relaxed against his shoulder. Soon, silent tears began flowing down the side of my face, and I allowed them to run unchecked. When his arm wrapped around my shoulder, my story spilled out.
“My brother was devastated when he sobered up and realized what he had done,” I said. “He cried and pleaded and apologized, but I couldn’t trust him anymore. I asked him to keep the family home because that’s all he would get. Every so often, I send him a little money, even though I know he’s not buying groceries with it. He texts me, sometimes thanking me for the money or asking how Aai is doing. I avoided his calls for months, but I never imagined he could say those things. I can’t believe he’s carried so much bitterness in his heart. Among other things, he called me a whore, Sameer. It sounds worse in Marathi. Like a stab through the heart. In a flash, it strips you of all humanity and all sense of dignity, no matter who you are. You become a word in someone else’s mouth, to be used at their will, to be dragged through the dirt, to be trampled upon.”
“Oh Tara, I’m so sorry!” He gathered me in his arms and kissed the top of my head.
“I won’t repeat what else he said, but no one should hear such cruel words from a loved one. I understand he’s an addict, and perhaps I shouldn’t have left him alone like that, but we put him through three different rehab programs over the years. Expensive ones. He came back, stayed clean for a few weeks, then started drinking again. He blames me for not giving him the money that would put him back on his feet instead of wasting it on rehab,” I added with fresh tears. “But my life and my work are here now. I can’t go take care of him every time he relapses.”
“You’re right,” Sameer said against my cheek as he continued to hold me. “Neither you nor your mother should blame yourselves. He’s a grown man. Grown adults need to take responsibility for their own actions, not expect others to clean up their messes.”
I moved out of his arms and threw my shoulders back. “Sujit stood by me like a rock through it all.” He needed to know the depth of my feelings for Sujit. “He helped me get my tickets and booked car rides and hotels while I was on the way. He’s also helping me get her stay extended. He’s the reason I’m not worried about her.”
Sameer pulled me closer and kissed my temple. “I’m glad you have him.”
“I’m not a citizen yet, which means I can’t sponsor her immigration. We’ll have to wait and see what happens. Worst-case scenario, she’ll go back to India for six months. I might go with her or have her stay with a relative until I can get her back. But I can’t knowingly put her in harm’s way again.”
“I’m also here for you, Tara,” he said. “Let me know if I can help.”
I nodded and relaxed against his shoulder.