Chapter 21
She lifted her head from my shoulder and asked, “What time is it?”
Her tears had ceased a while back, but she had stayed in my arms. I grabbed my phone from the table. “Just past two.”
“I should leave. I took up your morning.”
“No, you’re not leaving feeling like this.”
She offered a weak smile and picked up her bag. “I’m much better now. Thank you for…today.”
“Stay,” I said. “Let’s order some lunch, or I can try and cook something for you. How about pav bhaji?”
She blinked. “You are going to cook pav bhaji?” Like a clear windchime clinking in the breeze, her sweet laughter sliced through the silence of my apartment, and a word flashed across my mind, home.
“Okay, okay, that was a foolish thing to say.”
“You think? You can’t even list the ingredients that go into it.”
“Well, obviously, there’s pav,” I said, referring to the pull-apart rolls. I was blissfully ignorant, of course. I had never cooked anything beyond eggs and the occasional cup of tea in my life.
“Yes, and?”
“There are vegetables in the mix.”
“Obviously. Which ones?” Watching me fumble had lit up her face. “What kind of spices?”
“You win. I give up.”
“I bet you don’t even have the basics in this fancy house of yours, let alone the pav bhaji masala.”
“I have things,” I protested. “Durgaben stocks my pantry.”
“Why does she do that? Doesn’t she know rich boys don’t cook?”
“For some strange reason, she loves me, dotes on me, and checks up on me from time to time. Sometimes she brings me meals for the week.”
“That is strange. There’s nothing remotely lovable about you,” she said with a frown.
“May I remind you, there was once a very sassy girl who was quite fond of me?”
“She was na?ve and stupid.”
“She wasn’t na?ve. And she’s still the smartest person I know.”
Tara smiled and said, “Let’s check the pantry.”
Organized in neat rows in the walk-in pantry were some staples: Basmati rice, yellow moong dal, a bunch of pasta, and some canned and jarred goods.
“How about dal chawal?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. It had been months since I’d had a fresh homecooked meal.
“Sounds perfect. I don’t think this house knows what dal smells like.” The thought of the tempered yellow lentils over steaming rice invoked fond memories of a different life that would never return.
“Well then, let’s introduce it to the simplest of life’s pleasures. Hey rich boy, you think you can manage chawal?” she asked with a playful hand on her hip.
“I might have a rice cooker somewhere.” I walked into the pantry and returned with one. “Found it. Thank you, Durgaben!”
“That should work. Now measure out one cup of rice and rinse it twice. Then put it in the cooker with two cups of water,” she directed.
I nodded and pulled out pots and pans from the cabinets. “Then press this button…see this one here?” She grinned.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I said and proceeded to measure out the raw rice.
She rinsed the dal and put it in a pot with water over the stove. I went back to the pantry for a jar of pickled raw mango. “My mom’s special,” I announced with pride.
While the grains cooked, we set the table. She instructed, and I followed. She even located a masala dabba in the back of a cabinet.
“I like Durgaben. She’s meticulous.” Tara gestured toward the stainless steel container. “Look at this.”
Stocked with dry masalas and turmeric and suspicious-looking tiny grains that Tara said were broken methi seeds, the masala dabba was a kaleidoscopic delight of potent flavors. Accompanying it was a small bottle of the pungent asafetida.
“I didn’t see any fresh vegetables in the fridge. Do you have any frozen fries?”
“I might.” I pulled open the freezer drawer and produced a bag.
“How about masala fries?”
“You’re a wizard in the kitchen, Tara. Master of color, mistress of spices?” I said, and a warm smile appeared on her face.
When the oven was hot, she slid a tray of frozen fries into it. Then she fluffed the rice and tempered the dal with such grace and expertise that not a splatter ruined her pristine, white dress. When the fries were golden and crisp, she tossed them with mustard seeds, chili powder, and turmeric.
I stood by her at the stove, and she instructed me like a TV chef. “It’s best to check for seasoning at this stage.”
I nodded, but my heart ached as I watched her move with familiarity and comfort in my kitchen. This could’ve been my life—the two of us cooking, cleaning, and feeding little ones. Tired but wrapped in her arms at the end of an exhausting day.
She looked at me tenderly and said, “What are you thinking, Rehani?” Then shook her head.
Don’t go there.
By the time we sat down to a very late lunch, she was herself again, happy, bossy, and impetuous. We reminisced about old days and old friends as we ate. The food was spot-on. There was only one other person I knew who could create such perfect flavors from the limited ingredients I had.
“This is absolutely wonderful. It reminds me of—”
“Don’t say it,” she cut me off, spooning dal over a small portion of rice on her plate.
“What?”
“Don’t say it reminds you of your mother.” She looked at me pointedly. “Apart from being a terrible cliché, it’s creepy.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” It was exactly what I was going to say.
“What, then?”
“I was just going to say, it reminded me of…Durgaben’s cooking.” I scrambled.
“Ah, nice save.”
“No, she’s a really good cook.”
“Drop it,” she ordered with a faux stern expression. “I know what you were going to say.”
“Okay, but you made it sound so weird.”
“It is weird to look for your mother’s qualities in your girlfriend. No one wants to hear that,” she said without realizing she had forgotten to add the “ex” in that sentence. Freudian slip? I smiled and ate another mouthful of the soul-soothing food.
Quietly, we put the leftovers in the fridge, cleaned up the kitchen, and loaded the dishwasher.
“This is the first time my dishwasher is getting a full load,” I said. “Coffee?”
“Sure, I love whatever expensive beans you have. I’m sure they cost more than what I make in a month.”
I tuned out the sarcasm and turned on the coffee machine.
She leaned against the counter while the coffee brewed. “Thank you for today.”
“You never have to thank me, Tara.”
“Why is this so easy, yet we seem…impossible? It should be easy.”
I looked straight into her eyes and the answer was right there, we never had a fair chance.
When we returned to the living room with the hot coffee, she settled down at the other end of the couch from me and pulled up her legs.
“Do you remember that attendant in the dean’s office?” she asked, her slender fingers wrapped around the mug.
I nodded. “He had that strange look in his eyes, as if he could peer into your soul and know what you were thinking.”
“Yes, he was always kind to students who looked sad or distraught. Oh, how he hated you, Rehani.” She laughed. “As if he saw through to your dark soul.”
“That’s funny because I distinctly remember he didn’t like you much either.”
“That’s because I didn’t carry my emotions on my sleeve. He never saw me upset, even when I was.”
“Yes, he only saw your haughtiness. No surprise there.”
“You’re one to talk!” She tossed right back. “But the real reason he hated you was for your extracurriculars. I saw how he glared at you when you tried to woo young women.”
“Hey, hey, hey. I didn’t need to woo anyone, did I? If anything, I was the one being wooed.”
“Oh yes, of course, women were tripping over themselves falling for you,” she said with an exaggerated eye roll.
“Over themselves and each other.” I winked.
She shook her head. “You’re shameless.”
I placed my mug on the coffee table. “What else do you remember?”
“Everything!”
“Wanna bet who remembers more?”
“What are the stakes?” she asked, depositing her mug on the side table.
“Whatever you want.”
“Then let’s make it fun.” Her tone matched the naughty glint in her eye.
“I sense trouble…”
“If you fail to answer my question, you’ll have to sit through an entire Bollywood song of my choice. And if I fail to answer yours, I’ll suffer through whatever loud music you want. What do you say?”
I grinned. “You’ll never give up, will you? How long are you going to hold that against me?”
She tilted her head with a cute smile. “Until you concede that Bollywood is good music.”
“If those are the stakes, you’re on.”
“I knew it, you egomaniac. You wanna go first?”
“Sure, let me think…okay, what was the name of the eatery that had the best sandwiches?”
“Testy, with an ‘e’. Amar’s favorite place,” she said with a beautiful, toothy grin. It was Tasty misspelled.
“Not bad.”
“My turn. What was the name of the hostel warden who used to check our rooms for contraband?”
I furrowed my brow. “Mrs. Mehta, right?”
“What was her first name?”
I couldn’t recollect, so I cried foul. “I didn’t live there, so I think it’s an unfair question.”
“Alright, Rehani, I’ll give you this one. Her first name was Devika.”
“Ah, I remember now. Devika Mehta, terror personified!”
“Your turn!” She grinned.
This time, I was ready. “Do you remember the night we sat chatting under the tree before we went off to my place?”
“Yes?”
“What were you wearing that night?”
“Oh!” That was an undeniable yelp. “Umm…”
“Isn’t that the sound a loser makes?”
She narrowed her eyes and growled. “Give me a minute.”
“Sure, I’ll wait,” I said, pulling out my phone. “While I browse for a song.”
When no sound left her lips for two full minutes, I smirked at her. “Although your silence is like music to my ears, you should give up, Tara.”
She let out a dramatic sigh. She wasn’t one to accept defeat graciously. “So, what was I wearing?”
“Ivory linen pants and…ahem…a tight little burgundy top.” I remembered being envious of the looks she had fetched all day.
“You always had a dirty mind, didn’t you?”
“But you saw right through me.”
As her smile faded away, I cleared my throat. “Okay, hope you’re ready. I’ll now torture you with some obnoxious metal that even I don’t listen to.”
“That’s not fair,” she whined.
“Your terms, missy. Here we go.” The loud noise that blared from my phone was some crappy experimental music a friend had once forwarded to vex me. It was tone-deaf and disturbing, to say the least, and the perfect way to annoy her.
“Ugh, stop,” she yelled over the clamor of disharmonious metal sounds, clamping her hands over her ears. I turned down the volume. “Congratulations, I’m officially hard of hearing.”
Her lips turned into an unintended pout as she inserted her slender fingers into her ears. How I longed to pull her into my arms and kiss her at that moment! But wasn’t I the one who had pushed her away?
“My turn, but how about we raise the stakes?” she said, and I focused my eyes back on her. “I’ll ask one last question, and if you answer correctly, you get to ask me anything you want.”
“And if I don’t?”
Her eyes sparkled with devious intent. “If you don’t, you’ll dance to a Bollywood song.”
I smiled. “I’d be so scared right now if I didn’t know you. But I accept, because I know I can never lose!”
“Such misplaced arrogance!” She smirked. “Alright then, tell me who was the first girl you slept with in Baroda?”
I frowned at her. “Really? That’s crass.”
She raised her brows. “Crass! Since when does Sameer Rehani care about crass?”
I squeezed one eye closed in thought. “Okay, let me think.”
“Oh yes, it’s quite a list. You’ll need more time. Maybe I could come back tomorrow?”
“Hush…I don’t remember her name…”
“You never did.”
“…she had long hair, wore a fruity fragrance…an economics major.”
She whipped out a wicked smile and shook her head. “Tsk, tsk, get ready to wiggle your hips, mister!”
“Wait, you can’t just reject my answer. It’s my life, I know, for the most part.”
“She had short hair, wore a dark lipstick, and had a very artistic eyeliner. A psych major. She was right up your alley.”
My jaw dropped in disbelief. “How do you know that?”
“I have my sources.” She put a finger under my chin to close my gaping mouth.
“No, really. How on earth do you know that?”
“Why?” She frowned.
“Because she had a boyfriend, and no one was supposed to know.”
“Pfft, big deal. It was college, who cares?”
“I promised her, so I care. Seriously, no one knew. Were you, like, obsessed with me and spying on me?”
“Puh-leeze,” she scoffed. “I’m very observant. I spotted the hungry look in your eyes right away. You had been in town for what, two days? You met her when you joined us at the café across the liberal arts campus and chatted her up. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened next. She was totally into you, by the way.”
I shook my head. “Wow.”
“So, you just wrote her out of your history?”
I shrugged.
“And she went back to her boyfriend after she shagged you?”
I shrugged again.
“Oh yeah, I forgot, you never slept with anyone more than once.”
“Except you.”
“Shut up.”
“Although in this case, I did sleep with her again.”
Her eyes went wide. “How did that happen?”
I wondered how much to tell her without raking up our past. “Do you remember the weed incident?”
She sat upright. “You got the contact from her? Did you sleep with her for that?”
I nodded. “She got it from her boyfriend, but she set the terms of our…interaction.”
“Interaction?” Tara narrowed her eyes at me. “Is that her word or yours?”
I stifled my chuckle with a cough.
“That one was for you,” I said in a near-whisper.
As Tara looked up from her phone, I asked, “What’s taking so long?”
She took the hint and dropped the subject. “I’m looking for the worst item number I can find.” That was Bolly-speak for a song that had no relevance to the story. As if any of them did, I scoffed. To myself, of course. I wasn’t bold enough to say it to her.
“Ah, here we go,” she said and turned on a loud, raucous, raunchy song. “Time to shake that booty, Rehani.”
It was the worst kind of double entendre, set to loud hip-shaking music, and yet it sounded strangely erotic. I willed myself off the couch and flung my arms and legs around to match the rhythm.
“Yes!” She rolled on the couch laughing. “Dance to the music you loathe, rich boy.” I “danced,” watching her revel in schadenfreude, before pulling her off the couch. “I can’t be doing this alone. You’re dancing with me.”
She swayed her hips, moving gracefully to the music that I had trouble keeping up with. When she turned her back to me, I brought my hands to her hips and pulled her flush against my body, taking in her smell and absorbing her touch that, until yesterday, was only a memory. She danced without a care, cheering me on in my humiliation. For the first time in years, I abandoned all inhibitions and cavorted like she wanted me to. By the time the song ended, I was out of breath, and tiny beads of sweat glimmered on her forehead. We flopped down onto the couch together.
“How did I forget you’re such a terrible dancer?” She panted, reeling in laughter.
I covered my face with my palm and said, “That was humiliating! You won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
She brought her chin to rest on my chest and removed my hand. “Serves you right, Casanova,” she said. As her eyes met mine, her breath shallowed, her pupils widened, and her smile disappeared. She lifted herself off with haste and moved away on the couch.
“Why did you come over that night after the opening, Tara?”
This time, she met my curious gaze with grit. “I was so overwhelmed by what happened that evening that I thought if you could handle me at my worst, we’d be able to face anything together. I gave myself the wrong idea that you wanted me.”
I bolted upright and rubbed my hands over my face. “You know what I want, Tara. You’ve always known.”
“We’ve been at these crossroads twice before, Sameer. It’s not fair to me. It’s not fair to Aarti and Sujit.”
“I want you to be happy.”
“It’s not that simple. Are you prepared to give up Aarti?”
“I’m breaking up with her after her parents’ anniversary party next weekend.”
She frowned in confusion. “Why?”
“Why am I breaking up, or why after the party?”
She blinked. “Both.”
I let out the breath I was holding. “I realized life is too short to spend with someone I don’t love, but I still wouldn’t want to be cruel. I don’t want her to feel dumped and unwanted at an event she’s spent an awful lot of time planning.”
“You have changed,” she said with a weary slump. “But you don’t know the whole story.”
“What story?”
She clutched her hands together and heaved a breath. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about that morning at your parents’ home. Sameer, when you left, I was pregnant. I learned a week later. I tried to get in touch with you desperately because I wanted you to know.” She took a shaky breath and kept her eyes on her hands. “I didn’t carry the pregnancy. It wasn’t the right time for me. Amar was my sole support during that time. I couldn’t do it alone.”
My heart pounded in my head, and I felt heat creeping up my neck. My forehead wrinkled into a frown, and I felt sweaty and unwell. It took me a moment to gather my thoughts to respond.
“And you thought this would somehow change my mind about breaking up with Aarti?”
“It might change your mind about us. I don’t regret the decision, only the circumstances.”
I blinked in disbelief. “Fifty-seven,” I whispered.
She looked up with a quizzical frown.
“The number of times you called that week, and the number of times I didn’t answer.”
She gasped as tears pooled in her eyes. I reached out to hold her hands and dropped my forehead on hers. “I’m so, so sorry, Tara, for deserting you when you most needed me. Why would you think this would change anything? And why did Amar not tell me?”
“He didn’t know until you cut off all contact with me. Now I know you had already left for the U.S. by then,” she said in a hollow voice.
“I left because I had no choice.”
It was time to tell her everything. The words poured out of me. I abandoned all my excuses and disclosed the shame I had kept buried for all these years.
“The deeper we dug, the more dirt we unearthed. Turned out Dad had incurred a huge personal debt. We were forced to liquidate every asset we owned to repay it. We lost everything. There was no choice left but to flee. Mom deserved none of it, and I’ve worked hard to give her back everything she lost. She was the doyenne of high society. Classy, cultured, and proud, but always kind. She never spoke ill of anyone, never indulged in gossip, yet life dealt her a hand that made her the subject of gossip, a target of bawdy jokes. I heard what rotten words they used for her, although it was Dad whose misdeeds had led to our downfall.”
Tara brought her hand to my cheek as a tear slipped down hers. “I’m so sorry, Sameer. Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner?”
“I was so ashamed. I’m still ashamed. How could I have dragged you into the ruins of my life? I never intended to be cruel, but I was so out of my depth. I had no idea what I was doing. It has taken me all these years to get past it.”
“So, where does that leave us? Where do we go from here, Sameer?”
I looked into her eyes. “Years ago, I asked you this, and I’m asking you again today. What do you want, Tara?”
This time, I didn’t get the answer I wanted.
“I don’t know. I’m scared,” she said.
We stayed in the same spot on the couch, our hands clutched tight and our foreheads touching, until the sun shifted in its track to cast an evening shadow through the west window. When my phone chimed on the side table, she stirred and relaxed her grip on my hands.
“I better leave.” She scooped up her shoulder bag from the recliner and dashed out the door.