8. Mihir
MIHIR
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like this.
I took great pride in my ability to organize and compartmentalize my life, a trait I’d inherited from my parents. Dad, a scholar and a thinker, owed his renown as a successful doctor to his rigorous methods. Mom was just as meticulously organized—in thought as in everyday life. She managed her writing, political activism, community service, and home with the ease of an efficient, ambitious multitasker.
There was a trick Mom had taught me when I was in middle school. I was a multipotentialite, a word I neither knew nor understood at that age. I’d only known that too many things gripped my interest, but I wasn’t adept enough to succeed at anything. One evening at the dinner table, I had lamented aloud that I was a scatterbrain.
“Why do you think that?” Mom had asked.
When I’d explained how I felt, she’d set a mother-son appointment for the following day after school. That afternoon, she’d introduced me to a technique.
“List everything you want to do,” she said, handing me a pencil and a sheet of paper.
Turned out, I was as ambitious as Mom. About twenty items turned up on that list.
“Now circle the five things you want to accomplish first,” she instructed with a smile.
It had taken me long minutes to narrow the list down to highlight my priorities. It added angst to my already damaging self-image as a scatterbrain, but Mom sat with me patiently as I circled and erased and circled again. Finally satisfied, I handed her the paper.
“Good. Now take this blank page and copy down the five things you’ve identified,” she said.
I did and showed her.
“Excellent. Now, pin this above your desk,” she’d said, handing me the shorter list. “Only focus on getting these five things done. I’m going to keep the original list with me. Once you’re satisfied you’ve met these five goals, we’ll tackle the other ones.”
That day had changed my life. Every single thing about that hour was still vivid in my memory. Mom’s bright smile, the exact shade of her lipstick, her loose cotton top with tiny pink and yellow flowers, the gentle smell of her expensive perfume—I remembered everything. She still wore the same perfume after all these years. It was her only indulgence, she’d once said.
At the top of that list was Memorize Dvorak’s Symphony No. 9 , which I had been struggling with for the past few weeks in my piano lessons. Symbolic, because piano still remained my greatest passion. It had taken me years, but I had become a proficient pianist.
Over the decades, I had achieved my goals, checked them off my list, and added more. I moved some around, and a few ended up at the bottom of the list. When I was younger, I’d seen Mom working on her stories, and I’d kept my sight on that goal for years, but Write a Novel had never materialized for me. It was only last year that I had finally pushed that dream to the bottom of the pile.
I was still a multipotentialite, but now, I was one with purpose. I knew what I wanted, and I knew how to arrive at it.
Perhaps that was the reason I left myself with no time for a committed relationship. Although, the boredom that came with committing to a single preoccupation was also a cause for concern. I was good at identifying, separating, and attending to my physical and emotional needs.
Now my mind was confused. I wanted Sona, but I couldn’t figure out why I wanted her. Her sweet smile, brilliant brain, and smart tongue made me desire her in ways I hadn’t considered important before. I wanted to see her smile, to share in her tears. I loved hearing her talk just as much as I imagined her in my bed. But when it was time to end it, would I be able to move on without losing a part of myself?
It was almost daybreak when my weary brain had a eureka moment: it was infatuation, plain and simple. I had needlessly spent the whole night agonizing over her when it was clear as the day slipping in that it was a harmless crush. As Tara’s friend, she was off-limits, which made her more attractive, almost like a challenge. Once I came to terms with that, I’d be able to get over her and move on. My dating routine would fall back in line, and my life would make sense again. The thought brought me peace. All I had to do was try and resist that temptation for a few days until she returned to New York. By the time I saw her again, she would be a laughable memory of a silly crush.
A crush at thirty-five. Chortling at the thought, I began to drift into sweet slumber.
A young face flashed across my mind—a teenage girl with soft curls framing her face. A girl who knew a lot about stars, and I saw them in her eyes. I’d been fifteen, and it had been the first and only time I had lost sleep like this. I had thought about her all night, wondering if I could tell her how much I liked her. That girl had been my first love, and this felt exactly like that…
Mercifully, the annoyingly high pitch of my alarm brought me out of that dreaded thought. It had been only fifteen minutes since I’d closed my eyes. After I hit snooze twice, my mind shamed me into giving up.
I had a lot to take care of for the trip to the lake house, and suddenly, my heart leapt with joy at the prospect of seeing Sona again. Grumbling at the turmoil within me, I pulled myself out of bed.
Take and bake casseroles, check . Beer, wine, and scotch, check . Birthday cake, pick up on the way . Dad’s gift? From a closet, I pulled out the three-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle that I’d had custom-created. A collage of his pictures with Mom through the years, the gift was my way of annoying Dad, though I knew they would both enjoy working on it together.
I grabbed my packed suitcase and headed to my parents to pick them up. The plan was to reach the lake house by early afternoon to spend two carefree days and return Monday morning.
I had just pulled out of my parents’ driveway when Tara’s number flashed on my dashboard. “Hey, Tara.”
“Hi, it’s Sona,” I heard, and my face turned warm.
“Hey, Sona, what’s up?” I managed to keep my voice steady and casual but caught Mom, riding shotgun, studying me intently.
“Tara asked me to call and say we’re leaving in a few minutes. We still have to pick up Sameer’s parents and Riya, so we might be a bit late.”
“That’s alright. We just started. See you there.”
“What happened last night?” Mom asked promptly when Sona had hung up.
“Nothing, Mom. I dropped her off and went home. What did you think was going to happen?”
She shrugged. “We never know with you,” she said and threw a smile at Dad in the back.
“Nothing happened, and nothing’s going to happen.”
At the lake house, I slipped the casseroles and the cake in the fridge before carrying their bags to one of the several bedrooms in Grant’s home.
Grant and Mike were my oldest friends. Mike’s dad was a cardiothoracic surgeon. His mother, the Dean of the School of Psychology at Texas Western University, was the first African American and the first woman to hold that position.
Grant came from generations of wealth. As a kid, he had often come across as arrogant, but it wasn’t hubris so much as ignorance about a world with no money. He had no idea how the other side lived. Yet, he was the first to embrace the Black kid and the Indian kid in an elite private school full of rich white kids. We had been best friends ever since. Strangely, the three of us were still single, I mused as I settled Mom and Dad under an umbrella in the backyard.
The house was on the River Brazos, literally. The parapet that bordered the lawn was built into the water, and a pathway led to a sheltered dock that housed two small motorboats.
We had just settled down with cups of hot coffee when musical laughter reached my ears, and my heart gave out a single thud.
Damn.
The matter had now moved from my cock to my heart and it was a transition that troubled me deeply.
I answered the front door to find the happy family bawling with laughter at something I was sure was initiated by Riya.
“Dude,” she said, “this is awesome! Is that the lake?”
“It’s the river that feeds into the lake further south,” I said to impress Sona, but she was busy unloading bags with Tara and Sameer. I walked over to help.
“We’ve got this,” Sameer said as Sona looked up and smiled. Fuck , I hated that sweet smile. It made me weaker.
An hour later, the entire group was settled in the backyard with drinks.
“Sameer, you and Mihir take care of lunch today, and I’ll help Sona tomorrow. She’s making her famous Greek chicken and potatoes,” Tara said. “I got the rest of the stuff, but we need to get the chicken and lemons.”
“I can drive into town and get it tomorrow morning, or if Sona wants to come, I can drive her,” I said before I could rein in my big mouth.
Sona looked at me and smiled. “Sure.” But like me, she was intent on keeping her distance. Seemed like last night’s attempted kiss was a mistake.
I slid a casserole of chicken rigatoni in the oven while Sameer worked on the garlic bread. Since Tara had moved in with him, he’d become an efficient cook. After lunch, we gathered in the game room for a few rounds of poker. Grant had equipped the home with everything one would want on a getaway, but he mostly spent his time on the water or in his bedroom.
“Do you still play every month?” I asked Dad as I pulled out the chips and cards. Years ago, he had set up a professional quality poker table in the game room of our home and hosted monthly evenings with his friends.
“Not as often. Two from our original four have passed on, and it’s not the same,” he said, and suddenly, the mortality of my aging father hit me. I put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed as he smiled and patted it in reassurance.
“I don’t know how to play, so I’ll just watch for today,” Sona said, coming around to sit beside Tara.
“We’ll teach you,” I said.
“I can’t play either. Can you teach me?” Riya asked.
I nodded and passed out the chips.
“My mom’s family plays rummy every time they gather for festivals. When I was in India, my aunt and her husband used to fight to have me sit by them. Each claimed I was their lucky charm,” Sona said with a nostalgic look in her eye.
“In that case, here’s a seat for you, Sona,” Mom said, pulling an empty chair closer to her.
“Nice try,” Dad said, pulling the chair toward him. “Sona, you can sit here.”
She laughed her sweet laughter. “How about this? I will sit right between the two of you. That way, the luck will be equally distributed,” she said, looking at my parents. Then, turning to Tara, she said, “That’s how I used to placate my aunt and uncle too.”
She adjusted the chair between my parents and settled down, sharing a laugh as if she had known them all her life. I tried very hard to keep my eyes off her while Dad taught her the game, doling out expert tips like he used to give me.
Dad was an excellent player, and Tara took us by surprise. But my father had trained me well, and I was better.
“There you go, Dad,” I said as we wrapped up the last round. “This shows you luck can’t stand up to talent. No offense, Tara.”
Tara flipped her cards to the table with a huff.
Sona smiled at Dad. “Don’t worry, Uncle, you’ll beat him next time. You are clearly the superior player, but you were distracted trying to teach me.” That made Dad laugh, and Mom smiled lovingly at them as I gathered the cards.
“This isn’t fair,” Riya wailed. “You didn’t let me win even once,” she said to me with an angry expression.
“Hey, there are no friends in poker,” I replied with a mock glare.
Sameer patted her hand. “I’ll teach you, Riya, and then you can beat him fair and square.”
“You’re a terrible player, Sameer,” I said. “Let Tara teach her.” I grinned at him, and he scowled back.
“Don’t let it spoil your mood, sweetheart,” Tara said to Riya. “Let’s go get ice cream.” She gave Sameer a look that was both pleading and authoritative.
“The winner gets the treats,” Sameer jeered at me.
“Alright,” I rousted myself up with a sigh. “Any flavor requests?”
“I think I’d prefer to have chai instead,” Dad said.
“I’ll make some,” Mom said, but Sona put a hand on her arm and said, “I’ll make it, Aunty, if you don’t mind.”
Mom’s face bloomed. “Not at all. But I don’t want to bother you.”
“It’s no bother. Aunty, Uncle, how about you?” she asked Sameer’s parents.
“We never say no to tea,” Amrit aunty said with her usual graceful demeanor.
“I’ll make coffee,” Sameer added and followed Sona.
When I returned from the ice cream shop with several quarts of different flavors, everyone was back in the living room, relaxed and laughing. As I brought the cake out, they scrambled to get their gifts. Tara and Sameer had brought a monogrammed crystal whisky decanter and glass set while Riya pulled out an exceptionally well-made card.
“Tara made this, didn’t she?” I teased, and she jumped with indignation.
“Of course not! She’s been teaching me, but I made this myself. Didn’t I, Tara?”
“Yes, sweetheart. He’s just messing with you,” Tara said.
Riya huffed and puffed before settling down next to Sona, who produced a tastefully wrapped gift that looked like a book, one that brought a smile to Dad’s face. The only word I caught was neuro .
“I came across a review of this the other day and was hoping to get it,” Dad said to her.
“I can’t take the credit,” Sona said with a demureness that turned me on immensely. “Sameer helped me pick it.”
Dad nodded at Sameer while Sona produced another wrapped book and handed it to Mom.
“What’s this for?” Mom said, surprise on her face.
“My friend’s book was just released, and I thought you’d like it,” Sona said. “It’s an oral history of women in the anti-caste movements in Maharashtra.”
Mom’s eyes lit up. “We’ve just met, and you already know me,” she gushed.
When I handed Dad the puzzle, he and Mom burst out laughing.
“Well done, beta,” Mom said. “That should keep him busy and out of the kitchen for a few months.” She chuckled as Dad frowned.
“Two weeks tops,” he said confidently, and Mom patted his arm.
It was almost midnight when we finally retired, but like the previous night, my body stamped a vehement rejected on my request for sleep.
Ordinarily, I would’ve put on my running gear and gone for a sprint around my neighborhood, but this wasn’t my neighborhood.
Around 1 a.m., I decided a few laps in the swimming pool would help tire out my body. I stepped into the dark hallway and down the stairs. As I walked toward the backyard, I heard a familiar laugh, muted but unmistakable.
What was Sona doing outside this late at night?