25. Mihir
MIHIR
T he next night, I owned her.
She didn’t challenge me when I claimed indisputable victory in bed that night. Instead, she gave me a shy smile with those innocent eyes I loved. Perhaps that’s what she’d wanted? And if I had given her that, did that mean she had won? Great, now she was playing with my mind too.
Sona had apologized and expected me to accept and appreciate it. But an apology wasn’t what I was after. An apology could mean she was sorry for retreating from me again. It could mean she regretted having hurt me. But neither of these suggested she wanted me. What I needed from her was an unequivocal admission of her feelings. Sona had to tell me that she wanted me, that she believed in my commitment to her, and that she was ready to take the plunge. Short of that, nothing seemed adequate. I was all in, and she had to take the leap with me.
Until then, I’d give her the space she required. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t torture her, annoy her, or infuriate her. It was all a part of this dance around the fire. It would be a rough road to get back to where we were, and she’d better be prepared to trudge it with me, rocks, embers, and all.
I held on to my faux anger and grump around her while we carried on this ridiculous act for four more days. During the day, we barely saw each other. I spent my days at work and my evenings with friends or attending business dinners. Sona spent her days with Tara or whatever else she had planned to do. At night, we fucked like we were eternal lovers. I owned her on my piano, in the kitchen, in my bed. She claimed me on the floor, in her bed, on the couch. We rarely spoke during these times together except to provoke each other into surrendering.
Then she disappeared for a day and a half. When I asked her the next night, she said she had driven up to Houston for a quick meeting. She gave no details about who and why, and I didn’t ask.
That Saturday, Sameer and Tara left for India. They wanted to accompany Tara’s mother back home before they embarked on their elaborate honeymoon tour.
On Sunday, Mom asked Sona over for dinner, as well as Grant and Mike. I suspected Mom of trying to establish some kind of legitimacy for my association with Sona. I saw no other reason why she would invite my friends and Sona to dine at the same table.
Sona had arrived early to help Mom, as did I. Mom’s cook usually had the weekends off, so it was just the four of us, including Dad, skittering around the kitchen. Mom made chicken curry while I made a simple pulao with peas and cashews. Out of defiance, I didn’t make aloo paratha. Dad and Sona helped Mom chop and dice vegetables for her spread of assorted dishes. Sona was tasked with making the raita, but she messed up the yogurt to cucumber to mint ratio. I had to step in and salvage the dish, much to her ire and my delight.
Grant made his appearance, looking like the suave devil he was, and turned on his charm the moment he saw Sona. For her part, Sona played the doe-eyed, uninitiated woman as a counter to his come-ons. Laughing coyly at his jokes, making sly eye contact, only to turn her shy eyes away the moment he looked at her. I gathered Grant was playing along because he knew she was trying to get on my nerves. But rather than grumble, I had settled in a corner with my single malt, awaiting Mike’s arrival.
Mike arrived looking every bit as striking, only tired. His work was his religion, and he was incredibly devout. Mike was happy to see Sona too, and they instantly began chatting about Saavi.
“She couldn't stop talking about you, Sona,” Mike said as I handed him his scotch.
“She is such an inspiring person!” Sona gushed as we began gathering around the table. “In fact, she’s agreed to share her life story with me for my next project on immigrant women entrepreneurs. She’s incredible! It takes so much grit and courage to do what she did, leave life as she knew it to follow her passion and start a cupcakery, not knowing where she’d end up.”
It was no mystery why I was drawn to this woman. I watched her with fascination as she talked about her work. No one else existed for her in that moment—just her and Mike, talking about a woman they both admired.
Mike’s face lit up like the Fourth of July. “Saavi is a gem of a person. I don’t think I’ve met anyone like her,” Mike said, losing track of who was around us. And by that, I meant Grant, who was soaking up each unguarded word coming out of Mike’s mouth. I knew he would use this ammunition to grill Mike and Saavi later.
Walk with me , was Grant’s favorite line, the one he regularly sprang on Len’s unsuspecting boyfriends. None of us knew what he said to them, only that eventually, they either turned into gentlemen for fear of him or politely broke up with Len.
I could see it clearly in my head. Grant approaching Saavi, catching her off guard. Walk with me. I wondered how he planned to gauge the depth of her feelings for Mike. Grant had done it once before to an old girlfriend of Mike, who ran for the hills and never looked back.
I never had to worry about that. I hadn't been the settling down kind. I had liked my relationships the same way Grant did, short-term, replaceable, and forgettable. Neither of us had been in danger of settling for any woman, let alone the wrong one.
My gaze was drawn to Sona. She was still engrossed in her conversation, and now Mom had also joined in.
“Saavi said she knows other women entrepreneurs in Dallas she could introduce me to—a woman who pioneered a desi radio station here and another who took her home saree boutique and turned it into a fashion house. It’s incredible!”
“I know some women entrepreneurs through my community work too,” Mom said. “I’ll be happy to introduce you. You must tell me more about this project, Sona. It sounds interesting.”
“Sure, Aunty. You could be my unofficial research assistant,” Sona joked, and I caught Grant analyzing the entire scene. When Sona finally broke out of her research trance, she looked at me and said, “You didn’t make us your spicy aloo paratha, Mihir?” She cocked her head and shot me a teasing grin.
“It would’ve been too spicy for you. None of you would’ve been able to handle it, trust me.”
“Now, Mihir. Let’s be on our best behavior tonight,” Mom chided.
After dinner, we settled in the family room, a wine in Mom’s hand, a single malt in ours, and sparkling water in Sona’s. It was then that Grant said to her, “Would you like to take a walk with me in the backyard?”
I balked. This was his polite fucking version of walk with me . I looked at Mike, who shot me a glance back. Grant didn’t grace me with a look. He knew I knew.
“Yes, Mike and I will join you both,” I said and shot a knowing look at Mike.
Mike shook his head and relaxed on the couch with a cunning grin. “I’m good, Mir. I think I’ll stay here and chat with Mrs. and Dr. S.”
I threatened him with a glare, but his grin only grew wider.
“Take it easy, Mir. I’m not going to eat up your little guest here,” Grant said and looked at Sona. “I’m really quite tame. A nice little house pet.”
“Riiight. And I’m going to take your word for it,” Sona teased him back.
“Ah, this kitty has claws.”
“Careful now!” Sona warned with a raised finger. “She’s also armed with wit, sass, and enough feminist theory to lull you into a deep sleep right away.”
Grant threw his head back in a trademark silvery laugh. “Good god, you’re fire,” he said. “Let’s savor the night, shall we?”
When he offered Sona his arm, she placed her glass of fizzy water on a table and threaded hers through it.
She tossed a look over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mihir. We don’t need a chaperone, do we, Grant?”
My mom exchanged a sly look with Dad before they both burst into chuckles.
Humiliated and shown up, I grumbled and retook my seat on the plush leather armchair.