Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
The aftermath of his statement is a cacophony of chaos since Luke has been spotted by my best friends, and likely others in our community because his physical being sticks out amongst the group. Thankfully, everyone other than my friends have decided to maintain their respectful distance for now.
Kiren arrives and says, “Took you long enough,” and Noor circles Luke with narrowed eyes and says, “You’re even taller in person.”
My hands link together, twisting around. They are increasingly getting insistent I should place them either around Luke’s shoulders, or his waist, or his arms, or really, any physical part of him.
Luke glances down and frowns, but he has no room to comment because Noor and Kiren come in front of me and block the visual.
“It’s nice to meet you in person,” he says.
“We’re not sure we can say the same.” Kiren leans in closer. “Why did you leave her?”
“I wouldn’t. I hadn’t.”
“She thinks she’s doing what’s best for you,” says Noor. “Our Rita is a sacrificial soul. It’s really annoying.”
Luke glances at me. “We are occasionally of the same opinion.”
Kiren wags her finger in the air. “Hey, don’t call my best friend annoying!”
I sigh, desperately wanting to cover my face. “I’m right here.”
Noor pats my shoulder. “We know. Just let us have this. We need to properly chastise your fiancé. It’s irresponsible to disappear from someone’s life.”
“We’re not—engaged. That was fake.”
She waves my logic away like it’s an unimportant insect. “How did you know where to find us?” Noor asks him.
“You’ve been geotagging your social media.”
“I don’t have you as a friend.”
“It’s not me who has been following you.”
“It’s me!” Theo bounds out from behind us, casting himself in the strongest overhead lamp he can find, as if he’s been waiting for his entrance. He’s certainly posed that way with his arms spread out and head tipped up to the sky.
There is screaming. Light arm punches. Hugs.
How I ache to embrace Luke, I pour into Theo. “I’ve missed you,” I say into the middle of his chest.
He squeezes back tightly. “That’s almost enough for me not to be mad you left without a word and to forgive you for not responding to my texts. Almost .”
“You’ve been messaging me? I don’t think you have.”
This issue prompts an impromptu session of problem-solving. Noor grabs my phone and Theo’s phone, comparing the two devices with focused intensity.
“Her number is listed wrong in your phone,” she says. “You got it wrong by one digit, you dolt.”
Theo clears his throat. “Alright, I’m glad that you didn’t get those last few messages I sent. They got quite dramatic and desperate. I think I called you names.”
The college kid from my floor has ambled over. “Do you need phone help? I’m good with technology.”
I look back and see people have migrated closer in one nebulous group mob, stopping a few feet away, sending the college kid as their sacrificial first contact lamb.
“This is your party,” Luke says, meeting my eyes. “It’s about celebrating you.”
What he means is: We’ll talk later.
My heart pounds faster.
“Wait,” says Kiren. “Have we threatened him enough? There’s still time.”
Noor glances back. “Not when the aunties start to circle. Quick, rapid fire!”
Kiren wags her finger again. “You better not hurt her!”
“I would never hurt her. If anything—she’ll be hurting me.”
What does he mean? Is it about how I left?
Sharp pain drives through me. My reasons—they haven’t changed.
I can’t ask since an auntie has latched onto my arm, tugging me toward her. It’s far enough that I can’t quite catch the rest of Luke’s answer, but did he just say: It’s not in me to deny her anything… Is that what he said?
My friends’ voices don’t have the same issue of distance.
I have no trouble hearing their threats of disembodiment, how they’ll cook him up in a pot since they have the appliances now for larger-scale cooking so his body will fit, and that Noor has access to drugs on the street (a lie), so she’ll tranq him before he can use his fit body to fight back…
From the corner of my eye, I see Theo spring to Luke’s side. He seems to pop between him and my friends, clearly playing both sides depending on his flip-flopping mood to insult or defend.
More aunties converge around me. My cheeks are pinched.
“Who is that handsome man?” they wonder.
My answer: “A friend.”
That doesn’t appease them much, but despite their hungry curiosity, the party surges on.
Raja, the man who owns Raja’s Dhaba, brings out a huge pot filled with oil and starts making fresh pakoras to distribute.
It becomes a team effort, hands dunking the vegetable fritters, flipping them in the oil and then seasoning them with chaat masala.
Another grill has pieces of meat, and there is a separate lassi-making station.
I’ve got no time to think between the food logistics, between the many congratulations, the inquiries about my future plans, the loads and loads of advice on what to do next, and some very promising leads about offices that will want my kind of boutique fusion catering services.
I see Theo and Luke mingle as best as they can, given they don’t speak much Punjabi, often guided by my friends as their translators.
I tell myself there is no opportunity to take Luke aside to finish our conversation, something I know he desires as well, considering how often I catch him staring at me, but the truth is that I’m delaying.
Deathly nervous. Half-afraid I’ll throw up on his shoes.
Half-afraid I’ll beg him to take me back.
I’m also stuck on a certain repetition of: he’s here, he’s here, he’s come here.
Despite any appearances to the contrary, I’m a sum of adrenaline, compounding as the minutes go by.
At one point, Uncle gives me his soft wool sweater to wear.
It’s gotten a bit cold. I accept the offering, because Uncle is zen and if even a fraction of his peaceful nature can be transferred by clothing, I’ll take it.
I realize he’s not asked me about Luke. Usually that means he’s busy with Dad, but?—
I look around.
Where has my dad gone?
I’m about to ask Uncle, but he’s being coddled into sitting on a chair closer to the fire Raja has started, in case his bad hip starts twinging. Setting myself on a mission, I go around to others and see if they’ve seen where my dad has gone.
A balding uncle has an answer. “He’s gone in the back.”
Alone?
I slip away from the party, bypass the washroom line, duck behind the Jeep parked there and walk out into the sheltered gray alleyway.
The mouth of it is protected from the weather by thin patchwork sheets of metal tied together overhead.
In the middle of a raised surface of concrete is a manja bed, and sitting on that manja bed is Dad.
He’s holding a bottle. It sways from his fingertips.
I go sit beside him. “Why?”
“Y-you didn’t t-thank me in your speech and I deserve that.”
I hadn’t thanked him. It’s a small detail, not registering on my mind at all until now. Familiar guilt swells up, but my walls are stronger now. They stamp it back down.
“We’re still trying to rebuild our relationship.” My voice starts soft, but gains volume as I speak. “You can’t blame. I am not to blame for your drinking.”
“Of course not! I n-never want you to think that.”
“I was a kid. How could I not think that?”
His head drops until his chin is against his breastbone. “I’m sow—sorry. ”
My chest squeezes in a suffocating ache. “Don’t drink more.”
“Okay.” Dad lets go of the bottle, and it rolls away into some corner.
I stand up and turn and see Luke behind us.
My abdomen tenses. I never want anyone to see the state of my father when he is like this, but for Luke to witness it is another thing entirely.
It’s like a scab I’ve hidden in the dark has been thrust into the light and peeled back to reveal a weeping center.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I know it’s a lot to ask. But can you wait here? I’m going to see if Dr. Mangat is still around.”
“It’s not a lot to ask. Go.”
I rush back to the party and try to maintain a neutral face.
The fewer people that go back there to see Dad, the better.
Dr. Mangat has left, I’m told. The next option is Uncle, who I would normally always go to, but he’s recovering and can’t be on his feet for too long.
Not that I’d ask them, but my friends are with Theo.
I see them glance around for me, but before I can be spotted, I sneak back to the alleyway.
Dad’s face is droopy, and his eyes are glossy when they meet mine. “I want to go h-home.”
“I’ll take you.”
Good thing we’re close by. It’s only a ten-minute walk back to the apartment. If I take him through the back, no one will see him like this. I can get him to bed and then come back.
“Rita.”
That’s Luke. I’ve almost forgotten he’s here. His expression is so open and kind that I want to hide.
“You can go back to the party,” I tell him.
“I won’t be doing that.”
Dad, in an attempt to stand on his own, trips forward, hopping sloppily on his legs.
Before I can blink, Luke has his arm around him and has given him his own shoulder for support.
From personal experience, I know the rotted fermented smell that must be coming off my dad.
The sweat that gathers on his brow is rubbing all over Luke’s suit.
“You don’t have to do this,” I try one last time.
Luke doesn’t deign to respond to that. All he says is, “Lead the way, I’ve got him.”
As quickly as possible, I guide them home. I’m rushing so much, and my body is turned inward as if rejecting any kind of talking, which is why we don’t speak on the way there, the way up the elevator or when I’m opening the apartment up with my key.
Once inside, Luke breaks the silence.
“What happens next?”
“I take him into the room, put the bucket out that’s in the closet, hand him some clothes to see if he will change, and then bring in a cup of water from the kitchen.”