Chapter 30
Two days after my first meeting with Sangita and Riya, I was back at the hospital. “I’ll accompany her to the visa interview,” I said to Sangita. She smiled at Riya, who stood by her mother’s bed wearing a glum look.
The visa would secure Sangita’s last wish, but far from the silver lining it appeared to be, it was laced with the morbid eventuality of her death. It wasn’t an easy situation, yet I couldn’t help but marvel at Riya’s strength. Amar and I had taken her out to dinner the previous evening, but it didn’t feel like we had formed any kind of authentic bond. Then again, it was unfair to expect her not only to put her trust in me but to also feel emotionally connected. It would take a lifetime, if at all. My only hope was to be with her when she lost her mother and to make her feel safe, protected, and loved.
While we sat at the consulate waiting for our turn, I spotted a tense look on Riya’s face. I patted her hand. “It’ll be alright. I’m here with you, always,” I said.
She nodded with an earnest look on her face. For the first time since I’d met her, she let the young child sneak out. Timid, afraid, and uncertain about a future with a family she hardly knew.
In that moment, it struck me. For years, I had tried to channel the cruel and cutthroat in order to get ahead, but the only reason a sick woman trusted me with her daughter was my kindness. Sangita understood that my intent was to protect someone I loved, even if it meant hurting her in the process. But life had just handed me a second chance at love and redemption, and I was ready to grab it with both hands.
We breezed through the interview because my attorney had done a foolproof job with the application. He was an old friend of Mihir’s who had helped with Dad’s immigration. Smart and connected as he was, his most appealing quality was his discretion. I couldn’t trust anyone else with the delicate secrets of my family.
With Riya’s visa in place, it seemed macabre for me to stay in India, waiting for the passing of Sangita. For the past few days, she’d seemed upbeat, albeit not any healthier, though I thought her skin had regained some color and she smiled more. With the hope of her recovery in my heart, I decided to travel back and return if needed. She was at ease with the decision.
That weekend, Tara called to say she had broken the news to Sujit. Now it was my turn to face Aarti and end our engagement. I also had to navigate that delicate tightrope talk with Dad about Sangita’s condition. But despite the difficult conversations that lay ahead, I was looking forward to seeing Tara.
Tuesday afternoon, I landed in Dallas and drove straight to my parents’. As I sat with Mom at the kitchen table, holding a cup of the rich, smooth coffee I had missed, I recounted everything, including the slender hope that Riya might eventually warm up to us.
“She doesn’t have much choice, poor girl,” Mom said. “We should’ve been more considerate sooner.”
“I was angry, and with so much happening, it was the last straw. I wish I’d had the maturity to consider that the little girl’s life would become collateral damage in the whole fiasco.”
“Tell me about her,” Mom said with a faint smile. “What does she look like?”
“Like me when I was that age.” My face turned hot, and my eyes dropped to the table. Mom touched my cheek gently.
“No one blames you, beta.”
“I do. I blame myself, and Riya hates me. She says she’ll trust me only because Sangita does. But why does Sangita trust me, Ma? After what I put them through, how can she trust us with the most precious thing she has?” I tried, unsuccessfully, to quash the lump gathering in my throat.
“She’s out of options. And despite it all, you made sure they never lacked for anything. You were bitter, but not cruel. That’s the difference. She knows it…I know it too. And there’s enough blame to go around.”
“But there was never a simple solution, was there? There couldn’t have been. Did I make the wrong decision?”
“I don’t know,” she said. Her eyes welled, and her upright, dignified figure slumped as she broke down into tears. I put my arm around her. I had not seen her cry in years, and I knew I had to be strong for her and Riya.
Mom wiped her tears and sat upright again. “Go talk to Pavan.”
Durgaben walked in with a glass of water and nodded at me. I left Mom in her caring hands and went looking for my father.
He was in his armchair again with the decanter of whisky by him, shining like a jewel in the sunlight. He seemed buzzed, and it was only early evening. It appeared he began drinking sooner and sooner each day.
“We got the visa, Dad,” I said softly. He looked up at me and nodded. “We don’t know how much time we have, but I’ll be there for Riya when it happens.”
He turned away toward the windows. “You took away my happiness, Sameer.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and turned on my heel to leave.
“I know you’re in love with that girl, Tara,” he said.
I swiveled around swiftly and saw him staring at me, sipping from his glass.
“Isn’t she the one you ran out on in Baroda?”
My heart dipped.
“You used to scream out her name in your sleep,” he said, as if it were a perfectly normal thing to happen. “I knew the moment she set foot in this house that she was the same girl. You masked it well, but I know what she means to you.”
I felt myself grow heavy and turn to stone.
“She’s a sweet girl. Headstrong but real, unlike other girls you were involved with. This girl couldn’t care less about your money. She’s confident, content with who she is.” I remained glued to the spot, listening to my drunk father talk cogently. “You need someone like her in your life. She’ll stand up for you like she did when I talked about you. She’ll protect you. She’ll make you happy. She makes you happy.” He grinned menacingly. “I couldn’t have that.”
He pushed himself upright and refilled his glass. “You asked me why I hastened your engagement to Aarti? That’s why.” He threw back the contents of the glass and glared at me with pure hatred. “You’re now stuck in a life without love. I couldn’t let you be happy. I cannot,” he said, and began weeping without shame as if the father and the competitor in him were at war. “I cannot,” he repeated amid sobs.
I walked up to him and took his hand in mine. He looked up, surprised, his face drenched in tears. I took the glass from his hand and put it by the decanter.
“I am going to end it with Aarti, you know that. I don’t care if it scars our social status or ruins my business. You made two mistakes, Dad. I only made one, leaving Tara the first time. I’m never losing her again. I’m going to do it right this time.”
I had finally said it aloud. I was going to make it right. As I walked out with my head held high, I heard a frustrated scream followed by a loud shattering of glass.
Jetlag was creeping up on me fast, but the prospect of seeing Tara and holding her in my arms kept me going. On the way to my condo, I texted her that I would come over around seven and spend the night at her place. Can’t wait to see you! she texted back. When I went over as promised, she opened the door in her apron with her hair tied up but her lipstick and makeup intact.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
“I missed you!” she said breathily, taking me in her embrace.
“Me too, my love.” The familiar scent of her delicate, aquatic perfume felt reassuring, and the house was enveloped in the warm, inviting smell of spices. “Are you cooking?”
“I thought you needed some TLC after the tough week in India, so I made dinner.”
I kissed her. “And later, we’re going to have sex,” I announced, pulling a handful of condoms from my pocket.
“Oh, ambitious!”
“Sex, Tara, sex. Not tender lovemaking. I want rough, hot, kinky sex.”
She rolled her eyes and walked to the kitchen. Small but well organized, it had a little round dining table in a corner. Above it, a lamp hung from the ceiling, making it both romantic and cozy.
“What did you make?”
“Not pav bhaji,” she teased me with a grin that showed her perfect mouth, the front two teeth slightly bigger than the rest. She used to tease me that I had a type. I grinned at the memory and said, “I can smell that.” As if I could really tell the difference. But I could never fool her. She narrowed her eyes at me, then smiled.
“I made my mom’s chicken curry with roti and rice. And a side salad. Sound okay?”
“Sounds fantastic.” I kissed her cheek. “And smells even better.”
As I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, she put one hand on my cheek and stirred the curry. Scooping some with a fresh spoon, she blew on it and brought it to my face that was resting on her shoulder.
“Taste for salt and spice.”
“Mmm, it’s perfect.”
“Is it too spicy?”
“No, it’s just right. Different from the curries I’ve had.”
“Yes, this one uses a browned onion and coconut paste that’s made fresh.”
“You made it?”
She nodded. “It’s Aai’s family recipe.”
“I love you.” I hugged her tighter. She turned around in my arms and kissed me.
I took the opportunity and brought my hand to her breast, but she promptly removed it and pointed to a cabinet. “Kinkiness later. Can you set the table?”
“Sure, if you direct me.”
“Seriously? How do you not know how to set the table?”
I pulled out dinnerware and flatware while she carried the food to the table. Over dinner, she told me about her visit to New York. She was wracked with guilt at the way Sujit had thrown her a surprise party and at the fact he was still just as kind and considerate.
“Tara,” I said with my eyes set on the plate, “I completely forgot about your birthday.”
“That’s alright.” She placed her hand over mine. “You have a lot going on.”
“It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
I had reminded myself before I left for India, but amid everything happening, it escaped my attention. A sudden pang of guilt hit my heart. There was Sujit, whose life was drama-free, and who cared enough to throw her a surprise party. And then there was me, in love with her, engaged to another woman, and trying to redeem myself by becoming the primary caregiver of yet another woman’s daughter.
“What’s the matter?” She put her hand on my arm when I stopped eating.
I shook my head.
“Sameer, it’s not a big deal you forgot my birthday. I don’t care about these things. You know that.”
The food was exceptional, like everything of Tara’s. She was an exceptionally passionate woman. Self-doubt resurfaced in my mind. She said I deserved her, but did I really? I looked at her blissful face as we cleared up the kitchen, then settled on the couch.
“I don’t have any alcohol, but I can make some coffee,” she offered.
“I’m okay.” I patted the couch, and she sat down beside me. I rested my head on her shoulder, and she kissed my forehead.
“Do you want to watch something?” she asked.
“No.”
“Okay…Do you want to talk?”
“No.”
“Sameer…”
“I’m sorry, Jaan. I had a tiff with my father, and with everything going on in India and with Aarti, I just don’t have the energy to share anything right now.”
She put her palm on my cheek. “That’s okay.”
Turning on the television, she muted the sound and began browsing.
I remember closing my eyes for a second, and the next thing I knew, the morning sun was sneaking in through the blinds. I was on the couch with a pillow under my head and a blanket over me. Tara was asleep on her side on the rug by the couch. I pulled her blanket over her when she turned over to face me. I looked at her beautiful face and realized, yet again, how much I cherished her.