Epilogue
Istood in the living room in front of an easel, trying to capture the Dallas skyline against a brilliant orange-red-pink sky, when multiple devices began ringing and buzzing in the condo. Annoyed, I answered my phone first. It was Dr. Hadden, asking after my health. She had become a friend since I moved to Dallas, but I still couldn’t bring myself to call her Sylvia. I kept the conversation brief when I saw my mother calling from India on my tablet’s video app. I swiped it open while Sameer’s cell continued ringing.
“Hi, Aai,” I said, as my mother’s dewy morning face appeared on the screen. “Let me call you back in a few minutes. I’m finishing up a painting.”
“Bara.” She smiled and hung up, and my phone rang again.
It was my agent calling about another gallery that wanted to showcase my work. Meanwhile, Sameer’s phone kept ringing incessantly.
“Sameer!” I called out in frustration as I ended that call. “Answer your phone.”
I picked up my brush and palette and returned to the canvas as a wet Sameer came rushing out, a towel around his waist.
“You’re dripping all over the house. Why don’t you carry your phone in with you?” I cried with an angry frown.
He hugged me with his wet body and tousled his hair to spray water on me, infuriating me further. I was eight months pregnant, and I don’t know if it was the hormones or just his annoying habits that ticked me off at that moment.
He looked at the screen and rolled his eyes before swiping it open to put it on speaker. It was Riya.
“Hey, bro, I’m calling for Tara. She’s not answering her phone.”
“Hey sweetheart,” I said with the brush in my right hand and the palette in my left as Sameer held the phone near me. “I was on another call. What’s up?”
“Why are you still calling her Tara?” Sameer interjected. “We’ve been married for almost two years now. Call her Bhabhi.” He winked at me, knowing it would annoy her.
“Ugh, bro, that’s so passé! Tara is too young for me to call her Bhabhi,” she argued.
“Bhabhi is a relationship. It has nothing to do with age.”
“Bro, please, can I talk to her?”
“And what’s with this bro business? Where are you picking up this language?”
“Seriously, dude?” she screamed.
Sameer frowned. “Did you just call me dude?”
“Ignore him, Riya. Tell me why you called.”
“I’m going dancing with friends, and I need new clothes. Will you take me shopping?”
“You’re going dancing where?” Sameer demanded. “And with whom?”
“Ugh, Tara, can you please take me off the speaker? I can’t talk to him like this.”
I smiled, put my brush down, and took the phone from his hand. We talked for a bit and decided to meet up for a quick shopping trip on Saturday, followed by lunch somewhere.
“Do you know how much I love you?” Sameer asked when I handed him his phone. He touched the scar on my left eyebrow and dropped a kiss on it.
“I do.” I smiled and picked up the brush again, looking out at the horizon. I had lost the picture I was planning to paint, but another silhouette had taken shape.
“The picture has changed,” I said. “It’s even more beautiful now.”
Sameer placed his hands on my belly, and we stood together, watching the day’s last light paint dark purple and red hues above the lights of the city.
THE END