Page 15 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

“Hopefully soon. I’ll call you.”

“You haven’t had your tea yet,” my father cried.

“He doesn’t drink chai, Rehani bhai. He is a coffee drinker.” Durgaben’s cheeky response made my day. I gave her a warm smile, picked up my bag, and jumped into the car.

My family’s housekeeper knew me better than my dad, but that hadn’t always been the case. Although my sister, the firstborn, was the apple of his eye, we used to be close. We were like friends. He was the one who allowed me my first cigarette and showed me how to drink responsibly. He taught me how to drive and let me borrow his expensive cars even when I only had a learner’s permit.

He was strict, but not a disciplinarian. His rules were ad hoc. He insisted on following them when it was convenient for him, when they worked in his favor. Other times, he encouraged us to give the world a big middle finger and do what we wanted. My mother was the one who ensured our stable emotional and intellectual development. She had rules, and her rules were rigid. She didn’t impose too many of them, though, because they stifled creativity, she argued. But she wouldn’t tolerate lies and insolence. All her rules revolved around those two principles. That I was a fantastic liar now was thanks to my father. It was a gift that kept on giving, transforming me into a person I hardly recognized anymore.

I shook off my dark thoughts and commanded my car’s system to dial Mihir.

His sleepy voice responded. “Hello.”

“It’s me. Are you still sleeping?”

“What time is it?”

“Nine thirty.”

“It’s Sunday,” he said with a groan.

“It’s Saturday.”

“It’s the weekend. Let me sleep.”

“All right, but I still need to talk to you. Call me when you’re up.”

He hummed an affirmative.

“Is Abby with you this weekend?” I inquired about his current girlfriend.

“No,” he mumbled. “Let me sleep.”

I scoffed and disconnected. At the next red light, I texted him that I would be at our usual coffee shop if he woke up and wanted a pick-me-up.

Chapter 6

Sameer

Iturned onto McKinney Avenue and navigated the one-way streets toward Cups and Cookies. It had been my favorite coffee shop since I moved into my condo five years ago. Like all hipster joints, this one had a cheeky name and an industrial design with open rafters and exposed pipes. But unlike a great many of them, it had good coffee and spacious seating, which is why I frequented it more often than any other.

As I parked the car, I thought I saw a familiar figure walk into the café. The woman wore loose linen pants and a short top, like Tara had in college. I shook my head in reproach for conjuring her everywhere. There was no way I’d casually run into her because I wasn’t that lucky. My luck had run out a long time ago.

Walking into the café, I removed my sunglasses and spotted Tara placing an order at the register. This was a hallucination. But when her eyes drew to me, she pulled herself upright. I wasn’t hallucinating. Quickly gathering my wits, I walked up and stood beside her as she paid for the order. Her glossy hair was wrapped up in a loose bun at her nape.

“Are you stalking me now?” she asked coolly.

I stole a look at her beautiful face before turning my attention to the barista, who returned my smile.

“I was going to ask you the same question, Ms. Kadam. This happens to be my favorite café, one that I visit every day. Are you stalking me?” She responded with a stern side-eye, while I smiled at the barista again. “My usual please, John.”

John nodded, much to my delight and Tara’s chagrin.

She picked up her coffee and walked toward an isolated booth by a large window at the rear. Her slight heels peeked from under the flowy pants as her proud figure strutted away.

While I paid up and waited for my order, I fought the urge to turn around. I could feel her eyes on my back, searing through to my heart. Those beautiful eyes, rimmed with liner and mascara, reminded me of the first time I had seen her in makeup.

It was Navratri, the goddess festival of nine nights, celebrated with great vigor in Gujarat, especially in Baroda.

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