Page 46 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

He’d barked a long, hysterical laugh. “Isn’t that fucking hilarious!” It was the first and only time I’d heard him curse. It was also the only time I’d seen him agitated. “I’ve never been the son they wanted, Sameer, even when they thought I was. Not for my parents, and neither for yours, I suspect.”

When I had given him a drunk, dumb look, he said, “I’m bisexual, Sameer. I’ve known for a long time but didn’t have the guts to tell my parents until now.”

“They know?” I had asked with raised brows.

“They haven’t disowned me, if that’s what you’re asking. They have no choice. I’m the only heir to their hard-earned crores,” he had spewed with bitter sarcasm. “But I see it in their eyes—the disappointment, the pity. So you have nothing to worry about, brother. You are the worthy son, fucking straight as they wanted.”

Pouring himself another big glass of whisky, he’d continued. “You gave me that look too, you know. The shock, the disbelief, as if I’d just confessed that I was a murderer. But I don’t take it to heart. Everyone has given me the look, or variations of it, even my most well-meaning friends. The only one who didn’t was Tara.”

“Tara knows too?”

He’d taken a valiantly big gulp from his glass and bobbed his drunken head. “She’s the only one who knew until last month. And guess when I told her? At our very first meeting. The very first time I’m talking to her, and there’s something about her that’s so genuine, honest, and decent that I spill my guts without thinking.”

I had waited while he steadied his gaze. “She didn’t make a big deal out of it but didn’t underplay it either. She just recognized it as a part of who I am and supported me the way I needed, quietly and staunchly.”

Every memory of Tara I had wished away when I left India came barreling back. We had been so young then, barely out of adolescent immaturity, and I was still behaving like an entitled prick, when Amar had trusted Tara with this delicate secret. And she had held him up when he had no one else to rely on. That was more than I had ever done for him. I had pelted him with jealousy and aggression at a time when he most needed a friend. So, regardless of our current status quo, I knew I had to be gracious to Tara during his visit. She was the knot that bound me to Amar, and he was the thread that led me to her.

•••

When I saw Amar at the airport later that week, the now-familiar feeling of pure happiness flooded my heart. He wasn’t the skinny boy anymore, but he still sported a head full of curls and an expression of open-hearted kindness.

“Looks like you work out,” I said as I drove him to my parents’ home. “I see muscles.”

He shrugged, Zen as ever. “How’s Aarti?”

“She’s good.” I flinched inwardly at the way my voice rose in pitch. “You’ll see her the day after tomorrow. Mom has invited us to dinner. Apparently, you’re an important guest, and our presence is required,” I teased.

“I’m not a guest. It’s my home as much as it’s yours.”

“It’s all yours. I want nothing to do with that house or that man.”

“Still bitter, I see,” he said, casually peering out the window. “It’s so much less green than the last time I was here.”

“The metroplex is growing in all directions,” I said, then snapped. Enough skirting the issue. “Why don’t you just straight up ask me?”

“There’s nothing I need to ask you, dude,” he said, and continued gazing outside with an interest that was at odds with the bland concrete buildings and the giant network of highways rolling alongside.

“Then you know Tara is here.”

He smiled like he had won the game. “Yes, we talk. She called me when you bought that painting anonymously. That wasn’t very smart.” He chuckled. “Now, Tara, on the other hand—”

“Yes, she’s always been smarter than me.”

He caught the warmth in my voice and said, “I hope my being here doesn’t complicate things for you.”

“It doesn’t. I’ll always honor your friendship with her, no matter how I feel.”

“And how do you feel?”

A deep sigh was the only way I could respond to that question, and he took the hint.

“Heard about Sangita. I’m sorry. I wish I was in Delhi to help.”

I glanced at him. “Thank you, but there’s very little we can do anyway.”

“Have you talked to Riya?”

I shook my head.

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