Page 45 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

“What is it I was scared of anyway?” I asked.

Her big, sleepy eyes opened halfway. “You weren’t confident you’d do it right. You didn’t want a messed-up act ruining your reputation with women, one that you’ve cultivated so carefully.”

“If that were the case, why didn’t I hesitate with you?”

“Because I’m not one of your conquests, playboy, and you know it.”

“Darn it, woman. Let me revel in my persona!”

She stared into my eyes. “Can I kiss you, Sameer?” That was the first time she’d called me by my name.

“Why do you need to ask?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that was it for you. Maybe you’ve lost interest now that we’ve done it.”

I pulled her closer and wrapped my limbs around her soft, glowing body. “You are not one of my conquests. You can kiss me any time you want. But you wouldn’t mind if I used my tongue to play with other women, would you?” I asked with a cheeky grin.

“It’s your tongue. You can stick it wherever you like,” she whispered. Why did I think I could fluster her?

“There’s only one place this tongue wants to be. Well, two, actually.”

I wiggled my fingers at her waist, and she shrieked in giggles. Then, I let her take my mouth with the same frantic urgency I felt in my body.

That day, I knew what true surrender to someone felt like.

As Aarti slept, I tiptoed to the guest room where I had stashed Tara’s gift. I didn’t want to share it with Aarti. For one, I wasn’t sure what was inside that deceptively beautiful wrapping. I hadn’t known Tara to be particularly decorous when she was pissed. She hadn’t come over in the stunning yellow dress and the provocative red lips to make nice.

A blank canvas and a set of artists’ oil pastels greeted me when I tore open the package, along with a beautifully handwritten note.

Sameer,

Happy Birthday!

A small gift to create your own perfect picture.

Tara

I wanted to be mad, but I had to smile at her audacity. And I knew exactly how I was going to get back at her for this.

Chapter 14

Sameer

Two days later, when Amar called to wish me happy birthday, he shared news of his own. After trudging through several temporary gigs at smaller colleges around the country, he’d finally landed a permanent position at the most reputable art college in Mumbai.

“I’m thinking of coming for a visit before the semester begins,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll get a chance again soon.”

Amar had visited us almost every year since we moved to Dallas.

“That’s great.” I smiled. “It’ll be good to see you again. Ma’s going to be over the moon.”

He held his silence for a moment. “Is everything good?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Okay, I’ll book my tickets and text you the details.”

My relationship with Amar was no longer marred by envy. When my life broke into pieces, he held me like a true brother and helped me get back on my feet. That’s when my love for him underwent a complete reformation. Two years later, on his first visit to the U.S., I came clean to him. I laid bare all the jealousy and resentment that had hollowed me for all those years. I abandoned all trepidation and confessed how much I had hated his kindness and generosity. “I’ve never not loved you, Amar but it was exhausting trying to be as good as you. Everyone around us thought you were the perfect child, the perfect son, and I hated being the second best, always. But I see it now. You’ve always been rightfully worthy.”

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