Page 47 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

“Well, I don’t need to tell you what the right thing to do is. She’s a little girl, and she’s your blood,” he said, as if I could ever forget that.

I responded with another audible sigh.

“Okay, no more lectures.” He flashed a smile. “Can’t help it. It’s my profession.”

“Congrats, brother. I’m glad you finally found what you wanted so badly for so long.”

“You too.”

“Not yet,” I replied. “She hates me…and I don’t know what I want. I don’t think she does either. Every time we talk, we end up fighting.”

“You’ve always had your disagreements,” he said matter-of-factly.

“But this time we’re hurting each other.”

He looked at me. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. I can’t lose sight of what’s on the line.”

“What’s that, your happiness?”

“You know as well as I do that’s not the priority.”

“Well, I’ll be here when you need me.”

I smiled gratefully. “I know. That’s the one thing I can count on, no matter what.”

•••

Two days later, I arrived at my parents’ home with Aarti in the hopes of sitting down to a nice, intimate dinner with my family. But when I parked the car, I saw Tara in the rearview mirror, exiting a cab.

“Tara! What a nice surprise,” Aarti said to her at the door. I looked for hints of unpleasantness in her tone but found none.

“Aarti, good to see you again,” Tara replied, completely ignoring me as Amar answered the door.

“Amar!” Tara gave him a heartfelt hug. “It’s been too long.”

“Good to see you again, Amar,” Aarti said as Mom came to the door to welcome us.

“You have a very beautiful home, Mrs. Rehani,” Tara said.

“You can call her Aunty. There’s no need to be formal,” Amar said and looked at Mom.

“Of course.” Mom smiled. “Amar is my son, and you’re his dear friend. I’d love it if you called me Aunty.” With her arm gently draped around Tara’s shoulder, Mom led us to the living room.

Dad sat on the throne of his favorite armchair with a drink in his hand. After quick introductions and pleasantries, we settled down.

“What would you like to drink?” Amar asked Aarti and Tara.

“White wine,” Aarti said and smiled at me, and I stepped over to the dry bar at the far end of the room.

“Wine’s good,” I heard Tara say.

I poured Aarti some sparkling white. After Amar poured for Tara and brought it to her, I signaled him to join me at the bar.

“Why did you invite her?” I frowned.

“I didn’t.” He calmly poured himself some whisky. “Chachi did.”

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