Page 6 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

Her diction had evolved from routinely mispronouncing English words to a suitably upper-class British. Although she effortlessly slipped into a discernible American accent in her Rs. But what caught my eye that evening were her full lips, colored in a reddish shade of brown. Seductive but not vulgar. Powerful but playful. It screamed artist. It screamed Tara. Tara…

“…so what do you think?” Aarti’s hand on my thigh yanked me away from Tara.

I gaped at her. “I…I’m sorry. I was someplace else.”

“He’s always preoccupied. Even in his off time.” Her sweet criticism was followed by an exaggerated shake of the head, but she was cute enough to get away with a gesture so frivolous.

Pulling myself upright, I took her hand and smiled. “Sorry, tell me again?”

“I was saying, we should go away for a week or two, somewhere fun. Uncle suggests the Italian coast. Dad says Tahiti or Bora Bora. What do you think?”

My chest constricted. I couldn’t leave now, not with Tara in Dallas. I couldn’t afford to miss a single day of being in the same city as her.

“What’s wrong?” Aarti asked. “Your hands are cold.”

I faked a smile. “Nothing, I’ve had a really long day.”

“You need to unwind. You work too hard,” my father interjected, and every cell in my body reacted with rage.

“Please excuse me a moment.”

I stepped away to pour myself a drink. Two shots of whisky did little to calm my jumpy nerves. I caught Mihir eyeing me with concern as I swigged another gulp, but my mouth was still dry, and the pit of my stomach felt hollow. I couldn’t get Tara off my mind. She was so close, within reach.

I poured more whisky in a glass, dropped in two ice cubes, and rejoined Aarti. Appearances were everything.

I took her hand and smiled at her father before turning to her. “A vacation is a great idea, but the crowds are brutal this time of year. Let’s wait a bit. That way, I’ll be more relaxed at work too.” I kissed her hand.

It was a lie, but I was an expert liar now. It had become second nature, as if it would somehow shield me from pain and hurt.

“That reminds me.” My father dropped his voice. “You should start thinking seriously about a date for your engagement. What you think, Bhatia sahab?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely. The sooner we formalize this relationship, the better.”

Aarti gave me a shy smile, and I gulped down my drink.

“Of course,” I said, unflinching at another lie. “We’ll talk about it?”

She nodded and squeezed my hand.

The hot, humid day had become a cool, pleasant Dallas night, and yet, I couldn’t breathe.

It was past midnight when I kissed Aarti goodbye and watched her car roar out of the driveway. When I returned inside, I found my father lounging in the living room with a drink in his hand. He had already had quite a few. Mom sat across from him on the couch, but they might as well have been on different continents.

“I’ll head home now,” I announced, retrieving the car keys from my pocket.

“Don’t even think about it,” said Mom. “You’re drunk, and you’re not going anywhere. Durga has made up your room.”

I wasn’t drunk, but I didn’t argue. Sharing Saturday morning breakfast with Mom used to be the highlight of my weekends. Usually, she made my favorite, paneer paratha. I dropped down beside her and sank into the couch.

“It was a good party,” my father began softly. When neither of us responded, he jabbed a finger at me. “I don’t need to remind you how important this relationship with the Bhatias is for us.” I continued to ignore him. “You better set a date soon. That girl likes you.”

He scoffed in disbelief at the thought and swilled his drink. This time I was ready with a scowl, but Mom placed her hand on my clenched fist. Let it go.

“And you know what’s at stake here. With their money in our family, no one in the coming seven generations will need to work.” He beamed as he delivered the cliché in Hindi. “And she likes you,” he repeated as if it were the most unbelievable thing in the world. “I did well. If it wasn’t for my charm and connections, you two wouldn’t be together. You have much to thank me for, boy.”

“Go to bed, Pavan,” Mom said sharply before I could respond.

He looked at her, stood up, and hauled himself toward the bedroom.

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