Page 92 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

After work on Friday evening, I took a flight to JFK. When I landed, I saw Sujit at the airport, despite my strict orders that I would take a cab. A wide grin, a warm embrace, a familiar kiss. My heart thumped hard, and my hands shivered with mixed feelings of happiness and guilt. I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach.

“I can’t wait to see Aai,” I said when we were in his car. “I wish I had your patience to keep a secret. But then, I think Aai would have a heart attack if I showed up unannounced.”

He glanced at me and smiled. “She’s waiting eagerly.”

“Sujit, there’s something important I need to talk to you about,” I said before I lost my nerve.

“Sure. What about?”

“Can we spend some time together tomorrow? Alone.”

“Uh-huh. Ms. Tara Kadam, I don’t trust you to behave yourself when we’re alone. Maybe I should get some reinforcements?”

Guilt and shame weighed down my breath.

“Where’s the laugh?” he said, glancing at me. “I thought that was very cute.”

I turned to him and smiled. “It was. You are terribly cute.”

“But?” He glanced at me again.

“But nothing. No buts. You’re cute. Period.”

“Uh-oh! That sounds ominous. You’re never this nice. Something’s up, isn’t it? You’re breaking up with me.” He was smiling with his eyes on the road, confident in his joke.

“How’s work?” I asked.

“Meh, same old. You?”

“It’s been a good two months. I got to learn some characteristic features of the Texas landscape in art.” Ah, small talk, the refuge of those who wish to avoid talking about real emotions. “Colleagues have been supportive. Can’t complain.”

I saw Aai on the balcony, and she waved at me as I exited the car. She was already at the door when we reached upstairs. Sujit helped me lug up my carry-on laden with paintings that I had brought back.

“Okay, I’ll let you both be,” Sujit said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Please come inside. For long time, she doesn’t see you, so please come and sit with us. You will not disturb us,” Aai said to Sujit in her tenuous English.

He smiled. “Thank you, Aai, but it is late. And I will see her tomorrow.” He had learned to pace his words so she could understand his curved Rs and soft Ts. This was the considerate Sujit I was preparing to devastate tomorrow.

After a very late but hearty dinner that included my favorite bhendi chi bhaji and poli, and tomato-onion koshimbir with crushed peanuts, Aai and I settled on the balcony with hot cups of tea. The sound of crickets stridulating in the distance, the light clouds hanging below the night sky, and the delicate smell of herbs and lilies wafting up from the downstairs balcony all reminded me of home. Aai, Baba, Dada, and me on our terrace on hot summer nights, playing cards, laughing hard. Sometimes, when my aunts, uncles, and cousins visited us, Dada, Baba, and I teamed up to cheat, winning round after round of rummy. When our scam was discovered, we had to agree to treat them to ice cream for a whole week. I smiled at the memory of my father’s warm face.

“Do you want to eat mutton tomorrow?” Aai asked.

I smiled again. Aai’s mutton curry used to be Baba’s favorite. It was the one thing he was most vocal about—his love for her curry and his disdain when others cooked it. Aai often reproached him for it.

“I’ve missed your mutton, Aai. But I’ll be out with Sujit tomorrow. I don’t know what the day looks like, so let’s not plan anything elaborate. Simple food is good.”

She nodded, took a sip of her tea, and watched me. “Something about you is amiss.” She didn’t beat around the bush this time.

“Aai, I want to tell you something.”

“Is it about Sameer?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes.”

She nodded.

“Aai, we knew each other in college.”

---