Page 84 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

I laughed and took his hand to kiss his palm. “That’s actually true.”

“Sona, does this mean?—”

I promptly brought my finger to his lips. “Don’t say it. You’ll jinx it.”

A quiet descended on the room, the good kind. The kind that suggested contentment and peace.

“Will you stay the night?” I asked, still jittery from our changed status quo.

“I wish I could, babe, but I have an early morning meeting with someone in New York,” he said, flashing me a knowing smile. I nodded as we both got off the bed. “But why don’t you check out and come stay with me for the remainder of your time here?”

That took our relationship to a whole new level, and astonishingly, I didn’t flinch this time.

On the ride over, Mihir held my hand, threading his fingers through mine, drawing gentle circles with his thumb.

“Are you going to tell your parents about us?” I asked into the soft silence.

He glanced at me. “I know I share too much with them, but I won’t unless you are comfortable with it.”

“I don’t mind. I was just curious. You know what happened with Ajay. Since then, I’ve had this rather silly idea that if I ever have a relationship again or, god forbid, marry, I wanted my partner’s mother to be proud of me, of who I am. I never thought it was possible. Then I saw Tara and Amrit aunty, and it pinched me a little. I wondered if I would ever find that kind of bond, that love and respect. Is it shameful to yearn for something like that? To seek that kind of shallow validation?”

“There’s nothing shallow about the need to feel loved and wanted. It is a real, primal, human emotion.”

“But something specific like this? Some of us will never have that. When Payal and Jaya got married, no one from their families came to the wedding. It was only friends and well-wishers. Over the years, Jaya’s mother has embraced them, but Payal’s family hasn’t spoken to her since. In such a world, then, is it shallow to expect your partner’s parents to show you love like you’re their own?”

“To be loved, to be wanted, is a real need. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, babe. You know that better than me, and you explained it in your own words at the party. The spaces where women can connect and foster true bonds are priceless, whether they be public or private. I’m sure you gave that space to Payal and her wife. I suppose your perspective becomes myopic when the lens is turned on your own life.”

I looked at him in complete awe. Did I really almost let him go? I was never going to make that mistake again.

“And like you said, your relationship with Mom is your own. It has nothing to do with me, and I hope it stays that way. Your friendship predates our relationship, and that in itself is brilliant.”

That night, I slept wrapped up in his arms like I had dreamed of.

MIHIR

Sona visited again in January to celebrate my parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary.

I made reservations at the country club where Dad had been a member for decades, playing tennis and golf with his friends. When I could afford the membership, he had urged me to join the “by referral only” club. Something about legacy. I barely used the amenities, but as immigrants, my parents dreamed of hosting my wedding on the grounds of this exclusive club.

I had requested a tailored four-course menu, with wine pairings for Mom, whisky drams for Dad and me, and exclusive non-alcoholic mixes for Sona.

The server had barely placed the appetizers on the table when Mom spotted Anju taking a seat at the bar with a tall, dark-haired man. His posture suggested he was military. She spotted me and promptly turned toward her companion.

Unaware of what had transpired the night of the wedding or with Anju before that, Mom beckoned her over the moment our plates had been cleared. Anju always had a lot of respect for Mom. She excused herself from her companion and walked over.

“Anju, so good to see you, beta.” Mom stood and gave her a hug.

“Happy Anniversary, Aunty,” she said. “Mom mentioned it yesterday.” She leaned over to look at Dad. “And to you, Uncle.”

Dad nodded a thanks, and Mom beamed as she responded, “Thank you, beta. Hope you are doing well.”

That was a coded question to ascertain if she had moved on from her messy divorce.

Anju smiled. “I am, Aunty. Much better now.”

“Good, that’s good,” Mom said and turned to us. “Anju, I don’t think you’ve met Sona.”

Anju merely smiled at us.

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