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Tara took a small sip and pulled in a deep breath. “As much as I regret hurting Sujit, at the end of the day, the question was, with whom could I see myself growing old and wrinkled? For me, that person was Sameer.”
She looked at my earnest face and leaned in to whisper, “Listen, it’s very simple. If you think you can fart in the presence of this man without fear of embarrassment, then he’s yourperson. I couldn’t imagine it with Sujit.” She lifted one shoulder in a matter-of-fact shrug.
Her blunt words shocked me, but I could totally see myself in any situation with Sujit without fear of judgement or embarrassment.
She grinned at my expression. “Looks like you got your answer.”
I gave her a shy smile that I promptly hid with my glass. Around us, a few aunties huddled, whispering and stealing badly hidden glances at us.
“They’re never going to make it as spies,” I remarked.
“Nope. Mata Haris, they are not,” she said and let out a marvelously loud laugh.
I discarded all inhibition and joined her. We both laughed raucously as people stared at us with scandalized eyes and disapproving head shakes.
“Fuck, I’m just going to say it. You’re awesome,” I said. We clinked our glasses and took a big gulp of the sharp whisky. “Thank you for today, thank you for this,” I said softly after the taste of the whisky on my tongue had mellowed.
“Thank you for being generous,” she said and squeezed my hand.
“Tara…I was wondering if we could talk again before I leave. Somewhere more private?”
Her eyes studied me for a brief second, then creased at the edges. “Absolutely. Do you want to come over to the condo, or would you like to meet somewhere else?”
“Not the condo, for sure. Too many memories.”
“I understand. How about that favorite bistro of yours?”
I was about to nod when a strange realization hit me. She wouldn't have known about my favorite bistro unless Sameer had shared it with her, and it assured me of two things. One, Sameer did care about me. Even though he’d broken my heart,I had occupied a place of importance in his life. If I hadn’t, if I’d been insignificant, he wouldn’t have bothered telling Tara so much about me. And two, their relationship was solid as a boulder. You don’t talk to your wife about your ex’s favorite bistro and her love for sparkling wines unless you both have complete faith in the relationship.
Aakash said Sujit and I would live in the shadow of their happiness all our lives, but they were also living in the shadow of our memories. It was a strangely comforting thought. Sujit and I were not discounted, dismissed, or made invisible, but rather, held with love and reverence in their relationship. Maybe that’s where Sujit and I could begin.
“Yes, let’s meet at the bistro.” I breathed in a satisfied whiff.
AARTI
The next morning, I sat at my favorite brunch place in Plano, along an artificially created lake, pristine and well-groomed. This was the last place I had shared a meal with Sameer before all the threads had unraveled, but its memory didn’t garner bitterness. Not after my chat with Tara last night.
For the short time I’d known her, Tara had always been graceful, gracious, and proud. I’d been hurting because I’d not had closure, as Tara pointed out, but talking to her and laying out my feelings had aided the healing process.
That evening months ago, I had barged in on them having an intimate dinner at his condo. I was about to rush out, angry, humiliated, and injured, when Tara suggested that I should hear them out. Her words were still vivid in my memory.You have a choice. You can stay and let Sameer explain. Or leave with this rage and carry the grudge for life. I was ready to jump on the bandwagon of carrying the grudge for life, but then I heard her say,Neither can change the fact of his betrayal, but you can choose how you want to resolve this.
There it was. Betrayal. It was out in the open. Spelled out in red. Spoken in bold. She had called out Sameer’s actions for what they were. Betrayal.
I stood at the door, tears in my eyes, and made the decision to step back in. I wasn’t sure I had made a wise decision, but it felt like the right thing to do at that moment. Their apology was unconditional.
It was Tara’s honesty in calling a spade a spade that brought me back into the apartment. As Sameer started confessing how I’d been merely a means to his ultimate goal—getting back the wealth and status they had lost in India—I felt more and more like a fool. A fool who had thought she was in love with an honest and loving man.
I’d returned home in tears and confided in my family. Dad had called Sameer’s father and pelted him with angry words and vengeful threats. Dad was a powerful man, but I’d not known him to be vindictive. Mom and I had talked him down. It was better we’d discovered the truth before the wedding. It would’ve crushed my heart if I’d spent a lifetime trying to win Sameer’s love only to realize it would never have materialized.
It wasn’t the breakup that hurt me. It was the public declaration of our betrothal that unnerved me. People break up all the time. It’s not a big deal. But I’d announced to half the city that I was in love and planning to marry the man of my dreams. That’s the part that hurt the most. It was about my ego, not love.
As he had promised, Sameer had come to apologize the next day, and the next, and the day after that, but I’d refused to see him. I’d asked Mom to turn him away. He had spoken to my parents with humility, accepting his guilt in all of it. He’d confessed about his strained relationship with his father, who’d instigated the surprise proposal. But I hadn’t seen him, hadn’t given him a chance to explain, hadn’t told him the extent of myhurt, and that’s where I’d faltered. If I had, I probably have had some semblance of closure sooner.
Tara arrived with a smile, dressed in leggings, high boots, and a smart quilted jacket over a black top. A handmade long necklace and a beautiful bold purple on her lips marked her as the artist that she was.
“Hey,” she said as she pulled a chair across me. “You look great.”
I didn’t need to glance down at myself in jeans, a top, a jacket, and ankle boots. “You do too.” I smiled.