by Sonya Lalli
“—and, I suppose,” continued Asher, glancing back at the water, “what you were looking for . . . I just never guessed it was this.”
Asher . . . What just happened!?
WAY TOO GOOD FOR ME
TWENTY
Asher invited me to go watch the Toronto Raptors game with him and a few of his friends, but I declined with an excuse about work, even though I’d already e-mailed Bill to tell him I couldn’t come in. I walked Asher to a sports bar just off Queen West and continued north, but I didn’t go straight home, either. And it was somewhere between Dundas Square and College that it hit me.
I had feelings for Asher. Real feelings. And the more I thought about it, the more palpable and real they felt. How was it even possible? Sure, he wasn’t Indian. We’d led polar opposite lives, and I wasn’t sure we had that much—if anything—in common. Then what was it about him that made me feel so stable? With Dev I’d been out of breath constantly, chasing him, always pushing for a different kind of life, but when I was with Asher, it felt like everything was exactly how and where it was supposed to be.
When I got home, I flopped down on my bed and texted Depesh, asking him if he wanted to catch up for dinner that evening, and then opened my laptop. I was staring at the home screen, trying to figure out what it was I needed to do to prepare for the week ahead, when I received a notification from Dev requesting a video chat.
I don’t know why I answered. He was in Hong Kong now, and I lay faceup on my bed as Dev nattered away to me about the politics of our foreign office, even though all I wanted to do was tell him to shut up so I could be alone to eat a bag of salt and vinegar chips, and watch bad TV.
He steered his webcam around the patio of his suite, out toward the view of the harbor.
“Look what’s just cropped up there—the Central Plaza, you see it?”
I nodded, and then realized he wasn’t looking at me. “Yes, I can see it.”
“Huge, innit?”
He turned the camera back to face him. He was wearing sunglasses and a tangerine polo with the top two buttons undone, and as his pixelated smile filled up my screen, I felt that familiar surge. The shortness of breath. That smile—the way he could wield it as both shield and sword.
“It’s great, Dev. Looks like you’re having a nice time.”
I didn’t recognize the shirt. Had a woman bought it for him? I wondered whether he even had time for women with the hours he worked—and it was me he had been calling whenever he had a spare moment, wasn’t it? A part of me wanted to scream, ask who had bought him that shirt, and what we were, and why he couldn’t have made up his mind to commit already.
The other part of me was just too exhausted to care anymore.
“Your work all right, darling?”
“It’s okay. Busy. But okay.”
“That’s the beauty of it though. The business, the rush, don’t you reckon?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Complacency, Raina. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Yeah, well . . .” I thought about what to say next: that neither does this job—after Dev and I split, had it lost its last redeemable feature? Dev glanced behind him and out onto the harbor. The image wasn’t clear, but clear enough, and I could tell from his tensed chin, the square of his jaw, that his mind had already wandered off. He wasn’t looking at the blues, yellows, and grays of the morning skyline, enjoying the few minutes he would spend outdoors. He was already thinking about that day’s agenda; the intense session at the gym he’d fit in between client meetings, the conference call in the back seat of the 5 Series on the drive back to the office.
Dev had traveled constantly while we were together. Direct flights from Heathrow, gone for two days, or two weeks—then the fast train to Paddington, and back to the office. After each business trip abroad, I’d swing by his office with two coffees and pastries from Pret, and he’d have nothing to say about the observation deck on the Burj Khalifa or the white sands of Copacabana. Wiping the crumbs from his chin, he’d tell me about the swanky boardrooms in our Dubai office, the portfolio he’d sorted out in Rio—complaining about what went wrong, or what they had but we didn’t. Dev wanted it all, to be a part of the whole world. But going that fast, I always wondered if he’d end up missing out on everything.
I heard my cell phone buzz on the end table.
“Where’d you go, love?”
“Hmm?” I said to the screen. Dev’s picture had frozen—his mouth open, tongue slightly curled—and I waved my hand.
A second later, his screen unfroze. I picked up my phone. It was Depesh, suggesting a ramen place nearby my condo, and I replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
“I have only twenty minutes, and you’re going to chat with someone else?” I heard Dev say.
“Excuse me? You can run off for however many months, but I can’t look at a text?”
“Raina, please don’t.”
“You call me when it’s a good time for you, but did you even ask whether now is a good time for me? Did you ask me how my day was, except for work? Do you even know what else is happening in my life? Have you once asked me how Nani is doing? Or Shay?”
He held up a hand to the screen, and I heard him sigh. “Sorry, you’re right. I don’t want to fight, darling. I’m knackered. I slept like shit last night, and—”
“And it’s always about you, isn’t it?” I pressed my lips together. He repositioned his screen, and his face was closer now.
Was this the man I was waiting for? Was I—months later—still waiting for him?
“I need to know,” I said, looking at my hands. “Are you coming back to Toronto?”
“Soon, Raina.”
“What does soon mean? In a week, a few months? Maybe never—”
“Where is this coming from?”
“You’re a smart guy, Dev. It’s not that difficult.”
“Raina, we’ve never played games with each other. Yes, I’ll be the first admit I wasn’t—I haven’t—been great to you.” He ran his hands through his hair. “But being away, bouncing around between offices . . . It’s been hard for me, too.”
“I’m so sorry this has been hard on you. Truly sorry.”
“I’ve never led you on, darling. I’ve always been honest—we’ve been clear about the situation between us. You knew when I came to Toronto we weren’t quite sure whether I could . . . that I was still . . .” He trailed off, and I could feel my ears burn.
He was right. I’d gone along with what he said, what he wanted, desperate to make him happy; convinced that it would make me so, too. But what for? When had I become this woman—weak, desperate—my everything dependent on him? I’d lied—I’d created this whole mess—because I loved him, but I was so tired of it.
All of a sudden, I was so fucking tired of him.
“. . . you know how I feel about you. I just don’t know what else to—”
“Dev,” I said, interrupting him. “Let me be clear then. Crystal clear.” I took a deep breath, and stared straight into his pixelated eyes. “Come back. Don’t come back. It doesn’t even matter anymore.”
“Darling, you can’t mean that.”
Didn’t I mean it, though?
“I mean it,” I said, slowly. Firmly.
“Raina—”
“Because I’m done waiting for you.”
I slammed the laptop shut. My bedroom was silent. Murky dark, except for the sliver of light coming in from beneath the door. I got off the bed and opened the curtains, stared out into the dark night.
And then I closed my eyes, let the tears drop; finally ready to let Dev fall away.
Dev . . . ? Never. Again.
TWENTY-ONE
“You are inviting that woman here?” Nani had asked me, when I announced I’d invited Auntie Sarla and Shay over for tea.
I nodded, pulli
ng a box of laddoo out of the Deepfreeze.
“And she agreed?”
“Yep.”
She stared at me as I set the sweets out on a china platter, and then disappeared upstairs. Shay and I had been planning the reconciliation for weeks—an afternoon tea where we’d force Nani and Auntie Sarla to set their differences aside, and be friends again.
They’d always had an unusual relationship, one based on both rivalry and genuine affection. Auntie Sarla had been Nani’s saving grace when our family had moved to Toronto. She’d helped Nani grow the restaurant, and had supported her after Mom got pregnant. Even though Auntie Sarla was everything negative about our Indian traditions incarnate, Nani had lost her friendship because of me. And while I would never truly forgive Auntie Sarla for her judgment, I wanted Nani to.
“Raina?” I heard Nani call, as she walked down the steps.
“Yes?”
“Can you give me hand?”
I went into the living room and stopped short in my tracks. She was holding up a giant rainbow flag, and it was nearly as tall as she.
She had bought a pride flag? What the hell had I done? My stomach lurched as I wrestled with whether to just spit it out: tell Nani I wasn’t actually gay. Zoey and now Shay were on my case to tell her the truth, but I kept finding excuses. One week Nani had the flu, and the next I had to be in Montreal for a few days for a seminar.
“I was thinking we should put above the mantelpiece.”
And in moments like these, when I did find myself face-to-face with Nani, I knew deep down that I should tell her. That I wanted to tell her.
But I never managed to do it.
“Amazon sent it to me.” Nani moved her hands, and it sent a wave down the fabric. “Don’t you think it’s nice to have it out for”—she smiled sweetly—“our guest?”
I opened my mouth. I was ready, wasn’t I?
“Nani . . .”
“Hah, my sweet?”
I hesitated, and then I shrunk back. “Do you think the flag matches the room?”
“It matches perfectly,” she snapped. “It is absolutely perfect.”
* * *
They were an hour late. Auntie Sarla opened the front door and marched in like she lived there, Shay following, rolling her eyes in my direction as she sat down on the couch opposite us. Nani turned off the television, and as Auntie Sarla stood in front of the three of us, her hand planted firmly on her hips, no one said a word. Shay and I looked at each other, trying not to laugh as Nani and Auntie Sarla stared at each other in silence. Finally, Auntie Sarla sighed, and dramatically folded herself onto the couch next to Shay.
“Sarla.” Nani smiled at the ground. “Do you like our new decorations?”
Without looking up, Auntie Sarla growled. “Suvali, I am saying this once. I am here against my will. Shaylee is the one who insisted—”
“Ma, please—”
“No, no,” Auntie Sarla cut her off waving a hand. “She should know. I am not okay with this—I am not okay with either of you, but”—Auntie Sarla cleared her throat, and glared around the room accusingly—“Shaylee insisted that we all get along.”
“I threatened to cancel the wedding.” Shay smiled at me as she reached for the bowl of cashews. “And I was serious, too.”
Through gritted teeth, Nani and Auntie Sarla spent the next hour discussing preparations for the sangeet. The billeting of various relatives and friends flying in from Jaipur, Singapore, and Dubai; where they would stay and what they would eat. It was almost back to normal, and Nani and Auntie Sarla were bickering about something inconsequential when Shay sidled over to my couch.
“I need to tell you something,” whispered Shay.
I glanced over at Nani and Auntie Sarla. They were still discussing Shay’s great-uncle’s dietary restrictions and weren’t listening to us. I looked back at Shay. “What is it?”
“Asher is seeing someone.”
I felt my heart drop.
“Thought you might want to know.”
I nodded, and wondered what gave me the right to care so much. He and I were friends. I let him believe I wasn’t interested in his entire sex. What else could I expect?
“She’s another teacher at his school. I’m sorry . . .” Shay kissed me on the forehead. “But she’s a bit of an idiot. I wouldn’t worry”—her head turned—“what, Ma?”
I looked up, and Auntie Sarla was staring at us, her mouth frozen mid-sentence.
“What, am I not allowed to kiss my best friend?” Shay snapped.
Auntie Sarla growled, and then she tore her eyes away from us. “Disgusting.”
“Stop it.” Shay’s voice shook. “Raina’s no different than before.”
“This is true. Raina was never a good girl.”
“Sarla,” said Nani. “Do not speak about Raina like that. Not in my house.”
Auntie Sarla laughed, and gestured to Nani. “But what could we expect? Another one raised by her.”
“Ma,” said Shay unsteadily. “I’m warning you. You think I’m kidding, but so help me—if you don’t stop—”
“Fine, fine.” Auntie Sarla smiled and reached for her tea. “It’s all fine.” She glanced pointedly at Nani, and then toward me. “I am sorry.” She smiled, and spoke slowly. “I am very, very sorry.”
Nani’s face was bright red, and I could tell she was breathing hard. I tried to catch her eye, but she just kept staring at Auntie Sarla.
“Would you like some water?” I asked Nani. She didn’t answer. “Nani?”
She was shaking, and I felt myself shaking, too. She was fighting for me, but why was I putting her through this? Whatever her reaction to my deception, it couldn’t be worse than this. I needed to tell her the truth, now, but first I needed to get Auntie Sarla out of the house.
“Auntie, maybe we should continue the plans later—”
“Yes. Very good idea. She needs to leave. I am not taking this—I am not taking her—any longer,” said Nani. She stood up and pointed at the door. “Leave, Sarla. Right now. This is not acceptable treatment. You have been an interference too long—”
“I am being honest. Are friends not honest?” Auntie Sarla stood up also, face-to-face with Nani. “We have been friends for more than thirty years, Suvali—”
“You insult us. You insult Raina. She is a wonderful girl, and I am proud of her.” Nani reached for the phone. “Let’s call her girlfriend. I’ll show you, you ignorant woman—this Zoey girl is more decent than—”
“Nani, Zoey and I are just friends—”
“—some of these boys she could have married. She is more decent than your husband, than my husband—”
“Can Zoey give her children? No. It is wrong, Suvali. I am trying to help. Have I not always helped you?”
“No, you—”
But then the phone rang, a shrill, reminding pierce that silenced us all. It was Depesh.
Sharon Auntie was in hospital.
TWENTY-TWO
The waiting room was full, and I crouched down on top of a vent in the hallway opposite. It was chock-full of Indians—some I recognized, some I didn’t—and I kept my eyes low. Beneath the white fluorescent lights, my hands looked ghostly pale. I picked at a piece of dirt beneath my fingernails.
Shay had used her ID badge to sneak Nani and Auntie Sarla into the ICU, past the barricade of nurses and attendants who refused to let Sharon Auntie’s other friends through. I checked my phone again. Shay hadn’t responded to my last text, but as I scrolled through my alerts, I saw another e-mail from Dev.
These days, his messages came often; they were verbose, but said absolutely nothing. And every time I read one, and then forced myself not to reply, I tried not to wonder what my life would have been like if I’d listened to Nani and Shay when they first told me I should cut off all contact. What my life would h
ave been like if I’d given myself the chance to move on.
“Raina? Is that you?”
I looked up. An auntie was standing just in front of me, and I stood up to hug her. She smelled like old clothes and soured perfume, and I racked my brain for her name.
Poonam? Vish-mi? She was in one of Nani’s temple community groups, but I couldn’t remember which one. I smiled at her, and we made stilted brief small talk—in English, with whatever Hindi words I knew thrown in—and then she continued on her way.
I watched her as she found a free seat at the far end of the waiting room. She sat down between some other aunties I recognized, and a moment later, I saw them all turn and look in my direction.
I looked back at my hands. It was the first time I’d seen any of them since Christmas. What were they saying? Which ones cared that I was supposedly gay, and which ones didn’t?
Did it matter?
I looked up and saw Shay walking toward me, and I stood up.
“How is she?”
“She’s good.” Shay smiled. “Completely fine. It’s not a relapse. She fainted, and Depesh brought her in to be safe. They’re going to keep her overnight.”
“Is Depesh in there?”
“He said he was going down to the cafeteria. Ma and your nani took over the room the instant they got in there. I’m surprised the doctors are letting them stay.”
“What are they doing?”
“They’re coordinating a phone tree to raise money for home care, figuring out who gets to cook Depesh dinner”—Shay rolled her eyes—“arguing over whose Tupperware they should use.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” said Shay. “Looks like the gruesome twosome are back together.”
I nodded, and looked back down the hall.
Within the hour, the news had traveled and dozens in the community had shown up in support of Sharon Auntie. It was strange—how connected we really were. An invisible safety net that I’d never really stopped to think about. As frustrating as they could be . . . I knew that they’d be there for Nani and me, too. They always had.
