The Object of Your Affections

by Falguni Kothari

  chapter nine

  Paris

  There was a terrible, horrible reason why Naira had turned her back on our friendship.

  Yes, she’d been torn up about her husband’s arrest, and maybe she wouldn’t have come for my wedding even if she hadn’t miscarried, but I should’ve realized—I should have sensed she was hiding something. I, who prided myself on reading people right, had read my own best friend wrong. I wanted to kick myself for being completely selfish and self-absorbed.

  Bravely, Naira exposed her wounds. Some had scabbed over but some were still bleeding. I couldn’t imagine—didn’t have the tools to imagine what it felt like to lose a husband and a child within months. I’d lost the Judge, the only father I’d ever known, but it wasn’t the same thing. I’d hurt terribly for the Judge—no, that was a lie. I’d blocked it. I’d blocked his death, what it made me feel. I’d blocked it all. I’d found distractions instead—mentors, lovers, taken up projects he would have approved of and been proud of, like working for the DNC and volunteering at RiM. I’d wished to honor his life by following in his footsteps and not sit around being devastated by his loss. I hadn’t cried for the Judge until I met Neal. Not that the release of emotion had filled the hollowness he’d left inside me. It remained within me, murky as a bottomless loch even now.

  My therapist said that the hollowness was an expression of my grief, my defense mechanism to deal with loss. I wasn’t ready to feel the pain, so I hid it or hid from it. Different people expressed sorrow differently, he said. Some cried. Some didn’t. There wasn’t a right or wrong way to feel, to grieve, or even one way. There was no right or wrong or the only way to do anything—not even life. Every person and situation was unique and flourished or withered within its own ecosphere.

  Naira had cried when she lost her baby, I was sure. She would’ve absorbed the pain, let it consume her soul. Naira didn’t shy away from feeling feelings.

  My respect for her rose, not that it hadn’t been high already. She had been through hell and yet, here she was, fighting. Smiling. Hadn’t I told Neal that Naira was strong beyond measure? She deserved a standing ovation, IMO. I settled for a bone-crushing hug.

  “In a way, it’s good that it happened because how would I have coped with a baby on top of everything else?” She pushed back and pressed her fingers over her eyelids, clearly still emotional, then gave me a watery smile. “I’m okay. It’s okay, really. Now get a move on your baby fast so I can become a doting aunt.”

  Oh, the plan was for Naira to become so much more than an aunt. However, I needed to make some sort of an opening statement before jumping to the plea.

  “It’s complicated. Being married.” Was that an understatement or what?

  “No shit, Sherlock.” Naira grinned as she blew her nose on a used tissue she’d dug out of her jacket.

  “I don’t know how I got myself into this situation. I’m a planner. Daily goals, weekly goals, yearly goals. You’ve seen my Life Goals spreadsheet from college. Nowhere in it was a baby. Nowhere in it was marriage. Neal derailed my entire life in one season.” Cool air ruffled the fine hairs on the nape of my neck and I suddenly shivered. “We’re both alphas. This should not be working. Yet, here we are. Jungle mates for life.”

  “You love each other,” Naira said simply.

  That didn’t mean shit. “I still wake up every day and wonder if today is the day we’ll break up. If today is the day we’ll say or do something irrevocable, unforgivable.” I looked up at the starry sky full of random rotating objects. How often did planets align just right?

  “Every day I fall more and more in love with him but there are always doubts. But then there is also this conviction that I am right where I’m supposed to be. And that he and I are meant for each other. We’re solid. We are not Jared and Sandra. It isn’t just impulse or sheer stubbornness keeping us together but something bigger. Do you—” I broke off, feeling ridiculous. I could never put it into words exactly what I felt for Neal. “Did you feel the same?”

  “Doubts and certainty?” Naira’s eyes were glittering with unshed tears again. “Yes.”

  I’d wondered if she’d had doubts. She hadn’t expressed any—not before her marriage, not after. Not even after Kaivan became a criminal.

  “He has this magic touch...”

  “Ack! DO NOT describe your sex life to me,” she yelped, plugging her ears with her index fingers for good measure.

  I hadn’t been about to but...

  “No? But the bawdy tales of The Baron and His Bitch are so invigorating.” I couldn’t resist teasing her like I’d done in college. Discussions about penises—size, shape, skill—and my advanced ability to suck cock had made saintly Naira squirm and pray for my irreverent soul. Nothing had been sacred then. Nothing had been a secret.

  She didn’t know I was no longer so flippant, that it was different with Neal. I was different. I didn’t know if it was out of respect for him—for us—or out of fear of jinxing us, but I shied away from boasting about how great we were in bed. Kein ayin hara, as the Judge would say after counting his blessings to divert the evil eye.

  I burst out laughing when Naira broke into song, no doubt to drown out any sexcapades I felt inclined to share. I yanked her hands down. “I can’t believe you’re still a prude after being married to a man like that.”

  “Like what? For the last time, Kaivan wasn’t a criminal. He was ruthless in business, but he was a good man, Paris.”

  She’d missed the point totally. “And a sexy one.”

  Naira’s mouth dropped open. “You found Kaivan sexy? You?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Honey, you don’t need to like someone to want to burn up the sheets with them. So the prosecutor in me was always wary of the...uh, ruthless fiend in him. Didn’t mean I was blind to his appeal.”

  Tall—not as tall as Neal though—fit, not muscular, thick beard, piercing brown eyes. Oh, yeah, Kaivan had had sex appeal.

  It struck me then that unless Ms. Prude had flipped her scruples one eighty degrees, she hadn’t had sex since she cremated her husband over two years ago. Maybe even before that, since her miscarriage. And if marriage wasn’t anywhere on her horizon, I had my doubts the situation would improve anytime soon. The thought appalled me enough that I was momentarily speechless.

  “Our bodies are machines, you know? If you don’t use all your parts regularly they’ll shrivel up and die. Want me to tag someone for a booty call?”

  Naira looked as if I’d just bought her a membership to a sex club. “Oh, my God! This is not open to discussion.”

  “All you have to do is ask.” But I let it go and steered the conversation back on track. “Every marriage functions on compromise, right? And sex.” I glanced at her again, shaking my head. “I still can’t believe you haven’t—”

  “Paris, stop it!” she screeched, bouncing up from the bench.

  “Okay. Okay! I’ll stop.” I stood up too. I’d heard that pregnant women got horny. Another tick mark against the Big Idea if it was true. “Where were we? Ah, yes. Compromise. I do stuff for Neal, and he does stuff for me. Or it’s supposed to work like that. He moved to New York because my work and Lily are here, despite his own family being two oceans away. He accepted we wouldn’t have children, even though he adores kids. It was insane that he even agreed. It was such an unfair thing to ask of him.” I didn’t deserve him, his compassion, his support.

  “You feel pressured into having kids?” Her frown was barely visible in the moonlight, but her tone was sympathetic.

  “On the contrary, I’m still not going to have the kid. Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t, right?”

  “What does that mean? Oh.” Realization dawned. “You want him to have a child with someone else? Like a surrogate?”

  I smiled. This was why we were best friends. Naira totally got me. “Yup, exactly like a surrogate. I will cut off his pe
nis if he tries it in any other way. Anyway, choosing the right surrogate is a mind-boggling endeavor. Everybody needs to be on the same page at the same time. Trust has to be implicit. There are steps, tests, procedures. Legally, surrogacy is an even bigger clusterfuck than adoption—which was the other option, but we decided on surrogacy and biological children.”

  I briefly explained everything I’d learned about surrogacy in the past six months. Most of it wasn’t pretty. When I finished, Naira stared at me as if I was a fascinating yet repellent specimen on a slide under a microscope.

  “The way your mind works is simply...stunning. Only you could come up with such an unusual solution.”

  That pinched. “We’re nearly two decades into the twenty-first century, honey. Conventionality is dead, or should be. Tell me, why should I do something I don’t want? And why should Neal give up his dreams if there is an alternative which can make us both happy? Where all three of us can be happy?”

  In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought, and made my request. “The reason I’m telling you all this is because I want you to consider being our surrogate.”

  Of course, she was shocked. Horrified. Gobsmacked. She began shaking her head.

  Terrified she’d veto the idea in reflex, I blurted out, “Or, if not...if that’s too much, just be the kid’s guardian. The mother figure. God in heaven, Naira, I’m asking you—I’m begging you to take the kid off my hands!”

  * * *

  The next morning, I dashed off to work after spending a harrowing night in bed alone, suffering from the worst case of regret ever to burn a hole in my stomach.

  I couldn’t get the last few minutes of last night out of my head. The awful silence following my verbal vomit. Naira backing away from me as if I was Serena Joy from The Handmaid’s Tale all set to throw her into a pregnancy dungeon. Then pivoting and running home with a hasty goodbye wave.

  I’d wanted to follow her, but I’d restrained myself. I had to give her time to stew on it.

  I should’ve waited for Neal to ask her. We should have asked Naira together. He wouldn’t have let me botch it up. I wouldn’t have said what I’d said at the end if he’d been there.

  “Couldn’t ye wait another day?” he’d scolded over the phone last night. I’d called him right after the fiasco and demanded that he fix it. “We haven’t discussed this sufficiently yet. I sure as hell am no’ a hundred percent sure this is the best option. No’ with her. I asked ye to wait until I got back. But no. Why mind me? At the very least, ye should’ve waited until she’d come to a decision about Fraser Bespoke. This muddies the waters, can’t ye see? What in hell was your hurry, lass?”

  I wanted it all locked down before our perfect alignment of planets changed. But if I told him that, he’d laugh at me.

  I stepped out of the north entrance of the Criminal Court Building where a bunch of hard-hat workers were repairing the sidewalk for the second time in two years. The noise of their drills left no room in my head for noisy thoughts. Perfect. The butterflies inside my belly had fled too, partly because I’d won the case and exhilaration was sweeping through me. I’d caught a break when the perp on trial had unexpectedly implicated himself on the witness stand, making everyone except the defense attorney dance with glee. Justice had been meted out in less than an hour without fuss or folly.

  I crossed the street and walked to Foley Square. I wasn’t expected at the Department of Justice—the task force’s HQ—for another hour. As it was nearly noon and I had time to kill, I decided to grab an early lunch. I bought a veggie gyro from a food truck, then walked a little away and sat down on a bench to have myself a little congratulatory picnic.

  The weather was brilliant, high seventies and not at all like the end of October, and went a long way in improving my mood. I checked my messages and emails, saw that I’d missed two calls from Lily, but none from Naira.

  Of course, she’d call. She just needed space to think.

  I returned Lily’s call via video chat. That way I could count it as having lunch together since I’d ditched her for dinner last night and breakfast this morning.

  “Hey, you two.” I waved when the Merry Widows of White Plains, aka Lily and Rachel, appeared on screen. They weren’t identical twins, but similar enough to be thought of as identical. “Big dates?”

  They were clearly getting spruced up in front of the bathroom vanity. Lily’s Audrey Hepburn–like hair was in curlers, and Rachel was dabbing makeup on her face.

  “Hello, bubbala!” they greeted in unison.

  “What a lovely surprise in the middle of the day.” Lily’s face crinkled into a smile. “We are meeting the beaus for lunch and then we’re catching a movie at the IMAX. A romantic comedy.”

  “How nice.”

  The beaus were a couple of widowers the Merry Widows had met at Scrabble Night at a community center a few months ago. I’d felt compelled to run background checks on the gentlemen, especially when the four of them started double dating and taking weekend trips to the Jersey Shore. I still couldn’t believe Lily wanted to go on a three-week-long cruise to the South Pole with them. She’d hated to travel before. Who was this Lily who dressed in trendy clothes and went on cruises and to the movies? Why did she do things with Charlie she’d never done with the Judge? It seemed unbelievable that she wouldn’t be around for Thanksgiving. We’d never not celebrated the holiday together since I’d come to live with the Kahns.

  “And how is that sweet girl? Did you help her move?”

  Lily and Naira used to get along like a house on fire, probably still would. They were both Sagittarians and had similar housewifery philosophies.

  “She’s fine. We were packing, Lily. She won’t be moving for another couple of weeks.”

  I took another bite of my gyro as Lily pulled the curlers out of her short white bob and patted her hair into place. She looked really good for her age, as spiffy in her sleek red pants and checkered blouse as the Aston Martin parked on my right by the curb.

  Why had I decided to video chat with her?

  Oh, yeah. Guilt. And a promise given to a dead man on his deathbed to take care of his wife who didn’t seem to need any taking care of.

  Also, I didn’t want to accidentally call Naira and seem desperate. The ball was in her court.

  “I always liked that girl. So soft-spoken and helpful. She was a positive influence on you, teaching you all about India.”

  “Hmm” was my reply since my mouth was stuffed with hummus and salad.

  It was the truth though. Naira had taught me everything I knew about India, from Bollywood to the diversity of Indian cuisines, culture, attire—and bhangra. I’d shunned that part of me until college, deciding my roots ought to be Jewish and American like the Judge’s. I’d wanted to please him. I’d wanted to be just like him.

  I thought differently now. Naira had introduced me to my biological heritage, and Neal had immersed me in it. Because of them, I’d learned to be comfortable with my other self.

  “What’s wrong, young lady?” When I looked back at the screen, Lily was giving me the death stare. “You look awful. Your eyes are sunken in and your face looks all pinched.”

  Here we go again. “Gee. Thanks for pointing out how bad I look. I haven’t slept well, if you must know.”

  “Why not? Don’t say you’ve fought with your young man again? You’re too bossy with him. It’s unbecoming. You should appreciate your man more.”

  “I appreciate him just fine.” I wouldn’t let her get under my skin. Not today.

  Lily and I had never shared an easy relationship. She’d been a different person back then. A frumpy, timid housewife who hadn’t so much as sneezed without her husband’s permission. I’d had no respect for her. That Lily had disapproved of me too, and been jealous of my relationship with the Judge, who I’d hero-worshipped. I’d thought he walked on the moon. He’d been the bri
dge between us, our only connection, until his death had forced us to change. While I’d changed subtly, a whole new Lily had emerged from the ashes complete with sassy curls and effervescent clothes.

  “It never hurts to put him first, Pari. Put relationships first and not ambition.”

  Pari. Pronounced as in gay Paree. Sometimes, people asked me whether my parents had named me after the French capital. Had I been born in Paris? Conceived there? Had my parents met in Paris? As a child, I’d wallowed in the fairy tale of being Paris, the symbol of desperate love and devastating passion between my adoptive parents. And it had been true for a while.

  I’d been Pari before being Paris. My birth mother had called me Pari. In Hindi, pari meant angel or fairy, a nickname given to little girls who hadn’t been named yet. Jared and Sandra had pounced on the symbolism of my name—I was their angel, the pari who’d brought them together. They’d met and connected first in Paris. They’d started to fall in love there. I was supposed to remind them of gay Paree forever.

  It hadn’t worked out like that. Life rarely did. So now my name meant nothing and symbolized failure more than anything else.

  I didn’t want to fail as a wife, but Lily was making it sound as if I was.

  I dumped the half-eaten gyro into the trash, my appetite gone. I shouldn’t have called. “He works all the time too. His ambitions are also huge.”

  “Yes, but he’s a man.”

  “And a man can do nothing wrong?” A sour taste filled my mouth.

  Lily’s expression shuttered. “Must you always be so prickly?”

  Yes, well, who’d made me that way? I didn’t know whether the Judge and Lily had made a conscious decision not to have children or they simply hadn’t been able to get pregnant. I’d asked the Judge about it once, but he’d dismissed the question. He’d told me never, ever to bring it up with Lily. Ever. When I came into their lives, they’d already been married for thirty years. Lily Kahn hadn’t wanted to raise a belligerent brat, but the Judge had overruled her objections. She’d never let any of us forget that I’d been forced on her. That I’d been unwanted.