The Object of Your Affections

by Falguni Kothari

  If time had a smell, it would smell like this, I thought. Of books and leather and memories.

  Neal pulled out fresh towels from a linen closet in the hallway, dry clothes from the bedroom, and handed the pile to me. “They’ll probably be too big on ye, but they’re warm.”

  “Th...th...tha...nk...you.” Even my teeth were chattering.

  Neal opened the door to the hall bathroom and pushed me inside. “Get dry. Then we’ll talk.”

  I closed the door and started stripping as quickly as my stiff fingers allowed. The bathroom was spacious and quaint, with wainscoting and a claw-foot tub. The fixtures were ornate and fussy, but gleamed like they were well tended. I couldn’t stop my envy. None of the bathrooms in the flats I’d seen so far had had even a quarter of this one’s appeal. If only I could afford a place like this. It was perfect. SoHo location. Lots of light. Lots of room. I could almost picture the living room decluttered and artfully arranged with select things.

  There I went again, mentally redecorating someone else’s home. Occupational hazard because of An Atelier in Mumbai where clients had paid me to treat their homes and offices like my personal canvases. I’d splashed my signature on three hundred spaces so far.

  I ignored my beeping cell phone. I didn’t need that shit again.

  I was still cold when I came out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of rolled-up sweatpants, thick socks and a hoodie. But not for long. Neal had started a fire. He handed me a glass of wine as I crossed the room to stand by the hearth.

  “I’ll throw yer clothes in the dryer.” He made to go but I flapped my hand to stop him.

  “No need. I’ve hung them up in the bathroom. They weren’t as wet as they felt. They should be dry soon enough.”

  “All right. So, this is Uncle Liam’s flat.” He swept the hand that held his wineglass across the room. “The whole building is his, aye? He’s been away since summer, so I’ve kept an eye on things—the bar, the tenants.”

  Nodding, I took a sip of my wine—an excellent Italian merlot. Neal launched into a fascinating story about his uncle Liam, I suppose to kill time while my clothes dried. I wondered if Paris was meeting us here before dinner.

  Uncle Liam was Neal’s father’s youngest uncle—so technically he was Neal’s great-uncle. He had emigrated to America in his youth. He’d never married, though he’d briefly been engaged once—or so the family believed. Uncle Liam had never confirmed or denied it. He bought the building in the 1960s and the sports bar quickly became a local favorite. There were six apartments in total in the building—four of them tenanted. Uncle Liam did well for himself for a lad who was a nomad at heart. He spent half of every year traveling the world. Which accounted for the eclectic knickknacks strewn about the place, I deduced.

  “He’s off on one of his adventures, and has only just intimated that he won’t be back until March. Might even be next fall as he plans to climb Mount Everest and is training for it.”

  It was obvious Neal was extremely fond of his uncle. He also sounded wistful as if he envied his uncle’s adventurous life. But why should he feel envious? He and Paris had an amazing, unrestricted relationship.

  I took a long swallow of my wine. I was projecting my own wish to be a free bird onto Neal.

  “He sounds like an amazing man,” I said sincerely.

  “Aye, that he is. And, he’ll be delighted if ye house-sit for him.”

  I blinked. Then blinked again. Was it suddenly too warm, too hot, too much? I lurched away from the fire and sat down on an armchair by the window. “What?”

  Neal’s face split into a foolish grin. “Ye need time to find the right home. It canna be rushed. Ye can stay here until ye do.”

  What was this? Why was he being so amazing? And what was his ulterior motive? Was it Fraser Bespoke? The surrogacy?

  “It’s too generous, Neal.”

  This was a huge favor he was doing for me. Massive. Bigger than the job offer. No, I didn’t consider the job a favor. I had the credentials and the expertise and I’d work my ass off if I accepted it. So, it wasn’t a favor, rather a mutually benefiting partnership. But this. I looked around the living room. How on earth would my things fit in here when it was already bulging at the seams? And I didn’t even have much stuff. Just four large Briggs & Riley suitcases full of clothes and some boxes of artwork.

  “There’s literally no room here.” I cringed. Where were my manners? Instead of thanking him I was nitpicking?

  He cocked his head at the door. “My studio’s right across and there’s plenty of extra space in there. I only use the living room, so the rest is yours if ye need it. Or we can move some of Liam’s stuff in there so ye have more room in here. Will that do, lass?”

  It would more than do.

  “I will pay rent,” I said flatly. I wasn’t a charity case.

  “Fair enough,” he replied as if he’d been expecting it, and quoted an amount so ridiculously small that I blushed, feeling like a charity case anyway. I tried to fight him on it but he wouldn’t listen. He said it wasn’t about money for Uncle Liam.

  But it was for me. I wouldn’t be in anyone’s debt. Never again. Though I couldn’t bring myself to refuse the offer because it was too good to be true.

  “And, lass,” said Neal, doing some blushing of his own. “Don’t go thinking that this or Fraser Bespoke is contingent on you being our surrogate. One has nothing to do with the other, aye? Ye decide whether you want to do any of it, or not. Ye honor us either way by yer friendship.”

  And just like that, I began crushing hard on my best friend’s husband.

  chapter eleven

  Paris

  Being midweek and happy hour, Liam’s Bar was packed. Three flat-screen TVs held court over three different sections of the bar for the sports enthusiasts. One showed a soccer game; the second was set to horse racing; and the third, and by far the most crowded section as it was centered above the bar itself, had a cricket match on.

  I found my husband there, sitting on a bar stool with a half-empty glass of Guinness in front of him. He twisted about when Ian hailed me, yanking me into the V of his legs. He put his mouth on mine, triggering a chorus of cheers and ribaldry from the regular patrons sitting and standing around us.

  “Howdy, lover.” I played my part, ruffling Neal’s thick, black hair in affection. He needed a haircut, but I liked also that I could grip handfuls of it.

  I parked my tush on the chair he vacated, then simply leaned into his chest as his arms slid around me, pulling me close.

  “Ye smell good,” he murmured against my cheek, his intent to seduce clear.

  “Charmer. I smell like bad deo trying to cover up ugly BO.” But he had me smiling and trembling with nascent desire.

  “Ye smell like my woman.” He ran his hands up and down my back, kneading the tension from my shoulders until I purred.

  “Where’s Naira?” I asked, stifling another delicious moan.

  “Hmm? Ah, she was tired and cold. She went on home.”

  Then, suddenly, Neal’s hands were off my shoulders and clutching his own head as a player on the TV screen ran into position below a ball that seemed to be falling from the sky. Too bad the ball bounced out of his cupped hands.

  Neal went ballistic. “Ye wee idiot. Can’t ye catch a ball that’s desperate to fall into yer hands?” He cursed at the screen, using ridiculously hilarious Scottish words. My favorite being: bampot.

  I didn’t bother to ask if we were going to dinner. If Naira had gone home, and the cricket match had just become exciting, then we weren’t going anywhere.

  Just as well. I could use a Guinness with my man and some regular fish and chips. Food we could recognize as opposed to weird fusion dishes. We could make it a date night. We hadn’t had one of those in several weeks, so it would be nice.

  England lost the one-day against
Australia, making my husband pout moodily. While the beer and food and the company had worked wonders on mine.

  We walked home, hand in hand. The rain had washed the city clean, suffusing the air in petrichor, except for the patches where garbage had been left at the curb for the morning collection. Neal was on the phone with a client in Japan, who’d called precisely as we’d left the bar. When you had businesses all over the world, you pretty much worked around-the-clock.

  Neal was still on the phone when we stepped inside our apartment. He headed into his office and I went into the bathroom for a long shower. I was sitting on the edge of the bed in my sleep tank and shorts, rubbing cream into my skin, when he strolled into the room. He bussed an absentminded kiss on my forehead, set his phone to charge and then headed into the bathroom. I followed him, watched him strip and pee.

  “Did you ask her to move in with us? She won’t listen to me. Says she doesn’t want to impose.” I threw up my hands. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means she values her privacy,” he warbled from under the rain shower. Definitely moody tonight.

  I positioned myself diagonally opposite the shower so he couldn’t ignore me. “I don’t think she should be alone. She’s still grieving, you know.”

  He’d heard me, but Neal continued to soap himself. Then wash himself. Finally, from under the steaming jet spray, he shot me a beady blue stare. “I’ve set her up at Uncle Liam’s.”

  His hot naked bod was an impressive distraction, so my brain took an extra minute to process his words. Then I exploded.

  “You did what? Why would you do that? She practically lives here already. She’s comfortable here.” I scrambled around for a better reason. “Besides, Liam’s place is too messy. It’ll upset her chi or something. Naira’s a bigger neat-freak than you are. She’ll probably rearrange his whole house if she stays there. Liam will hate that.”

  Even here, at our cleverly decorated rental, Naira had moved a couple of pieces of furniture around for a better flow and feng shui energy. She’d bought orchids for the side tables and the bathroom vanities, and cared for them herself or made sure I did when she wasn’t around. She was a born nurturer and homemaker, which made the Big Idea sublimely perfect.

  Neal remained unconcerned. “So, she’ll arrange it back when she moves out.”

  Drat it all. Didn’t he get it that we needed to work on Naira 24/7 or her conservative upbringing would win. I wanted to strangle him for doing something so idiotic instead of what I’d told him.

  “Let the poor lass breathe, hen. It’s barely a fifteen-minute walk between our places, not the other side of the world. And, Paris, I’m fond of the lass. I am. And I do wish that she agrees to the surrogacy, but I want some bloody privacy too. I want our home to be ours again. For Christ’s sake, a man should no’ have to look over his shoulder every time he wants to fart!”

  And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, was how one bitch-slapped the mad out of a dispute.

  Speechless, I gaped at my husband, who glared back as if I’d been torturing him over hot coals for weeks.

  Neal was definitely the clichéd moody artist. He needed lots of alone time, much more than I did. I’d neglected his needs for the past few weeks because my attention had been on Naira. On rekindling our friendship and the Big Idea. Why hadn’t he said anything to me? He’d been nothing but courteous, charming and chivalrous in front of Naira—everything he’d been brought up to be. I’d forgotten that his manners wouldn’t allow him to be a rude host, one who took his downtime even when there was a guest in the house. One who locked himself in his office or studio to sulk or brood for no reason at all. Appearances had to be maintained in front of people who weren’t family.

  Naira was the same. She’d give herself a migraine, catering to a houseful of demanding guests, rather than tell them to fend for themselves. No wonder she and Neal snapped when they reached their breaking points. I didn’t have breaking points since I snapped all the time.

  Was that what was going on with him tonight? Or was he having second thoughts?

  Neal wasn’t stupid. He was a jeweler—a johri from an exalted lineage of johris. Gauging the potential brilliance of a rough diamond was in his blood more than his training. One glance through his magnifying loupe at a dirty, lumpy stone, and he’d be able to tell its worth. He knew the worth of the Big Idea. No, this was just a mood. One easily flipped by lavishing attention on him—on us. We both needed it.

  Later, in bed, Neal coiled his body around mine, spooning me from behind, and kissed my ear. “If ye really want her here, I willna argue.”

  Stars burst inside me as if I’d exploded in climax again. How had I even found this man? How was I so lucky?

  “I love you.” I squeezed our laced hands tightly and brought them to rest on my heart. “Thank you. But you’re right. Liam’s place is better.”

  For now.

  * * *

  I took Naira to a surrogacy and adoption law seminar the Saturday after she moved into Liam’s apartment.

  It wasn’t harassment to bombard her with information, as Neal so indelicately put it. I was simply building a case for a favorable verdict. In order to make an informed decision, didn’t one need to have all the information first? Besides, when the cat was away—Neal was traveling again—the mouse could do whatever she damn well pleased.

  Naira was staring up at the sunlit facade of the courthouse when I walked up to her. She was bundled up for a Siberian adventure this morning and winter hadn’t even officially begun.

  “Gorgeous building, huh?” I stood next to her and we admired the seven-story Manhattan landmark with its Corinthian columns and statues of prominent historic figures looking out at the city.

  Right about here yesterday, I’d literally stepped on a flyer advertising the seminar in a bold neon-green headline. Even Neal wouldn’t have ignored such a sign.

  “It’s even more impressive inside.” I strode through the triple-arched main entrance of the building into a spacious hall with an imposing opera-style double marble staircase. It was empty today, being the weekend. “Sometimes the DA’s office holds press conferences here. Different departments have ceremonies, commemorations here too. It’s also been featured in quite a few movies and TV series.”

  “Wow.” Naira’s kohl-lined eyes went as round as the buttons on her snow-white coat.

  She looked good today. Definitely better than she had at Lavinia’s wedding over a month ago. Her color was high, her stride purposeful. She no longer flinched or startled at unexpected sounds. No, I wasn’t harassing or pressuring her. Naira wouldn’t have come if she absolutely didn’t want to.

  We made our way up the stairs and I gave her a little history of the building. “It’s constructed out of stone and is fireproof because it was built to house the city’s paper records. Thus, it was called the Hall of Records at the time. The seminar is on the second floor, and the courtrooms are on the third.”

  Naira was looking every which way, taking it all in. “It’s gorgeous. I noticed several books on New York City at Uncle Liam’s. I’ll look up this building, and other landmarks. They’ll be good venues for photoshoots...for the shop.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to help you unpack, but it’s been crazy at work this week.” And getting crazier by the minute.

  Naira flapped her hand, grinning. “It’s okay. Easier to just do it all myself than give you instructions and hear you moan. Besides, I feel like Alice who’s tumbled down a rabbit hole. Uncle Liam has the most fascinating collection of things.”

  I nodded. “That he does. I love that creaky old place with its nooks and crannies and tchotchkes.”

  Neal had stayed with Liam the summer we met, and I had several fond memories of the place. Naturally, we’d fucked all over the apartment—all over mine too. We’d basically just fucked all summer long until our brains had turned to m
ush.

  I shot Naira a sly grin. “Want to hear a funny story about when Liam walked in on us in the bathroom?”

  “Eek. No, he didn’t!”

  “Oh, yes, he did. It was the single most embarrassing moment of my life. Neal had been wishing my boobs a good morning, and in our passionate haze, we forgot to lock the door. Liam walked in, saw us and just nodded politely as if he routinely came across such sights in his bathroom. Thank God I’d been propped against a wall with Neal’s body covering 90 percent of mine. Imagine if I’d been on the vanity with a mirror against my—”

  “TMI, Paris!” But she was giggling madly, so was I, and she hadn’t blocked her ears in mortification.

  We stopped halfway up the grand staircase, trying to get ourselves under control before climbing the rest of the way.

  God, that had been an insane encounter. “I still can’t make eye contact with Liam, and I stammer like a twit if I have to talk to him directly while he turns the shade of a beetroot. We make it so obvious that something is up with us that the whole Fraser clan is trying to guess what it could be. After that day, Liam took to stomping about the apartment whenever I was around, or booming out random questions or monologues so everyone knew where everyone else was at any given moment.” As I said, fond memories.

  We were still giggling as we reached the all-purpose room on the second floor where the seminar was being held. The panel introductions had begun when we entered. There were about eight people up on the dais. The room was fitted for an audience of maybe a hundred but it wasn’t close to being full. Naira and I quietly poured ourselves some free coffee from the refreshment table and took our seats at the back of the room.

  For the next hour, a host of surrogacy pundits, from agents to lawyers to social workers to medical experts, examined the industry from various angles. Surrogacy was a multibillion-dollar industry worldwide and everyone wanted in on it. Surrogates and intended mothers were called to the dais to share their stories. Most sounded happy and thrilled and fulfilled by their choices. They’d all had fairly positive experiences, much like the Wilsons, but most of the panelists agreed that it was rare for a surrogacy to go smoothly. Glitches were the norm, they said. Then the discussion took a downright horrific turn and I wondered if Naira and I should leave. I didn’t want her freaking out about the bad stuff. That was my job.