The Object of Your Affections

by Falguni Kothari

  He didn’t tell them about Naira. We’d decided to wait on that news until after his family got to know her a bit. Naira was in London right now, visiting with her in-laws, doing the same thing we were. Hopefully with better results. Tomorrow, she’d take the train to Edinburgh, and Deven would meet her there to show her the Fraser Global empire—the original flagship store, the new concept store, the wool factory, the headquarters and the farms as they headed back to Riverhead for Hogmanay. Deven was already on his way to Edinburgh—he’d left this afternoon. Too bad, Neal would’ve benefited from some backup.

  Seriously, what had Neal expected from his mother and sister who’d popped out three kids each? Compassion? Understanding?

  “I’m so sorry you can’t have children,” said Helen, her hands over her heart. “Shall I ask my doctor to refer you to a fertility doctor?”

  I pressed my lips together and looked at Neal. He began fielding most of the questions with short and polite answers, but Minnie and Helen were nothing if not persistent. They simply could not wrap their heads around my decision not to have children.

  “But why ever not?” Helen’s blue eyes had ballooned to unnatural proportions during the explanation.

  “Does there have to be a reason?” I countered.

  Apparently, there did, and they tried hard to get to the bottom of it. Whose egg would it be? Mine. Then why couldn’t I simply have the child? If I had a mental block, I should get some therapy and get on with life.

  I’d expected Helen’s reactions. She didn’t mean it in a bad way. In her mind, she was simply trying to find the best solution.

  Minnie Singh however was another creature altogether. She went for the jugular.

  “Are you going to tell the child the truth? That his own mother hadn’t bothered to give birth to him?”

  Neal had warned me that we’d be bombarded with questions, but even then I was appalled by how intrusive and insensitive they got. If this was what family bonding meant, I was glad of the nonbond Lily and I shared.

  “It’s our decision. It’s our choice,” I said bluntly, violently annoyed now.

  But Neal’s mother wouldn’t let it go. “At the cost of my grandchild’s well-being? I don’t think so.”

  Minnie Singh wielded the same scary intimidation tactics as her younger son, the son that most favored her in looks and temperament. It worked well on other people, but she seemed to have forgotten that her older son knew her well. And that even though I didn’t, I still wasn’t the intimidated-by-her-mother-in-law type.

  Minnie was the de facto head of the clan even though she wasn’t a Fraser. The story was that when Minnie and Niall had met in college, the Frasers had been deep in debt. Their sheep farms were barely crossing the red line, all three stores—in Inverness, Glasgow and Edinburgh—were on the verge of being sold, as was the Riverhead Estate. They’d been in talks of filing for bankruptcy. Then Niall got married, and his wife brought with her a huge influx of capital and saved them by creating Fraser Global. It was why Niall and Minnie lived at Riverhead and not James Fraser, who was the heir apparent. Neal’s uncle didn’t live far though, just over in the next village, in a smaller manor house. In spite of it, there seemed to be no animosity between the elder Fraser brothers. They were all just happy that the business had been saved, and in the fact that it now flourished.

  I’d never been sure if Minnie approved of me, though she’d never once made me feel unwelcome in her home. Which wasn’t to say that I didn’t know that I’d been absorbed into the clan with open arms only at her say. It just couldn’t be helped that Minnie and I rubbed each other the wrong way. We were both strong, stubborn women.

  I especially didn’t like it when she’d just show up in New York, unannounced, and then would expect us to change our plans to suit her schedule. The first time it had happened, I’d let it go. The second time, I’d asked Neal to tell his mother that in the future she should let us know, in advance, of her plans and not when she was boarding the flight or had landed in New York. He’d given me a most offended look. “I don’t have a problem with my mother’s visits. If you do, you tell her that.”

  Neal had been very clear from the beginning that his family meant the world to him. I liked them too, and for the most part we got along. Perhaps because we lived on different continents. But Neal had also never stopped me from voicing my views or having a difference of opinion with them. So, I’d asked Minnie to kindly let us know of her travel plans. To which she’d replied, “I don’t plan anything. I simply do what I want.”

  I’d learned to keep my mouth shut after that. This time too I was keeping it shut. I’d said my piece to the effect that I too shall do as I please and that was that. Besides, announcing our plans before Naira was even pregnant had been Neal’s idea. Let him deal with his family and I’d deal with Lily when the time came.

  The Fraser men were largely silent. Except for Neal. I hoped that meant they were Switzerland in this—neither here nor there. Niall was a debonair, older version of Neal, with laugh lines radiating out from around his eyes and mouth, telling the world of his easy spirit. Not tonight though. Tonight, he was the grim reaper.

  Helen’s husband, Shyam Pal, had tried to leave the room when the arguments had heated up, but Minnie had arched an imperious eyebrow and made him sit back down.

  Flora came to sit beside me as the drama between Neal and his mother intensified. And Helen’s kids, who’d been prancing around the Christmas tree singing Scottish holiday ditties, thought they needed to shout rather than sing to be heard. All three classic attention-seekers.

  I’d wanted Neal to lie about our reasons, but he’d refused. He wouldn’t lie to his family. I’d begged him to wait to break the news, but he’d not agreed to that, either. He’d hoped to give them a Christmas surprise. Stupid man.

  “In case yer looking for a surrogate, I’d like to volunteer,” Neal’s flame-haired, animal-crazy sister, Flora, whispered for my ears only. Her father had been Niall’s youngest brother, who’d died along with his Irish wife in a boating accident when Flora was only seven.

  I kissed her cheek, beyond grateful for her matter-of-fact support. No wonder we got along so well. “We have one. But, thank you for the offer.”

  When my Bonus Day good mood had been smashed to fucking smithereens, I stood up.

  “Minnie, we informed everyone as a matter of courtesy. But it’s our decision. Our life.” Then I walked out of the room.

  Neal had dug this hole. I’d let him scramble his way out of it.

  I went back to Neal’s bedroom to pout and pace. The spacious room had been fully renovated for our wedding—it had been my bridal suite—and the decorator had taken great pains to dig out my unique tastes and preferences over transatlantic phone calls and emails. Apparently, my tastes ran toward minimalistic, yet cozy, while Neal was an eclectic and eco-friendly kind of guy. So, the bedroom boasted the barest amount of furniture, but whatever pieces there were, from the massive bed with a padded, red headboard, the TV console, the nightstands, the bench at the foot of the bed and the desk were all massive pieces of natural wood, shaped into clean lines and polished to a shine. It was a modern room with its reds and taupes and Lalique light fixtures, and yet it managed to blend perfectly with the old-world charm of Riverhead. Just like the people who lived in it.

  I didn’t think of this room as ours, couldn’t think of Riverhead as our home. But I knew, someday, Neal would inherit a part of it. And that day might come sooner than I’d imagined because Neal’s parents had talked about retiring and letting their children manage the estate during their Bonus Day speeches. What would I do if Neal wanted us to move here? If he had to?

  I collapsed on the bed, suddenly freakishly overwhelmed.

  Neal came in half an hour later. He walked to the dresser, to the side where a maid had left a jug of water and two glasses for the night. He poured himself a tall gla
ss of water, his throat convulsing as he chugged it down. He would be thirsty. The men had been tossing back whisky since last night, and would probably keep at it until the New Year.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand while his eyes—which seemed to be sparking off electricity—bored holes into mine.

  Damn, but he was gorgeous when he got broody. I loved Neal in jeans and a T-shirt or dark, trendy shirts and formal pants. I loved him when he wasn’t wearing anything at all, but Neal in a kilt took my breath away. And when he looked at me in a certain way with his blue-blue eyes, I became a puddle of goo.

  He made a funny little sound at the back of his throat, then asked, “Are we doing the right thing?”

  I’d been afraid of exactly this. “You wouldn’t be asking this question if not for your mother.”

  “Aye, well. I’m asking it now.”

  “I love you. Enormously. I want to make all your dreams come true as you’ve made mine.”

  We reached for each other at the same time. He took my hands and pulled me up to sit on the bed. Then he sat beside me.

  “That’s no’ what I asked.”

  Our hands were linked, palm to palm, but I felt a chasm widen between us. There was a part of me, a pathetic, lonely part, that feared I wasn’t good enough for him. That I was keeping him from great things. From fatherhood. I was only trying to rectify it.

  “Yes, I think it’s the right thing to do. For all three of us.”

  “And she agreed to it...of her own free will, aye?”

  I dropped his hands as if they’d burned mine. “What the fuck are you insinuating?” What the fuck had Minnie filled his ears with? “You think I manipulated Naira into something this important?”

  “So, ye realize how serious this is? I wondered. She is beholden to us in a hundred different ways right now. Have ye considered that she might think she canna say no? Ye must have considered it as yer so thorough. So, I’ll ask ye again, did ye set all of this up?” He wasn’t giving me an inch.

  “Set it up how? And set up what? You think I somehow arranged for her to land in New York? Or stuffed words into her mouth when she told me ‘I’ll do it!’” I shot up from the bed, royally pissed off now. To hell with his dreams and our marriage. He caught my arm before I stomped away, and with a flick of his wrist spun me back to face him. Nose to nose.

  “Have ye also considered her future? What if she wants to remarry? From the little I’ve come to know her, she seems conservative. She’ll marry within her community and I’m no’ sure Indian men are accepting of...unconventional choices.”

  “You are.” Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. Neal wasn’t conservative but he wasn’t all that liberal, either. He had lines he’d never cross. Some he’d crossed only because of me. If he’d fallen for and married someone like Naira, he would’ve been a different person. A happier man, I think. His family certainly would’ve been.

  “She doesn’t want to marry again.” I believed Naira. But then, I’d also believed Neal when he’d said that he wanted me more than he wanted bairns.

  “She says that now but what if she falls for someone? Have ye not noticed Dev looking at her? One nod from her and he’ll be on her like butter on toast.” Neal abruptly shut his mouth, perhaps realizing he’d gone too far.

  I had noticed the flirting at Thanksgiving, but that didn’t mean shit with Naira. “As you said, she’s conservative. It’s strictly flirt but no touch with her. And, even if she wants to take it further with Dev, so what? What does it have to do with her being our surrogate?”

  Neal opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again and ran his fingers through his hair while he stared at my face as if he’d never seen me before.

  “Absolutely nothing,” he said eventually.

  “Then what is the problem? Frankly, a boss-employee flirtation is vastly more problematic than asking a friend to bear your bairn,” I pointed out.

  Neal heaved a sigh, and rubbed his tired eyes with his fingers. “I’m her boss and her friend too. Or did ye forget about that?”

  I hadn’t forgotten.

  “Fine. I’ll ask her again. I’ll make sure that she’s very sure,” I said. That was all I could do.

  chapter fourteen

  Naira

  “Mumbai is my soul, New York my sanctuary, but Scotland... Ah, Alba has taken my heart. It’s like a fairy-tale setting,” I said dreamily. Oh, I’d fallen in love with Scotland. Not just a city or town or wee village, but all of it.

  Huddling to beat the cold, Paris and I walked arm in arm down the streets of a village with an incomprehensible name, behind a group of kilted first footers shouting “Slàinte mhath!” every other minute. Pronounced either as sanjhe-va or sanjhe-ma, I couldn’t clearly tell yet. However it was pronounced, it sounded splendidly lovely.

  I’d been to Edinburgh before, as a child with my parents and with Kaivan around five years ago. I’d loved visiting it then too. But, this time, being involved in local activities, experiencing Scotland like a native was simply out of this world.

  “I love the cobblestoned wynds and closes in Edinburgh. I love the blustery firths, the winding white country roads leading into the highlands, the glorious wind-whipped lochs, the fairy-tale àrds... I hope I’m saying that right. The crags and glens and moors and...the Frasers.” Of course, I was drunk. I held on to Paris for dear life or else I’d be weaving and tumbling, not walking.

  “I get it. Sheesh! You love Scotland!” Paris groused, her nose and cheeks red with cold.

  A flashlight passed over her face and mine right then—probably Neal—checking if we were okay. My face felt frozen stiff, even though both of us were bundled up like a pair of astronauts preparing to launch into space. I was wearing two woolen pullovers, fleece-lined pants, a heavy wind-and rainproof coat, fur-lined boots, and a woolen monkey cap and thick cashmere-lined leather gloves. And still, when the slightest wind stirred past me, my entire body shivered like the tracks on Scotland Rail.

  We stopped by a house. “Hoose! A wee hoose,” I yelled, pointing at it. Then I doubled up and laughed because Paris let out a startled “Yeep!” and shot me a dirty look.

  Everything was so “wee” in Scotland. A wee dram, and a wee moment, and a wee lamb. God, I’d made such a fool of myself in front of Deven, blubbering over a sweet, wee lamb on our drive up from Edinburgh. The last five days had been... I had no words to describe what I was feeling other than magical.

  My trip to London had been—not magical. I shook my head, at least I think I did. I didn’t want to think about London. I only wanted to think about Scotland. And Scots. And splendid scotch.

  I disengaged my arm from Paris, and walked, slowly, toward the group of Scotchmen now entering the hoose behind Neal. Deven was waiting outside, so I tapped his leather jacket. He was laughing at something when he looked down at me, and even through my tipsy eyes I saw his face soften. His proximity did things to me that I didn’t want to feel, and yet adored feeling, so I snatched the bottle from his hands, waved my fingers at him and made my way back to Paris. I took a swig straight from the bottle like the men had been doing all night. Not to be gluttonous, I offered it to Paris too, who seemed highly entertained for some reason.

  “You seem to be getting along well with Dev,” she commented.

  “Hmm.” I sat down next to Paris, bum to bum, on a low stone wall bordering another wee hoose. I held up a hand, spreading my gloved fingers and indicating the number of days I’d just spent with Dev. Deven. Dev.

  “I cried on his shoulder,” I admitted shamefully.

  Paris took a swig of scotch too. “Is that all you did?”

  “Unfortunately. He’s a gentleman.” I flapped my hand to indicate nothing had happened. “All we did was work, work, work. He showed me the ropes, so to speak.”

  Their vision for Fraser Bespoke was so much clearer n
ow that I’d seen it with my own eyes. He’d introduced me to so many people at the head offices, and many of them had just returned from Inverness and the annual Christmas ball, still basking in a joyous esprit de corps—to use one of Paris’s fancy phrases. Two days ago, we’d started driving north in Deven’s blessedly heated Range Rover, stopping at the wool factory, the sheep farms and the Riverhead distillery, staying at quaint bed-and-breakfasts along the way.

  “The weather and the highlands are so strange and yet so fascinating. We’d be driving in the pouring rain and within five minutes the sun would be beating down on us in the valley. Then we’d drive up the mountain and it would be freezing again.”

  And once we’d arrived at Riverhead, I’d been blown away—literally because of the wind and bitter cold blowing in from the Beauly Firth. It was freezing now too, and dark, so dark I could barely make out my own hand in front of my face, but I was sufficiently bundled up. Luckily, it didn’t rain in these parts as much as it did in other parts of Scotland. But who cared about the weather when everything was so magical?

  Minnie Auntie and Niall Uncle were sweethearts, and so were Helen and Shyam and their three munchkins—Oliver, Tasha and Niall, who was obviously named after his grandfather and uncle. Flora seemed to keep to herself, but she was friendly enough, and she and Paris were exceedingly fond of each other. I’d met Uncle Liam at the Hogmanay feast at the manor house this evening, and I felt so much better staying at his place now that I’d thanked him in person. We’d clasped hands when we’d all tumbled out of the house into the courtyard, sometime before midnight, to make a circle around a bonfire and sing “Auld Lang Syne” when the new year swept in while the bells tolled and fireworks lit the sky. It was a custom, like the lavish Hogmanay feast that the whole family pitched in and cooked themselves. I’d happily helped. The Frasers had taken me into their bosom with open arms. They were a lovely close-knit family just like my—No. I wasn’t going to think about them tonight.