The Object of Your Affections

by Falguni Kothari

  “It’s too much. They’re beautiful. But I can’t accept them.” Naira looked at me a little desperately. Did she expect me to rescue her from my husband’s largesse? Hadn’t she realized that in this—the surrogacy, his fatherhood—I had no say left?

  Neal took her other hand and slipped the second bangle up her wrist. I flinched when he bent his head and kissed the back of her hands, one by one.

  “For the bairns,” he said as if making her a promise of some kind.

  The moms rained the appropriate accolades and cheers on the expectant couple.

  “Naira, dear. You can’t refuse a gift from the father. It would be upshukan—unlucky.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Guys, just quit all the drama. Sheesh. If I’d known surrogacy came with rituals and crap, I’d have gone for adoption,” I joked, triggering looks of abject disapproval from everyone in the room, including chill-as-fuck Deven.

  That stone over my heart turned into a stake, and I hammered it in deep until there was nothing left inside me that could bleed or hurt.

  * * *

  The moms stayed for another week, so I stayed at the office until late with impunity. I left all the bassinet versus crib decisions to whomever wanted to make them. I didn’t care where they set them up, either—Naira’s room, the living room or Neal’s office, which was in the process of being remodeled into a nursery. As long as it wasn’t my bedroom, I was good. Neal was right: we needed a bigger place.

  Besides, I seemed to be making all the wrong decisions lately, so I decided to spare everyone more grief. I’d be where I was needed the most and where my skills mattered, where I could effect positive change in the world.

  A couple of days after the baby blessing, Naira called just as I was wrapping up work.

  “’Sup?” I said, putting my phone on speaker as I shrugged on my faux fur–lined raincoat. It had been pouring cats and dogs since morning, and the air had turned again. Summer was coming to an end.

  “I need a favor. Can you stop by Liam’s and get some of my clothes?”

  “Sure. Text me what you need.” I picked up my umbrella and handbag.

  “Will do. And call me once you’re there so I can tell you where everything is so you don’t waste time.”

  Grinning, I clicked the phone off. Pregnancy hadn’t affected Naira’s OCD at all.

  I set off for Liam’s on foot. This time of the evening, walking was faster than hailing a cab and dodging through traffic. It was usually a nine-minute walk, which took me fifteen minutes in the rain. I left the wet umbrella in the bucket placed for such purposes in the building lobby, and began to climb the stairs up to the third floor. My mood lifted as I crossed the second-floor landing and my ears picked up what I’d come to think of as Fraser-speak—a combination of Gaelic, Hindi and English that Neal and his siblings spoke—spilling down the stairs. Neal had moved his office to the studio in its entirety.

  Why hadn’t Naira tagged them to bring her clothes and spared me the wet schlep? I checked her text. Ah, Ms. Prude wanted underwear. That explained it. She would’ve died before asking the men to touch her panties.

  “Did ye know she was related to Singhal?”

  This had to be Deven. Sometimes, especially over the phone, I couldn’t tell the brothers apart. They both had deep, gravelly voices and the same Scots accent. Which magically changed when they spoke in Punjabi. It was so weird.

  “I didn’t,” was my husband’s clipped reply. A sigh. “Thank ye for shutting down the gossip. I don’t want her upset. Not in her condition.”

  I froze halfway between the second and third floors. He didn’t want her upset? When I’d asked him to shut down the gossip, he’d refused. Clearly, he didn’t care about my state of mind.

  I lowered my right foot to the next step, careful not to make a sound.

  “She’s more trouble than either of us bargained for, aye?” Again Deven. And what exactly did he mean by that?

  “Dinna draw banshees in the air,” said my husband colorfully, sounding irritated now. Well, join the party!

  Eavesdropping was never a good idea, it was tantamount to hearsay. I’d learned that the hard way from Jared and Sandy. And as recently illustrated, from the Judge and Lily, when I’d heard only the part about Lily being against my adoption and had drawn the wrong conclusion. And yet, knowing all that, I still did it.

  “Am I? Ye know how ye are with damsels in distress. Ye cannot resist them. Dinna get involved.” Deven again.

  “And yer not involved?”

  This was madness. I couldn’t just stand here hyperventilating, trying to guess the meaning of that cryptic exchange. Either I went up and confronted them or I should leave.

  I left, tiptoeing down the stairs as silently as possible. My heart was in my throat by the time I fetched my umbrella and scampered outside. Three streets away, I realized I’d run away without fetching Naira’s clothes. I was a bloody fool.

  I didn’t ask Neal about the conversation. How could I without admitting I’d eavesdropped and then run away? Besides, I didn’t want an explanation. I’d become that much of a coward.

  In law, the more we knew the better it was. I didn’t believe the same principle worked as well in life.

  The moms left, promising a return closer to the due date in mid-November. Deven was also leaving soon. Good riddance. I hadn’t been myself after overhearing the brothers, and I found myself trying to read between the lines of every conversation Neal and Deven had, or Neal and I had, or Naira and them or me, or any combination of the four of us.

  I began to observe Neal and Naira surreptitiously, trying to catch them doing or saying anything untoward. I didn’t doubt them—not in the way that they were cheating behind my back. That wasn’t my concern no matter what those stupid articles claimed about men—especially domesticated men like Neal who thrived in familial situations—being attracted to pregnant women. Something to do with the pregnant female fulfilling their ultimate dream of carrying and continuing their bloodline. There was also some hypothesis about fertile women throwing off pheromones that inflamed the male protective instincts. Plus, most pregnant women, despite their rotund figures or because of it, became more attractive—rosy cheeked, healthier and bustier—everything a man wanted in his mate. Apparently.

  Neal’s protectiveness toward Naira was natural. But, more and more, I noticed how much more suited they were as a couple than he and I were. From tastes to backgrounds to the way they’d been raised. They were on the same page about most core values like how to raise kids. They were the definition of square peg, square hole. They had so much in common. So many things clicked between them. And the only thing clicking between Neal and me was an intense physical attraction. Was it enough for a lifetime?

  It had to be enough. It must be enough because even though they had everything in common, Neal did not look at her the way he looked at me with his sexy blue eyes. He did not laugh with her the way he laughed with me, intimately, huskily, or pull her into his lap for a sometimes desperate, sometimes honey-sweet kiss. He didn’t flick her nose teasingly or lace his fingers through hers or do any of the heart-meltingly romantic things he did with me, for me. He loved me, enormously. I couldn’t—wouldn’t doubt it.

  But the thing was, he liked her enormously too. The affection between them was pretty obvious. And how far down was the fall from like to love? From personal experience, I didn’t think it was all that far at all.

  So, short of banishing the mother of our children from my husband’s presence, I did the only thing I could in such a situation. I protected my heart.

  chapter twenty-two

  Naira

  I hadn’t forgotten the woodpeckers. How could I while they perched on my shoulders, pecking away at my conscience?

  Vinay Singhal’s visit had pushed me into making a decision I’d been putting off for sentimental reasons. I’d always
known how to stop him. I just hadn’t been ready to let go of my old life. Not completely.

  James Weinberg hadn’t been too excited about my plan, but it wasn’t his decision in the end. The only thing left to do was to convince Deven to agree to the terms.

  Deven and I spoke on the phone every day about Fraser Bespoke, but this was...personal. I tagged him a few days before he was booked to fly out. He was staying at 11 Howard, a boutique hotel close to Liam’s place where our moms had stayed the past two weeks, since I occupied the guest room at the Spruce Street apartment. I invited him over for tea after making sure that Neal wouldn’t be around all afternoon. Neal didn’t need to be part of this conversation. Or Paris. Not unless Deven said no.

  As we sat across from each other, it struck me that it was the first time since our ultrafabulous night on New Year’s Eve that we were completely alone.

  He studied my face with his piercing dark blue eyes for long enough that I had to fight not to squirm. God, he was always so intense.

  I brushed off the crumbs of embarrassment I felt on top of feeling ungainly and clumsy about my increasing size. “I need another favor.”

  “What do you need?”

  My heart ached just a little bit then. It was such a typical Kaivan question. What do you need, baby? Ask and it shall be done.

  The only thing Deven didn’t do was snap his fingers. Otherwise, he could’ve been Kaivan’s twin in temperament.

  I shook off the thought and concentrated on what needed to be done to secure my peace of mind. I’d also promised my mother I’d try to mend the rift in our family.

  “Forgive them, choti. Be the bigger person,” she’d beseeched me every day that she’d been here.

  “But I haven’t done anything wrong. Shouldn’t Papa and Sarika apologize to me?” I’d half groaned, half whined as her fingers pressed into my scalp while she massaged olive oil into my hair—to nourish my roots and cool my head. Not that my roots needed any more nourishment. My hair had become extra thick and shiny because of the prescribed doses of pregnancy vitamins and minerals.

  “Because you are sweet and smart and you’ll never be happy if you don’t.”

  But it wasn’t so simple. Before forgiving anyone else, I had to first forgive myself and Kaivan.

  I handed Deven a sheaf of papers that James Weinberg had drawn up for me, and asked him to go over them as I explained what I wished to do with my trust fund—the whole trust fund, including the half I’d used to buy my stake in Fraser Bespoke.

  “I’m going to dissolve the trust. I’ve asked James to set up a college fund for Sarika’s boys for half a million dollars.” Just in case Vinay had been telling the truth about his business being in trouble. My mother hadn’t been able to shed light on whether it was true or not.

  “Do you see what I want to do?” I asked after Deven had gone over everything. “I’m sorry for changing my mind, but I’ll be withdrawing my stake in your company. Except for the money set aside for my nephews, I want the entirety of my trust fund divided into two parts. One third will go into another trust for Kaivan’s parents for any medical eventuality. It will have to be set up in the UK. James has referred a barrister to me, but I’d rather go with someone you know and trust. The remaining two-thirds I wish to donate to a few different organizations that support women and children in need. And I want you to be the executive trustee for all of it.”

  “You want to give away all your money?” He blinked twice, the only indication that he was surprised.

  “Honestly, it’ll be a relief. I don’t want to be hassled anymore. Vinay—” I shrugged, letting out a huge sigh. “He’ll leave me alone once he knows I don’t have it. And I doubt he has the balls to go up against you to break the new trusts. That is, if you agree to become the trustee.”

  I prayed my plan was sound. That Vinay wasn’t that desperate or stupid to fight Deven. But either way, I didn’t want the insurance money. I should have given it away long ago, but I’d felt duty-bound to hold on to Kaivan’s legacy. But my husband hadn’t felt any such need to hold on to me, had he? He’d chosen to die rather than live with me penniless.

  I could never forget him. I would always love him. But I couldn’t be tied to Kaivan anymore.

  “I understand I’m asking a lot from you.”

  “You want to give all of it away?” Deven asked again, his normally stoic face cracked with incredulity.

  I’d shocked him. Well, well.

  I grinned. “Yes. I have a job that pays very well. An executive expense account you have given me carte blanche on. I’m set, unless I get fired.” Which, considering I was soon going to give birth to the next generation of Frasers, didn’t seem likely.

  I was doing this for the twins most of all, to keep them safe. I wanted a clean slate of karma for them. And this was the only way I knew how to atone for the woodpeckers, and for what my part had been in my husband’s death. I didn’t want to benefit from such an awful event.

  “I want to be free, Deven. I came to New York to be free.”

  I didn’t have to explain further. Deven understood, and agreed to oversee the disbursement of my funds as an executive trustee. The next day, we both went to the Weinberg Law Firm to make it official. And while we signed the stacks of papers James Weinberg pushed at us, I privately indulged in a wee B-town fantasy where I stormed into Sarika’s house, clothes flapping, hair flying, and threw the papers in Vinay’s face with a dramatic “Up yours” with matching hand gestures.

  Clearly, I wasn’t as sweet as my mother believed I was.

  * * *

  The peace inside my soul was everything. I felt so much love for my babies—yes, they were mine, and I was going to love them enormously because their biological mother was too pigheaded and stuck in her delusions to be sensible.

  We fought again at our penultimate Lamaze class because Paris refused to give even an inch, forget meeting me in the middle. Linda was showing us what to expect during contractions. Dr. Kapoor had discussed the various birthing methods with us, and I wanted it to be a natural birth unless there were complications. This class was important.

  “With twins, it can mean a longer labor,” said Linda kindly. “Breath is the way through it. Breathing in patterns will help control the discomfort and reduce stress.” She sat down cross-legged on a yoga mat and demonstrated. “Place your hands on your abdomen, middle fingers touching over your belly button. Now inhale to the count of ten. Push your breath into your belly, let it expand. Hold your breath. Now exhale to the count of ten. Breathe in waves. Let your chest and shoulders be motionless. Engage only your breath and your belly. As you exhale, relax your lower abdomen muscles. Feel them go soft.”

  I followed Linda’s instructions, felt my body go lax with every exhalation. After a couple of rounds of wave breathing, she made the birthing partners kneel behind the pregnant women to show them what they could do to alleviate anxiety during labor. Back rubs, shoulder rubs, acupressure points to lessen the pain.

  “Put your arms around your partner and place your hands on their stomachs. Middle fingers meet over the belly button.”

  Of course, Paris balked.

  I shot her an aggravated look over my shoulder, where she crouched on the yoga mat, supporting my back. “Enough. Either step up to the plate, or let someone else be my birthing partner. You know what? I don’t need a birthing partner. My mom will be there, and she’ll be enough.”

  I turned back to face the class, envying all the women leaning solidly against their spouses and partners.

  She had everything magical in life. Why did she insist on holding on to the negative?

  I twisted around to face Paris again, suddenly furious. “Just what are you afraid of? I get that life hasn’t been kind to you. But name one person who hasn’t suffered something.”

  No, I would not think of Kaivan. I would not miss him. I would not
feel guilty because I was having fun or was moving on without him.

  Did I wish for a different life? Did I imagine that the babies I carried were mine and his, and not Paris and Neal’s?

  A million, trillion times a day.

  “Life isn’t kind to anyone, Paris. But it will be for these babies. I’ll accept nothing less for them. Okay?”

  Damn it. If she didn’t drop her cyborg act soon, I...simply wouldn’t allow her near the babies.

  Paris made a frustrated sound inside her throat, but instead of snarling back, she crawled closer and brought her hands around me to rest them on my stomach. I was surprised at her capitulation. Thrilled.

  I began to breathe and relax, following Linda’s instructions and letting my stomach tighten and soften, simulating labor. With every exhalation, I began to lean farther and farther back against Paris. She began to relax too, our breaths synchronizing. Suddenly, my stomach heaved on its own, and Paris sucked in a shocked gasp. I tensed, expecting her to cringe or snatch her hands away. She didn’t.

  “No,” she breathed into my ear. “Don’t tense up. It’s... They’re moving. They are moving in there. I can feel them.”

  The wonder, the absolute awe in her words melted my angst. It was going to be okay. We were all going to be okay.

  I cried then. She did too, when no one was looking.

  * * *

  I was wrong about us being okay.

  On the following Saturday afternoon, Neal and I vegetated in front of the living room TV while Paris worked on something for RiM at the dining table. She had noise-canceling headphones on because we were being too loud for her to think. I challenged anyone to watch Three’s Company—the original version with Jack, Janet and Chrissy—and not ROLF like crazy every other minute.

  I wanted to spend all my weekends like this for the rest of my life—chilling at home with the family we’d created. I imagined two fat toddlers running around us in circles, adding to the hilarity and happiness.