“That’s not a fair shot,” I retorted, despite knowing he’d hit the nail on the head. Put in so many words, it was hard not to admit I had some serious self-esteem issues, which he had pointed out so eloquently on Thanksgiving Day, and again two nights ago. “But I guess I deserve it.”
“I didn’t mean to insult or hurt you, Soorya. I’m just trying to get you to face the truth.” Roger sounded genuinely apologetic.
I took a deep breath and counted to ten, reminded myself that he was right and I was wrong. Also, I was the one who’d called to apologize to him. I was the one who needed forgiveness. He was quite a shrewd psychoanalyst, besides being a few other things.
“I realize I have a bit of a problem, Roger. The minute I met you I was convinced that you were going to reject me.” Just like all the other men before him had done, and consequently I’d wanted to be the one to decline Roger first and not the other way around.
“So you decided to behave like you didn’t give a damn. You were trying to protect your ego.”
“I suppose.” I still couldn’t admit it. It was too painful.
His voice turned wary again. “So, despite the apology you’re still holding a grudge.”
“No, I’m not.... Really.” What I considered deception on his part as well as my parents’ still rankled, but I wasn’t raving mad any longer. Two nights of brooding and the fear of having lost him had taken the edge off my temper. He had only done what my parents had asked him to. I thought I heard Roger yawn. He sounded exhausted. “You must be dead on your feet, Roger. Go get some rest.”
“Later. Right now, I think we need to talk some more.”
“Not a good idea at this time.” I looked at the clock on my nightstand. We’d already been talking for several minutes.
“Soorya, I’ve worked my tail off to succeed in a tough business.” He was beginning to sound extremely tired. “When we first met, you thought I was a good-for-nothing rolling stone. After Friday night, do you still think I’m a loser?”
“No, Roger. Whatever you are, you’re not a loser. Never that.” Oh God, he sounded so . . . hopeless, dejected. Had I done that to him—completely crushed his spirit? I knew what rejection and disdain felt like, and yet I was inflicting it on a perfectly nice guy—and for what reasons other than pure spite and the obsessive need to protect myself from possible pain? I was being unreasonably selfish. “I’m happy for you, Roger. I’m glad you’re realizing your dream.”
“You mean that?”
“Absolutely,” I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster.
“Look, I’m just about to enter the tunnel and the traffic is bad. I’ll call you back in a few minutes,” he said abruptly and hung up.
I stared at the phone for a second and ended the call. Was the tunnel a legitimate excuse or had he just dismissed me? I sat on the edge of my bed and decided to wait for a few minutes. If he didn’t call back within half an hour, I’d know he didn’t want anything more to do with me.
With every minute of silence that followed, my heart sank a little lower. He wasn’t calling back. Well, at least I’d apologized. I’d offered him some moral support. He probably didn’t believe a word of it, but I’d tried my best to patch things up between us. Only it didn’t make me feel any better. Too much was left unsaid for any comfort between us in the future.
Startled by the phone ringing some twenty minutes later, I nearly let it slip out of my hand before hitting the Talk button. He was calling me back.
He started to talk instantly, like there’d been no break in our conversation. “Soorya, I need to know what you want to do about us.”
“You’re exhausted, Roger. We can talk another time.” Although I enjoyed going head-to-head in a professional setting, I wasn’t good with confrontations in personal matters, especially of the intimate variety.
“I admit I’m tired, but I won’t be able to rest much until I have your answer to my question.”
“Fine then, we’ll talk. Where do you want to meet?”
“At your front door, in thirty seconds.”
“What?”
“Open your front door, Soorya.”
“Right now? You mean you’ve been in our driveway all this time?”
“I was in my car when you called me, driving toward your house to meet with your parents.”
I frowned. “But my parents didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“They don’t know that I’m coming. I wanted to surprise them.”
My heartbeat took a giant leap. “You crazy man!”
“I’m standing on your front porch. Are you going let me in or not?”
I ended the call and tossed the phone on my bed. Then I ran down the stairs and through the foyer. I probably looked like a mess, but I didn’t care.
Chapter 32
I opened the door and let Roger in. There was no cheery greeting on his lips today, only a bleak nod. He wore that well worn leather jacket. As he walked past me I got a whiff of soap and aftershave. He had found time to shave and shower. But it didn’t look like he’d slept at all. Still living on the euphoria of two nights ago? I wondered.
Hearing voices in the foyer, Mom came out of the kitchen. “Rajesh! What a pleasant surprise.”
“Good morning, Auntie.” He smiled at Mom, the usual boyish charm bubbling to the surface. “I hope I’m not interrupting your Sunday morning schedule.”
“Not at all.” Probably sensing the tension between us, Mom’s gaze bounced from Roger to me a couple of times. “I’ll let the two of you talk. Would you like some coffee, Rajesh?”
“No, thanks, Auntie. I’m here to see if I can talk Soorya into going out to brunch with me.”
“Okay.” Mom gave me a long look that was almost pleading in its intensity. She was silently telling me not to make the biggest mistake of my life. I saw it all in her expressive eyes. She gave Roger an encouraging nod and walked away.
Hushed voices in the kitchen indicated that she was probably explaining to Dad and Pamma what was going on in the foyer. I also knew the three of them were going to give Roger and me all the privacy we needed.
Roger shrugged out of his jacket, folded it over his arm, and followed me into the family room. I motioned to him to sit, but he waited to do so until I sat in the recliner. Always the gentleman—even when he was tense and exhausted.
Pulling my powder blue chenille robe tighter around myself, I glanced at him. “Well, here we are.”
He returned my glance, but there was caution in his. “Were you sincere in your apology?”
I nodded. “I meant every word.”
“Good.” He came straight to the point. “In that case, will you consider marrying me, Soorya? I know this isn’t the conventional way to do it—no diamond, no candlelight or flowers. But then ours isn’t a conventional American courtship.”
“You got that right.” Heck, the most romantic thing we’d done was walk arm in arm outside a temple on a cold, wet night, have coffee, and then sit close together on a grimy subway station bench. So much for romance and courtship.
“We’re both Indian-Americans who met at an old-fashioned bride viewing,” he admitted. “I realize things didn’t start out smoothly between us, but I still feel we’re right for each other.”
“Why is that?”
“Instinct—destiny—karma, if you wish to use a popular and clichéd Indian term. I can be as romantic as the next guy, but only if you tell me you’re serious about us, about me. Then you’ll see what I’m capable of.”
I was sure he was capable of romance. This was the charmer who’d had lots of relationships. Nonetheless I stared at the design on the area rug. “Things haven’t changed all that much since we first met, Roger. They have in some ways. Your play is up and running, and it’s a success so far. But you still don’t have a stable income and that means I’ll be supporting you, maybe for a long time.”
“Possibly,” he conceded.
“Wouldn’t you, as an Indian male, have a probl
em with that—the reversal of roles? It could become a bone of contention between us in the future.”
He shook his head. “I’ve given it serious thought, Soorya. By this time next year, if Mumbai to Manhattan is not bringing in some profits, I’m planning to fold up and start working with my father. I know my limits.”
I’d heard that from him once before and also from Dad, but now that Roger had reconfirmed it, I felt a lot better. And yet, I wanted his play to succeed, have his dream come true. Viewed realistically, the show could go either way, in spite of the great reviews. Broadway plays were notorious for their high failure rate. “If it comes to that worst-case scenario, and I’m hoping it doesn’t, aren’t there other restrictions to consider, Roger? My career will be here while you’ll be forced to work out of Kansas City.”
“Not necessarily. My father has several large clients on the East Coast and I could very well stay here and work out of an office in the city or even in New Jersey. Dad and I had discussed this some years ago, when I was still an undergrad—when we had both assumed I’d join his business, most likely in the sales and marketing areas.”
“I’m sure you’d be great at sales and marketing.” I could easily see him in that role.
“With today’s technology one can work basically anywhere, even in one’s home.” He arched his eyebrows at me. “Have I answered all your questions?”
“Not quite.” Since we were laying all our cards on the table, I had to know just one more thing. “Did you mean it when you said you find me attractive and that Dad’s money plays no part in it? I have to have the absolute truth, Roger. I won’t settle for anything less.”
His gaze was steady. “I swear to it. If it weren’t the truth, I wouldn’t have asked you, Soorya. I’m too damn selfish to settle for someone I don’t find attractive and don’t care about. Marriage is too intimate and permanent a relationship to end up with a woman I don’t like and don’t want in my bed.” He gave me a second or two to digest that. “So, what’ll it be?”
Last night I’d realized that my life would be very empty without the unpredictable Roger in it. He had a way of making me laugh and delight in simple things like a movie, a crushed red rose, a stroll in the rain, and a quiet cup of coffee.
He had taught me how important it was to observe and appreciate people—genuinely look into their souls and see them as individuals. He had so easily forgiven his father, too, despite the bitterness. Heck, he’d forgiven me in an instant just now, although I didn’t deserve it. Roger even made me feel pretty and attractive and important. Moreover, he treated me like a refined lady, something very few Indian men knew how to do, and that mattered to me very much.
Yes, I wanted him in my life. Needed him. It was no use denying it. “I’ve given your proposal a lot of thought.” I stood and went to stand beside the window.
“And?”
“And I think you’re right. If our parents could make a go of it, with just about one percent of the pre-marriage channels of communication we’ve been blessed with, maybe we could, too.”
For the first time since the other night a gleam of warmth crept into his eyes. “You really believe that?”
“I do. If we try hard, I think we could make it.”
He actually smiled. “I agree. Why don’t we start trying right now by going out to brunch? I’m starving.”
I chuckled. “Aren’t you always?”
He got to his feet and joined me at the window. Very slowly, with some hesitation, he put his hands on my shoulders and drew me closer, giving me plenty of time to back away if I wanted to. The heat from his hands reached my skin through the layers of my pajama top and robe.
I didn’t step back. He stood still, allowing me the opportunity to splay my hands on his chest and feel his hard, muscular warmth beneath the well-washed softness of the sweatshirt, inhale his scent, and study the texture of the freshly shaved skin on his face. It was like letting a new puppy get used to its master’s presence, his bouquet, his voice, his personality.
“I’m sorry I hurt you the other night with that kiss,” he murmured. “It was an emotional evening and I was—”
“I deserved it. In fact, I deserved a good spanking.” I was surprised at my own willingness to admit my culpability.
“I promise I can do a hell of a lot better than that.” He traced my lips with a gentle thumb. “Would you like me to show you?”
I nodded, feeling the first stirrings of nervous but heady anticipation. I’d never really done this. Not like this, anyway.
Then his mouth touched mine, light as a butterfly, tender, excruciatingly sweet. It was nothing like the other time and definitely nothing like Lou’s aggressive kisses. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the experience. Instinctively I responded to his tongue seeking out mine, relishing the taste of him and the feel of him, despite my lack of skill.
I never knew a kiss could be so touching and yet so enchantingly sexy. And Roger was obviously a master at it. Good thing at least one of us knew the technique.
The kiss didn’t last all that long, but it was enough to convince me that he was telling the truth. If I could turn the rascal on with no makeup, my hair in tangles, and dressed in a shapeless robe, I was doing just fine.
“There, does that convince you?” He kept his hands on my shoulders. His gorgeous eyes were clouded with desire. My own were probably just as hazy with need.
I narrowed my gaze on him. “Only if you can tell me you don’t do that with other women.”
“I haven’t kissed anyone since I broke up with my last girlfriend . . . over two years ago,” he said on an amused laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, my spirited Soorya.”
“Dream on, Vadepalli.” I gave him a look of mock indignation, but he’d called me his spirited Soorya. I could kiss him silly just for that.
Feeling reckless, and also since he’d accused me of never taking the initiative, I slipped my arms around his neck and put my lips to the hollow of his throat, where his skin felt like warm, fragrant satin. His long arms tightened around me, telling me he liked my bold gesture. I was learning a lot about him in this short interlude. And about myself.
I had no idea being held flush against a man’s hard body and feeling it pulsing next to mine could be so exciting, so empowering. I could stand like this for the next ten years and not be tired or bored. Why the hell hadn’t I given this a chance earlier? His heart was thumping wildly in keeping with mine. Wow, I could do that to him?
“Well?” he said after a while. “Yes or no to my proposal?”
“Yes. But we’ll still have to talk about some things.”
“I should have known that legal mind of yours would find a way to ruin a perfect moment,” he said, but his tone was blithe, and his fingers sifted playfully through my hair.
“Just so you know, I’m a neatness freak like my mother, and I use only unscented soap because of my allergies. I like white towels, too.”
“Not a problem,” he replied.
“We’ll have to decide where to live,” I added. “Then there’s my special diet versus your unlimited capacity to eat junk.” I took a step back but stayed within the circle of his arms. “We need to discuss all those small, everyday things before you run out and shop for a ring.”
“I agree,” he said, his trademark grin returning. “Maybe we can do the ring in a month or so?”
“Fair enough. But I want the candles and flowers. Even if it’s arranged, I won’t settle for a haphazard proposal. I’m a perfectionist and I have my standards,” I informed him firmly.
“Yes, dear,” he said in a meek voice. “Anything else?”
“That’s it for the moment,” I said, trying not to laugh at his submissive act. Reluctantly disengaging myself from his arms, I turned toward the door. My legs were still trembling from that kiss. I wanted more of that with him, lots more. “I’ll get changed and we’ll go have brunch,” I told him. “Then we’ll talk about all those things, Roger.”
; “Now that you’ve decided to accept my proposal, although it comes with a couple dozen legal clauses, do you think you could make an effort to call me Rajesh? At least Raj?”
I pretended to think about it for a second. “Guess I could handle Raj.” Then turning around, I started upstairs to get changed and swallow my daily dose of antihistamine.
“I’ll go chat with your parents and Pamma while you’re getting ready,” he said.
While I dressed and put on my makeup, I heard Roger conversing and laughing with my family in the kitchen. They clearly loved him. And so did I.
There, I’d finally acknowledged it. I loved him.
Despite acknowledging my feelings for him, I had to face the fact that ours was not the usual Indian match: two well-placed nerds marrying, buying the house in the suburbs, a BMW and an SUV, and giving birth to two kids who won every math and spelling bee in the universe. A Hindu-American’s ultimate dream.
I was about to get engaged to the most unconventional, modern-day hippie this side of the Atlantic. God help me.
And honestly, Roger was going to be a handful when it came to women—of all ages. He seemed to like them and they seemed to reciprocate. I had no idea how I was going to keep the predatory females away from my private pot of honey. It was sure to be a challenge.
“Nothing like a good challenge to make life interesting, right?” I whispered to the flushed, starry-eyed woman staring back at me in the mirror.
Then I picked up my purse and went downstairs. My destiny was calling.
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
After writing about some serious social issues like India’s dowry system, female-fetus abortions, the repressive lives of some women, and political violence in India, I decided to introduce my readers to a slightly different kind of story in this latest book—the Indian-American immigrant experience.
Many young second-generation Indians are constantly trying to maintain a fine balance between meeting the expectations of their conservative families and those of their emancipated American peers. This novel portrays the life of a young Indian-American woman, Soorya Giri. She has most everything a young lady could dream of: wealth, intelligence, a successful legal career, and a family who dotes on her. And yet there is something lacking in her personal life.
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