A hostess in a white shirt and black mini asks, “How many?”
Daniel lifts two fingers. “One of those back tables would be great.”
A couple of menus in hand, she leads us to a booth.
“I’m glad you decided to come.” He grins.
“Shall we talk about work? I’ve been trying to get hold of you, but you’re hard to track down.”
He leans forward. “I’ve been travelling almost all the time these last three weeks. What do you want to know? I’ll let you ask a few questions. After that, no more talk about work.”
A waiter approaches us to take our drink orders. I ask for orange juice and he, a beer. While we wait, we briefly discuss some of our tenants’ accounts.
The waiter returns with our drinks, and takes our orders. When he’s left Daniel sits back. “What happened on the day you fainted in my arms?”
I smile. “I didn’t faint in your arms. You stopped me from falling.”
“So what happened?”
Am I ready to talk to him about Peter? I draw a deep breath. “I was already sick that day when I discovered something terrible.”
He watches me intently, waiting for me to continue.
“My husband is in love with a man.”
I watch Daniel’s mouth gape open. Then he whistles softly. “Now this is not something I expected to hear. How can you be so sure?”
“There was no mistaking what I saw.”
Another low whistle follows. “Why did you marry this jerk?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Tell me. I want to know all about you.”
I decide to give Daniel a quick run-down of my Indian Hakka background and what brought me to Toronto. He does not blink when I talk about how I received the marriage proposal from Peter. His eyes narrow when I tell him about Peter’s threats if I tried to end our marriage. I wrap up with my discovery of Peter and Bobby together.
While we wait for our food to arrive, I reflect on what’s happening between us. I am happier than ever now that I’ve shared my story with him. But I caution myself not to jump into anything rash. I filed separation papers two weeks ago, but Papa’s disapproval hangs like a black cloud over me. I hope my letter has made it safely to them.
“And your parents want you to stay with Peter after all this?”
“Yes, they think I should have worked harder to change his ways, that his interest in another man is just a passing thing. Peter was also determined to stay married because he doesn’t want anyone to know that Bobby is more than just a friend. Of course, when Mandy caught him red-handed with Bobby, it drove him over the edge.”
He puts his half-finished burger down and reaches across the table to hold my hand. “Is that when he assaulted you?”
I nod. I can’t trust myself to talk. The physical pain is long gone, but other scars run deep inside. I cannot verbalize what Peter did to me . . . not to Daniel, not now.
“Has he tried to contact you since you left?”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t know where I am. I told Mandy not to give him Wendy’s phone number.”
He squeezes my hands. “If he bothers you again, let me know. I don’t live too far from Wendy.”
When we finish the waiter appears out of nowhere and clears the table. Daniel asks for the bill. After the waiter leaves, Daniel says, “I’d like to take you to dinner one day. Will you come out with me?”
“Oh, I can’t.”
A perplexed frown appears on his face. “Why not?”
Why can’t I go out with him? I’ve dreamed about what it would be like to date him. But I can’t shake Papa’s angry face from my head.
“It wouldn’t be appropriate. My family would never approve of my dating a white man.”
“Why are you so afraid of your parents, who have no idea what’s going on with you here? You said you are already in disgrace because you’re getting a divorce. What do you have to lose now? It’s time to live your life the way you want.”
“I wish it were that easy,” I whisper. Every part of me wants to say yes.
“Well, Jillian, I won’t be put off that easily.”
Wendy pants as we climb the stairs to her apartment. We’d just left the crowded subway train and walked the one block home. She says, “So, you went for lunch with Daniel today? I waited for you at the cafeteria.”
I lift the lid on the black metal mailbox, grope inside and retrieve the mail. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call to let you know. I didn’t plan for it to happen. Daniel sort of took over and insisted we go for lunch together.”
She opens the door and ushers me inside. “So, are you going to start seeing him?”
I scan the envelopes in my hand. One of them bears Indian stamps and Mama’s familiar handwriting. “Oh I can’t. My parents will never allow that.”
She grabs my arm. “Listen to me, young lady, you can’t let your parents run your life.”
I swallow hard. “But they won’t approve.”
“Do you want to date Daniel?”
I nod.
“Then stop worrying about what your parents think.” She drops her purse on the floor and disappears into her room.
Leaving the rest of the mail on the kitchen counter, I rip open Mama’s letter. I push a chair back and lower myself on it to read. When I finish, the paper drops down to the table. A sob catches in my throat.
Wendy comes back, rubbing her palms. “What do you want for dinner?” Her gaze rests on my face. “Oh, what’s the matter?” In a few strides she clears the distance between us and hovers over me.
“My papa has disowned me.” My voice cracks.
She holds my chin between her thumb and index finger. “What do you mean by that?”
“He never wants to speak to me or have anything to do with me anymore.”
“What about the rest of your family?”
“Papa’s word is the law in our house.” I push Wendy’s hand away and throw my arms on the table, burying my face into them.
Wendy caresses my head, smoothing and patting my hair. “I’m here for you, Jillian.”
I lift my head, wiping my eyes with my sleeves. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Shh . . . ” She pushes my head down gently, brushes her lips against the crown, and lets me cry.
When the tears stop flowing, I wipe my eyes with my knuckles, and like a mechanical toy, I walk to the bathroom. After splashing cold water on my face I straighten up and catch my reflection in the mirror. I examine my puffy eyelids and the glazed sheen over my eyes. I have reached a decision. Lee-Lan had been free-spirited, always chasing her dreams. But look where that got her. I will not encourage Daniel, and resolve to keep our relationship at a formal level. Papa has every right to be angry with me. I did not look out for Lee-Lan as an older sister should have, and yes, I have brought disgrace to my family by my separation from Peter—but through no fault of mine. I and my family must bear the stigma of my upcoming divorce. I cannot pile on the shame by becoming involved with a fankwei.
·14·
“You have a letter from India,” Wendy says as I walk through the door. She has come home before me since I had to detour to the post office to buy stamps. Her hands tug at the plastic covering on the head of an iceberg lettuce.
I approach the envelope on the table with some trepidation. There was one only yesterday. Both would have been written around the same time. What could that mean? I don’t think I can handle any more bad news.
I glance at the writing—large, firm, but untidy. If there’s one thing Shane’s teachers complain about, it’s his messy scribble. I think their criticisms are unfounded, since I can easily decipher the tall, slanted scrawl. I tear the envelope at the edge, pull out the sheets, and quickly scan th
e contents. We write in English to each other.
When I look up, Wendy is watching me with an anxious expression. I smile and tell her, “Mama asked Shane to write to me because she wants us to stay in touch. Unlike Papa, she still wants to hear from me, but we have to keep this a secret from him.” I glance at the letter again. “Shane has given me his friend’s address in central Calcutta where I can send letters to the family.”
It's the best news I’ve had from home. My sense of rejection lifts like a dark cloud, shedding light on my newfound hopes that Papa’s rejection of me will be temporary. Mama will work on him until she wears him down without him realizing what she’s done. I resolve not to worsen my lot with him.
Wendy resumes tearing the lettuce leaves. “I’m so happy for you. A mother never gives up on her child.” Her voice breaks. She's thinking of Linda, her daughter who ran away from home and died of an overdose.
I drop my letter on the table, close the short space between us in a few strides, and wrap my arms around her waist. One cheek pressed on her broad back, I tell her, “You are the best mother in the world, and you have been like one to me, but more than that, you are my best friend.”
She turns around to face me. “I’m glad we found each other,” she says.
“Are you avoiding me?” The inevitable question surfaces the following Monday morning at the office.
I raise my head slowly to give myself some time to compose my expression before Daniel sees more than I’m prepared to show. He towers over me in my seated position, forcing me to lift my eyes. I reply, “No, of course not.”
“If that’s not the case, then you’re doing a fine job of hiding from me.” His fingers slide under my chin tilting my head further back.
I have no choice but to meet his look. I open my mouth, searching for the words that I have already practiced in my mind for this very occasion, but I come up empty. I manage to say, “I’ve been very busy.”
“Too busy to say hello?” His palms cup my face, making it impossible to look anywhere but upwards at him. His thick and golden lashes which I find so attractive distract me as his eyes search mine for an answer.
“That’s not true. You’ve been away each time I came by your office,” I lie.
A flicker of uncertainty crosses his face. Then without warning he leans down and brings his mouth over mine. I suck a sharp intake of air as his lips graze mine. When he lifts his head, he says, “What are you doing to me, Jillian? You’re hot, and then you’re cold. Please say you’ll go out with me this Saturday.”
I push my chair back and rise up to reduce my disadvantage. “I cannot go out with you.”
“Why not? You’ve separated from your husband already.”
“It’s not proper. I’m not divorced yet.”
“Oh, but you will be, right? You’re not planning to go back to that jerk?”
I shake my head vigorously. “Nothing will make me go back to Peter, but you and I . . . it can’t happen.”
“I don’t understand. I know you feel something for me. You couldn’t kiss me like you did if you didn’t care.” I hear the frustration in his voice and caution myself to stick to my intent.
“Look, I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression. We are from two different worlds and our relationship would never work.”
His face pales. “How do you know if it could work or not if you never give it a chance?”
I whisper as I try to keep the tremor out of my voice, “Please don’t make it any more difficult than it already is.”
“You’re impossible. If that’s the way you feel, I will not bother you again.”
He turns on his heels and strides away. I watch his back with sagging shoulders and a miserable sinking sensation. I look at the work in front of me for inspiration, hoping I can find confirmation that I have done the right thing.
True to his word, Daniel begins to ignore me, and when we see each other, he keeps an inscrutable expression, giving only the slightest nod to acknowledge me.
A few days later, while I sit at the dining table composing a letter home, I look up and catch Wendy’s pensive gaze on me. The television has a mindless sitcom playing like background noise, neither of us paying much attention to it.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
She goes to the TV to turn down the volume. Then she straightens up to face me and says, “I don’t understand you and your need to please your parents. You deny your feelings for Daniel for some perceived wrong that you did. Why do you punish yourself so much?”
Taken aback with this directness, I grope for an appropriate response. Nothing comes to mind. I have never thought of my actions as self-punishment. “You’re not making sense. I’m only doing what any daughter would do.”
Wendy drops down on a chair. “You can’t believe that to be true. Is it because of your sister’s death? Do you feel like you need to make up for being alive while she is dead?”
“That’s ridiculous. This has nothing to do with Lee-Lan.” A voice in my head says, Liar.
Wendy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you sure, Jillian?” she says. “No amount of penance or whatever you call what you’re doing will change how she died. . . and you’re not responsible for why or how it happened.”
The conversation lingers in my mind. I see Lee-Lan’s vivacious laughing face and her eyes lighting up every time she spoke her boyfriend’s name. How could I have stopped her from seeing him? She was in love with him, and when I met him, he seemed like a nice boy—shy, but respectful. Her strong will would never have bowed to mine, even if I’d tried to dissuade her . . . and that I did too.
The following Monday morning, troubled by a term in a lease, I decide to go and seek Daniel’s help. Perhaps this was only an excuse.
He looks up in surprise as I approach him. “What brings you to my office?”
My heart lurches when I see him. With superhuman effort I keep my voice cool. “I need to ask you about the CTA lease that you signed last month. I’m not sure how to interpret the base year clause.”
I show him the file and we discuss it. When he finishes his explanation, I prepare to leave. He watches me with brooding eyes. As I turn to go, he opens his mouth to say something and then stops. I continue towards the door, my back tense and rigid. A feeling of disappointment washes over me. I want to cry. What was I expecting? Another kiss . . . another touch?
At quitting time a few days later, while I wait inside a crowded elevator, Daniel rushes in. I dart him a brief glance and produce a lame smile. He nods and turns to face the front. I resist the temptation to raise a hand and rake my fingers through his soft hair. For a brief moment I imagine myself with his arms around my waist, holding me close. The jolt of the cab as we reach the ground level scuttles the image. What is wrong with me? I can’t think like this.
As we file out into the lobby, an attractive woman breezes up to him and throws her arms around him. He pecks her proffered cheek. There is something vaguely familiar about the tall and svelte long-haired blonde. I see Wendy by the revolving door and rush up to her. As fast as I can, I push the glass panel to get outside and put as much distance as I can between myself and the scene behind me.
“Wait up,” Wendy calls out, panting heavily.
I stop and turn around. “I’m sorry.”
“Are those tears? You’re crying,” she says.
“No, I’ve got something in my eyes.”
“Jillian, do you think I don’t know the difference? It’s Daniel, isn’t it?”
We resume walking. “I don’t care. He’s free to see anyone he wants. It’s not like we’re even dating.”
“That’s true. The girl’s beautiful. She’s the same one from the Christmas party.”
“Oh, that’s why she looked familiar.”
We take the stairs down
into the subway station, Wendy breathing hard behind me.
“Jillian, did you hear what I said?” Wendy asks.
I let her catch up. “Sorry . . . what was that?”
“Mandy and I would like to take you out for your birthday.”
A train pulls in. “Thanks, you really don’t have to do this.”
I am touched. She has been so kind to me and what have I done for her? We wait for passengers to stream out of the subway car, and when we are standing inside, Wendy says with a teasing smile, “Perhaps I should invite Daniel!”
I don’t see the humour. “Didn’t you just see him with his girlfriend? Why would he care about my birthday?”
“He’s known her before he met you, but he still made a play for you—until you shut him down.”
I’m not sure what to think.
August 12 comes and I have turned twenty-one. It’s a Saturday. Despite my protests, Wendy and Mandy have insisted that we celebrate this milestone. They have a restaurant picked out not too far from where we live, and we head there. We enter Francine’s Place, a casual joint catering to all tastes, shortly after the noon hour. As we announce ourselves the young hostess dazzles us with a smile. “This way, please. Your party is waiting for you.”
What party? I glance over at Wendy, who looks nonchalant. Then I turn toward Mandy. She looks innocent, fidgeting with a button on her blouse. We follow the hostess to a table at the back of the restaurant. As soon as she moves aside, I see Daniel, Doug, Sheryl and Fatima.
“Surprise!”
This I did not expect. And Daniel too? I thought Wendy was joking, but she has somehow convinced him to join us for lunch. Overwhelmed and embarrassed, I stammer a few words of thanks.
Wendy pulls the chair at the head of the table and gestures for me to sit. She grins. “We couldn’t let you turn twenty-one without your friends around you.” She takes the seat to my left.
Picture Bride Page 9
