by JB Schroeder
“It’s just a warning. Good luck,” said the officer who wrote the ticket in a low voice as he passed Jonah. Great—even the police were wary of solo kitty’s claws.
They left as they came, shutting the doors behind them.
Their exit gave Jonah just enough time to think, instead of reacting defensively. But his anger was only ramping up. Kalpani’s accusation hit him hard.
Kalpani was breathing heavily. “What the hell, Jonah?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“You walked in here and immediately assumed I was up to no good. That I was trying to pull something over on you.”
“Because you are. You said you were going home to your mom’s tonight. You never once mentioned coming down here. And we discussed that you’d come during the day when you needed to work—just not on opening day.”
He shook his head. Anger now competed with frustration, disappointment, dismay—all warring for top spot.
“No matter how far we come, it’s clear you’ll never really let me in. I thought it was all in my head, but you still think of me as some freeloader, don’t you?”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he threw the crumpled ticket to the floor and held up his hand. “You’ll never trust me, never believe that I’m not trying to take something from you or take advantage of you.”
“I just told you, you can have free access upstairs,” she said, the words clipped. “You have at least a couple of months before I’ll want to renovate that space.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” Jonah fought to remain in place—to get out his thoughts, to tell her what he’d realized before he got the hell out of here. “You’ve been waiting for a chance to prove I can’t be trusted. Nothing to do with me. I’ve proven myself to you over and over. You just can’t see it. I don’t know who wronged you, but I’m not going to pay their price.”
Kalpani stood stock-still and stared at him.
He couldn’t remotely gauge her thoughts. He’d been debating signing a studio lease on the outskirts of the Strip anyway. It wasn’t perfect, and it was more than he wanted to pay, but it was immediately available. This—this debacle—sealed the deal.
“I’ll move all my stuff out this Sunday and Monday when Xanadu’s closed. I’m out. You didn’t want a relationship from the beginning. So, congratulations. You don’t have one. You’re free of me.”
Kalpani winced and blinked, but she didn’t speak.
Jonah spun to go, and the bag he held bumped his hip.
He tossed it on the receptionist’s counter with too much force. It slid and knocked the cordless phone he’d left off the hook to the floor with a bang.
“Happy opening,” he said. Then Jonah stalked out the back door and left without looking back.
18
Kalpani watched Jonah leave, the door banging shut behind him. She stood rooted, eyes fixed on that door—still reeling from the turn of events.
She didn’t know how many minutes had passed, but she snapped out of it when some drunken idiot bumped into the front window hard enough to make her jump. She was standing in a fishbowl—all the Strip District St. Patty’s Day crowds able to see right in. She hadn’t ordered window coverings—generally it was good advertising for people to be able to see into a salon. But right now, she only felt raw and exposed.
She rubbed her hands over her arms, then forced herself to move and lock the front door. When she turned back to the room, she eyeballed the bag Jonah had thrown on the counter but didn’t reach for it. Instead, she picked up the crumpled paper—the other half of the ticket she still held. She shook her head and threw both in the trash behind the desk. She retrieved the phone that had fallen to the floor, checked to make sure it worked, and replaced it on the receiver.
Kalpani flipped off the lights and moved to the back of the store, locking that door as well. She checked that the alarm had been reset—and a tiny noise of upset escaped her. She covered her mouth with one hand and pulled her sweater across her front to ward off the chill. March in Pittsburgh wasn’t that cold—all her discomfort stemmed from inside.
When she’d walked in—yes, dammit, she’d assumed the worst.
Not consciously. It was like this terrible fear had risen like floodwater and invaded her whole body. Like she had suddenly realized that she’d inadvertently given away the keys to the castle. The castle being, of course, her salon, her dream, her independence—right along with her foolish heart.
It had sent her into a complete panic. All she could think of was Meenu: on her wedding day, glowing with happiness, thinking she’d married—an American, no less—for love and a modern life. The look of shock and disbelief she’d worn the first time her husband had beaten her—making excuses for him while Kalpani’s father had wrapped her ribs. The empty shell she’d become since: lifeless eyes, wooden movements, rote words—a woman always on edge and in control of nothing, a woman who owned nothing, not even her own voice.
Logically, Kalpani knew it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t Meenu. But they’d both been snowed. Like Meenu, Kalpani had never suspected a beast lived within her friend’s husband. She hadn’t entirely trusted her own judgment ever since.
And after a scary call from the alarm company about a possible break-in at her new salon, a frantic drive to Xanadu in the dark, the flashing lights of the police vehicles nearly giving her vertigo, and uniformed officers blocking the doorways, then Jonah standing there chatting like it was any other day?
Well, she certainly hadn’t been thinking logically. Fear manifested in anger, and as always, she was adept at cutting words and a biting tone—a means of defense and protection both.
Kalpani smoothed one hand over the other, then, still chilled, she tucked her fingers under her armpits.
What in the hell had he been doing here?
He’d never answered the question, and that brown bag beckoned her. It felt dangerously stupid to ignore it, like a ticking time bomb resonating inside her head.
She knew without a doubt that opening it would make her feel even worse. She forced herself to go get it and brought it toward the back of the shop, where the walls of the hallway were closer, as if less space, perhaps, could contain an explosion.
She took a shaky breath and pulled apart the handles to peer inside. Tissue paper—stuffed down deep at the bottom. She grabbed the banister and sat heavily on the back steps, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth to stop her sob.
Jonah had tried to leave her a gift. Some sort of surprise for her opening day. It didn’t even matter what was under that tissue paper. She’d thrown his thoughtful gesture in his face in the worst way, framed his actions in the worst light.
She sobbed, then swallowed it. With a shaking hand, she reached in to pull out the tissue.
She unwrapped a business card holder first. Oh, no.
With a wobbling lip and tears spilling from her eyes, she then opened a small cardboard box. Her very own Xanadu business cards—designed by Jonah, including a bit of the art he’d also gifted her with.
She’d been wrong. It did matter what was in the bag.
Grief won, and Kalpani broke down and sobbed something fierce.
Here was a man who actively tried to please her, who thought ahead about her needs, who went out of his way for her, who’d done nothing but support her throughout the construction of her salon…
She hadn’t even given him the benefit of her trust.
Kalpani curled into a ball on those hard wooden steps and cried until she couldn’t breathe, because she was sure she never could.
19
Xanadu’s grand opening week should have felt celebratory, exciting, gratifying. Instead, the event was weighted with regret and even grief. Kalpani missed Jonah. She didn’t know what to do or say about it and tried to convince herself it was just as well. She’d never intended to have a long-term relationship, hadn’t meant for a casual th
ing to become so involved. She was the woman who was going to escape the bad parts of her culture, the dangerous parts of being a woman in a relationship. She had always meant to conquer the world alone and turn it upside down—or right side up.
But every time she handed out a business card or straightened the artistic little holder on the desk, underneath her business-owner smile—she hurt. Way down deep inside, she ached terribly. Because she missed him, because she’d wronged him, because life felt empty without him.
On Saturday, she pasted on an even bigger smile. Free from their own jobs, her parents came to see the salon.
“For you and your staff,” Chetana said, handing her a heavy bag of foil wrapped packets. “Samosas and chaat.”
“Thank you, Mummyji, you shouldn’t have.” Her mother had started cooking a day early and must have risen extremely early. Kalpani’s eyes prickled.
She took time to give them a tour and smiled as they remarked on the oddest things. Her father had peered closely at the metal kick plates, going so far as to lean over a client’s legs and touch one. She’d scolded him and mouthed, So sorry, to the client. Her mother had peeked into every closed cupboard she’d passed. “Where is the food?” she’d asked.
“It’s a salon, not a restaurant.” Kalpani fought to keep the irritation out of her voice. Jonah had never met her parents, but with his easy manner, he would have handled them so much better than she did.
They hadn’t taken off their coats and soon gathered near the front door to say goodbyes.
“Well, Harvard would have been a surer bet,” Chetana said, “but it’s beautiful.” She drew the adjective out with extra syllables and two hard Es, and Kalpani smiled.
She knew from their discussions over the last couple of months that her father, too, was still very concerned about the loan from Darcy and the risk she was taking in owning her own business. Today, she saw pride in his eyes as well. She wanted to cry, and silently cursed the emotional mess she’d become.
Shortly afterward, her phone buzzed in her apron, and her heart nearly burst out of her chest—Jonah—before it shriveled. The text read: Moving out tomorrow. Disable alarm or send code.
She moved sluggishly through the rest of the day. Her thoughts were as thick with distress as the high-end finishing clay she often used on her male clients’ hair.
Sunday morning, far earlier than usual due to her parents going to an afternoon event, she went to help her mom with the cooking. Just as well, since being alone with her thoughts right now was downright depressing.
Now that they’d seen Xanadu with their own eyes, they had a million questions about her first few days of operation. Kalpani told them stories—one of the sinks had leaked, one of the new assistants had called in sick, a client’s scalp had had an allergic reaction, and more.
Honestly, overall opening week had gone well. Problems like that were part and parcel of owning a business, especially a brand-new one.
She should be elated, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Jonah. She should have called him to apologize and to thank him for her business cards. But she had put it off. Absurdly, she felt like calling and having that last conversation would be somehow severing ties entirely. That—and what could she say? You are totally right? I tried to warn you that I didn’t want long term? I’m sorry?
Yes, she was sorry. So dang sorry, but it didn’t change anything, did it?
When her father picked up the crossword puzzle, her mom shooed her toward the kitchen. “Come,” Chetana said. “There is much to do.”
One step into the tight space, and Kalpani halted. Chetana had taped Xanadu’s business card to the refrigerator. That little rectangle of cardstock sank her spirits even lower. It represented all that was beautiful about Jonah, and all that was withered in her.
Her mom shoved her forward and pointed to a cutting board. Kalpani got to work cutting onions. She told herself that was what caused her eyes to tear.
“Not so hard, beti,” Chetana said. “Don’t force out the juice.”
“Sorry,” Kalpani said, but her voice cracked.
Her mother turned to her. “What is the matter?”
Kalpani sniffed. “Onions.”
Her mother put her hands on her hips. “You think your maan is stupid?”
Indian mothers were not generally the type to coddle you if you were upset. They were more likely to swat you with a wooden spoon, order you to get your act together, and throw you out of their kitchen. But despite some skirmishes over cultural norms and generational differences, Kalpani had a decent relationship with hers.
“No, Mummyji, but I am stupid.” That fact that she desperately needed someone to talk to made her admit things she normally wouldn’t. “I think I might have accidentally fallen for someone.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed, but her expression perked up—she was clearly torn between protecting her daughter and seeing her finally show interest in dating.
“Don’t get excited.” Kalpani heaved a sigh and began to tell her mother about Jonah.
Chetana interrupted often with questions. How did you meet him? Why didn’t you tell me? So, he is the youngest son and your friend Darcy married the middle son? And more—though, thankfully, she didn’t ask if they’d been sleeping together.
At one point, Chetana waved at the cutting board, requesting the onions and from then on, they worked as Kalpani spilled.
Finally, when they’d covered the trespassing incident, her mom stopped and put her hands to her mouth. “The police?”
Kalpani nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Her mother was horrified to learn she hadn’t spoken to Jonah since, hadn’t even apologized.
“Oh, beti, that is very bad. That is not the way you were raised.”
“I know. It just feels loaded.”
“Why?”
“Because I feel terrible. Jonah doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment. He’s a good guy. A really good guy. And I really, really like him.”
“I don’t understand what is the trouble.”
A knock sounded from the living room, and Kalpani heard her father rise and go to the door. She heard a women’s voice and a child’s. As always, she tensed, her shoulders creeping toward her ears, but she purposely pushed away thoughts of injuries and past patients. She and her mother continued talking, ignoring her father’s conversation to allow his patient some privacy.
Kalpani tried to explain to her mother how she felt about dating, about marriage, about—above all—remaining completely independent. But it sounded as nonsensical now as it did when she’d tried to explain it to Darcy, and she ended lamely, “I promised myself I would never, ever be dependent on anyone.”
Her mother, however, understood. She had listened to the messages between Kalpani’s words for years and years. She knew her daughter’s fears almost as well as she knew her own.
“Why are you so worried about this? You broke the mold every day since you were born. Look what you have accomplished already at such a young age. Should you decide to marry”—Chetana shot her eyes heavenward—“you will not be one who will fall into patterns of culture or traditional relationships. You will never be pushed by someone else’s current.”
She handed Kalpani a cup of chai tea and waved her to the small table tucked into a corner of the kitchen. She grabbed some sugar packets from a drawer overflowing with freebie condiments, then joined Kalpani there with her own teacup.
“Just because you made a decision when you were a young girl does not mean it is the right one for you. And if you choose to have a relationship, you can make it whatever you need. It does not need to model my marriage. I know what you think of that.” She gave Kalpani a particularly hard look.
Kalpani winced at the set-down. Many times, she had pushed her mother to stand up for herself, to make her father help—at least a little bit—with the chores. Chetana was letting her know she didn’t appreciate the disrespect and wouldn’t forget it.
“But all
the compromising,” Kalpani said. “I don’t want to ever have to go to someone for permission or approval or money or anything.”
“Ah, but that person will also be compromising his own things for yours, too.” Chetana set her spoon down, having added way more sugar than was healthy, and slurped loudly. She eyed Kalpani over the rim. “Walking through life with the right support at your side is not a bad thing or something to fight against. There is enough in the world to battle. Walking with someone at your side is to be embraced. The power of two is not a gift to be overlooked lightly.”
Kalpani stirred her own tea, swirling it like the thoughts in her head. Darcy and Jeremy’s wedding had really made her think. They were so in love it was ridiculous, but they also seemed to be respectful and supportive of each other. Jake and Sadie appeared to be much the same. Kalpani and Jonah had fallen into exclusivity, but he had never once hampered her. In truth, he’d been supporting her through what had proved to be a challenging time. Had all these Walker boys learned how to be great men from their parents? Surely, they didn’t have a lock on the excellent husband role. There had to be others.
Had Kalpani just not been exposed to very many of those kinds of marriages—really balanced ones? The kind she might actually consider? It was true, of course, that most of the married people she knew well were of her own culture, and also true that most of those were from an older generation.
It was also quite possible that because she hadn’t been open to the idea of an equal partnership, she had never looked with clear eyes. Certainly, Meena’s situation had caused her to put additional blinders on.
“I have not met this Jonah myself,” her mom said. “But Sohel spoke very highly of him. And you also are a very good judge of character. If you like him this much, then I expect he also has broken some mold and is very special. Maybe it’s possible he is the right kind of man for you?”
“Excuse me.”
Kalpani’s head shot up and she found Meenu standing in the doorway with her oldest child tucked against her legs. Quickly, Kalpani stood, scanning Meenu and the child for any signs of ill treatment.
