Variables of Love

by M. K. Schiller

Con: I have dietary restrictions.

  You have to do better, Sunshine.

  You’re not even challenging me.

  Pro: We’ll go shopping together at

  Whole Foods. Pro: I’ll eat better.

  Major PRO: You can COOK.

  I sat next to him in Malkin’s class, expecting him to distract me, but he didn’t. He just slid a neatly folded piece of paper to me.

  “What’s this?”

  “My last pro. Don’t read it now. Think about it. I can wait until after break for your answer. If you really think this is moving too fast, we’ll slow it down. You can draw the line—just let me know where it is.” He’d said that to me before, when we first made love.

  We were just going to be apart for three weeks, so why was this so hard? How difficult would it be when things were really over?

  Rachael slept during the plane ride. I took out the paper Ethan had handed me. The boy had folded it into a precise square. Ethan had the neatest penmanship. It was block writing, and almost every letter was equal in space. It was so perfect that, at first glance, it looked like a computer font. I’d had a glimpse of his scratchpad, though. That writing was legible, but definitely not as neat. This note he’d written was a combination of the two. Like he was trying to be neat, but the words came too fast.

  My last pro—we only have a short time together. We said no regrets when this is over, but I will regret it if we didn’t make the most of our present. I want to wake up with you every morning and go to sleep with you every night. Most of all, I want to come home to you.

  P.S. Pro—we can have sex in the middle of the night whenever we want! Middle of the night sex is the best.

  Yours, Ethan.

  I laughed, folding his note back up into the perfect square. My heart was thumping with crazy trepidation. Ethan wasn’t shy about his feelings. Maybe it was because his mom was a psychologist, or maybe he just knew himself better than most people. It was scary because it made me believe in us too much.

  Chapter 16

  I SPOKE TO ETHAN a great deal over break. He never asked me about moving in with him. I appreciated that, because I had no idea what I was going to do yet.

  We talked about philosophy and religion in that poetic college way that people our age did, as if conversations by themselves could change the world. With every revelation, I felt hungry for information about him.

  Eventually, he asked me about Vijay. I found myself telling all kinds of stories about my brother. The tales where he managed to annoy me as brothers often did and the ones where he surprised me with an unexpected gesture. I’d blocked out so many things about him because it was painful, but I could talk openly to Ethan.

  For his part, Ethan listened. He talked about his father too and how much he missed him and the things they used to do together. We were both still grieving, but through those conversations, I started healing.

  My parents drilled me about school and my grades, but as usual, they never asked about anything else. My father worked most of the time. He had an apartment in Boston where he usually stayed when he had surgeries scheduled, which was quite often. My mother also worked, but from home. She’d be on the computer for twelve hours a day sometimes, writing code, negotiating contracts, or in e-meetings. It was the way our house functioned, or at least the way it did now. My parents had always worked long hours, even before Vijay died, but they’d made time for us. We’d all eat dinner together, go shopping in Boston, or take in the occasional movie. There were jokes and laughter too. These days, we lived like three strangers occupying the same house.

  On New Year’s Eve, I went out to lunch with Rachael. We hadn’t hung out much over break. We usually didn’t since we ran in different circles, or rather, she had a circle and I didn’t. I was surprised to come home and find my mother making jalebis, the sweet Indian dessert of deep fried dough. It wasn’t an easy recipe, and she rarely made them.

  “Do you need help frying them?” I asked her. It was usually my job, and I enjoyed cooking with my mother.

  “They’re for tomorrow. I’ll fry them in the morning.” She hummed as she moved around the kitchen. “We’re having company.”

  “Who?”

  “Chetan Malhotra is coming over for dinner. You remember him?”

  I did—our families were old friends. He’d lived in Boston before moving to Canada. We were close to the same age, so as kids, when they visited, we’d played. Actually, Chetan and Vijay had played together. I’d stayed out of their rambunctious games as much as I could.

  “Is he coming with his parents?”

  “No, by himself. He graduated last year with a business degree. He’s going to be in Boston for a conference. He came a few days early to spend New Year’s with friends, but he’s stopping by to pay us a visit.”

  “Why?” My heart was beating wildly at the implications of what she was going to say.

  “He wants to see you.”

  “Why?” I narrowed my eyes, already knowing the answer, but wanting confirmation.

  “To see what you look like and how you turned out.”

  “You should send him a picture, then. I told you I wasn’t ready to do this yet. We agreed we wouldn’t start looking until after graduation.”

  “Arey, Bachcha,” she said and then repeated in English, “calm down, child. This isn’t an official request, but Chetan has started his search, and I think you’re his first choice.”

  “I haven’t started, though.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Listen to me. Do you think it’s easy to find a suitable Punjabi boy living here? You’ll be done with college in May, and it doesn’t hurt to view suitable candidates, especially one like Chetan.”

  “I’m not ready,” I remarked solemnly.

  “I think you’re mistaken how this process works. These things require careful planning. You think this is like one of those American TV shows where we parade fifty suitable boys around you, and you whittle them down by giving them a flower?” I laughed at my mother’s example, but she wasn’t joking. “This is serious, Beta. You have many positive traits. You’re pretty, smart, educated, and you come from a good family, but you’re also westernized, insolent, and you can’t make a decent chapati to save your life. We need to find a boy who not only has the same traits, but is tolerant of the things you lack.”

  “Don’t you think this is too soon?”

  She pinched my cheek. “No time like the present. Can you put this stuff away for me? I have a conference call in a few minutes.”

  I nodded, taking the wooden spoon from her and placing it in the sink.

  “By the way,” she said, “a package came for you today. It’s on the table.”

  I stopped what I was doing and went to the table. The parcel was in a long, unmarked postal box. I tore into it, staring at the most beautiful telescope I’d ever seen. It wasn’t a traditional, scientific one, but handheld, long, and gold-colored. It looked old-fashioned, but the dials and description indicated it was technologically advanced.

  “Who sent you that?” my mother asked, coming up behind me. I almost dropped the package. I had forgotten she was still there. He didn’t list a return address, but there was only one person who would send me a gift like this.

  “It’s for school,” I replied absently. My mother didn’t ask any more questions. She wouldn’t—not when she had a conference call to attend, and she’d already told me everything she needed to say. If it wasn’t about school or my impending marriage, my parents seldom engaged in conversation with me.

  I texted Ethan as soon as I finished tidying the kitchen.

  I got your present. It’s lovely.

  You’re lovely.

  Even in a text, that boy could make my heart flutter. Ethan texted me back a series of numbers, and I stared at them with confusion, until I realized they were longitude and latitude markers.

  I’ll call you at 11:45 pm your time. Or do

  you have plans for New Year’s Eve?


  No plans, but aren’t you supposed

  to be at a party?

  Yes, but I really want to kiss my

  girlfriend before the New Year.

  How do you propose we do that since

  you’re a million miles away?

  I’m approximately 3100 miles from you, and

  don’t worry about that. Just set it up with the

  directional I gave you. I’ll talk to you soon.

  That night, I set my iPod on low, letting The Band Perry mimic my sentiments when they sang “Don’t Let Me Be Lonely.” I braved the frigid temperatures and sat on the balcony in my parents’ room with the telescope. My mother had gone to Boston to meet up with my father so they could shop at the Indian grocer. It was obvious from the menu that my mom wanted to impress Chetan.

  I ran my fingers down the telescope’s length. He’d spent a great deal on this gift. The ringing of my cell phone almost made me drop it.

  “Hi, Sunshine. How are you?” he asked with that sexy southern inflection in his voice.

  “Good. Where are you?” I heard a cacophony of voices in the background.

  “I’m at the party.” The hint of southern drawl in his voice was more prominent tonight. It immediately turned me on, but it also alarmed me.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Very much so, but I’m not driving if that’s what you’re worried about.” He knew me well. “I’m still inside, but I’m making my way to the roof.”

  “Be careful. I don’t want your drunk butt falling off the roof.”

  His laugher boomed through the phone. “My drunk butt is just fine, but thank you for your concern.” His butt is very fine.

  “Why are you going to the roof?”

  “So, we can have our New Year’s kiss.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Do you have the telescope set up?”

  “Yes, do you have one too?” Although Ethan claimed to be a science geek, I highly doubted he brought a telescope to a New Year’s Eve party at UCLA.

  “I don’t need one where I’m at, but I knew you would.” It suddenly got quiet on his end and a heavy door slammed. “I’m on the roof. Where are you?”

  “I’m on the balcony in my parents’ room.”

  “That’s kind of weird.”

  “They’re not home.”

  “You’re alone on New Year’s Eve?” He sounded sad for me, and I didn’t want him to be. The truth was I would have been alone even if my parents didn’t leave. They fell asleep by ten at the latest.

  “I’m with you, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, baby, you are. You must be freezing.”

  “I have a coat on.” I was also wearing my warmest flannel pajamas, my robe, wool gloves, and a scarf. I resembled a very large jellyroll, and although Ethan couldn’t see me, I was upset I didn’t look more appealing. I hoped he wouldn’t ask what I was wearing. I’m sure he looked gorgeous. He always did.

  “If it gets too cold, go inside. I don’t want my kiss to make you sick…again.”

  “Can you please explain this to me?”

  “Patience, Meena. Do you see the star pattern in the telescope?”

  I looked through it at the cluster of bright stars. The magnification on the scope was very good.

  “Yes, I see it.”

  “What does it look like to you?”

  “Stars,” I replied dryly.

  “Don’t be a smartass. What does the pattern look like?”

  I stared at it for a minute, trying to figure out the answer. I’d never been good at those puzzles where there was a picture in a picture, so this wasn’t coming easy for me. After a few minutes, Ethan gave up on me. “It’s a bird, Meena. It’s the constellation Cygnus.”

  “That’s Latin. It’s the Northern Cross, right?”

  “Very good, baby. It means swan.”

  I saw it right as he said it, like a blurry photo coming into focus. It was a graceful swan, diving into flight. “I see it, Ethan.”

  “I want you to concentrate on the brightest star. The one at the tail. Do you see it?”

  “Yes, it’s bluish.”

  “Right, I’m looking at it too. It’s amazing isn’t it? We’re three thousand miles apart and looking at the same object in the sky.”

  “It’s pretty cool, but how are you going to kiss me?”

  “It will be a mental kiss. We have most of the senses. We have sight because that star is connecting us. We have sound, and trust me when I say your voice is turning me on something fierce. We can conjure the other ones together.”

  “Are we going to have phone sex?” I asked, giggling, but he would want to video chat if that’s what he had in mind.

  “I’m on a rooftop at UCLA. I don’t want to risk arrest for indecent exposure. Although, with the drunken idiots here, I don’t know if I’d get noticed. Besides, I don’t want you taking any clothes off in the freezing cold. I had something more cerebral in mind. Just listen to me. We don’t have much time.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Are you comfortable?”

  “Yes,” I said, sliding onto the chair, repositioning the telescope, and suspending the phone between my ear and shoulder.

  “We’ve established clear sight and sound. We’re looking at one of the most luminous stars in the Milky Way. That’s the reason I chose it. It reminds me of your eyes. It’s two hundred and fifty thousand times brighter than our sun, and almost as beautiful as you, Sunshine. Do you know how much I love listening to the sound of your voice? It doesn’t matter if you’re reading aloud, or laughing hysterically, or even just having a normal conversation. I especially love it when you’re screaming…my name.

  “I don’t need taste or smell. I remember how you taste. It’s like a combination of honey and milk and sugar. I remember your scent too. Like vanilla and a million different spices. I can’t name all them, but the flavor of you is my favorite thing. It’s innocently sexy, and for the life of me, I don’t know how that’s possible.”

  His voice had a hypnotic quality to it, and I found myself visualizing him, even while focusing on the bright star trillions of miles above my head. The more he spoke, the easier it was to imagine him with me. Then the visuals turned tangible as I imagined the delicious things I wanted him to do.

  “The touching is the easiest. When you’re in my arms, it feels perfect. I don’t want to let you go, especially when you shiver or laugh.” His voice dropped to whisper…an enticing, lusty whisper, dripping with yearning. His words were so visceral that my breath hitched. “Most of all, I love kissing you. Do you know you moan when I kiss you? I don’t even think you’re aware of it. I want to earn every one of those moans. I want to bite your lower lip. I want to trace the outline of your mouth with my finger and then my tongue. I have such a craving for the honey and milk and sugar of you. I’m kissing you…right…now. Can you feel it?”

  I moaned loudly. He laughed softly.

  “Happy New Year, Sunshine.”

  I checked my watch. He had planned it perfectly. It was exactly midnight for me. “Happy New Year, Ethan.”

  Ethan made me go inside, but we stayed on the phone for another three hours until Ethan’s New Year happened. I tried to illicit the same sensual response from him, but I knew I wasn’t as good. The man was some kind of mathematic Casanova.

  I planned to sleep in the next day, but my mother returned from Boston very early and woke me so I could help her cook. We spent the day working together, preparing an Indian feast, but we barely spoke unless it was a command from her or a question from me. I didn’t know why it was so difficult to talk to my mother now, but neither of us could find the right words.

  If my mother and I were considered strangers, my father was a ghost. When he was home, he would choose to eat in front of the television, watching CNN. He said it relaxed him, but I had no idea how watching the news did that. My mother ate in her office. I was the only one that ate at the table anymore.

  When Vijay was
alive, my parents insisted we have dinner there every night. We talked and laughed until we eventually argued over who was going to do the dishes. My father made it a competition, asking Vijay or me an SAT question. Whoever got it right was excused from dish duty. Vijay often won, but my father was smart, and he would make sure he asked questions about English and grammar that favored my interests. It was so long ago that it felt very strange to see the table set up again on this night.

  Chetan arrived promptly at eight. Indians usually didn’t eat dinner until nine. It was something Rachael freaked out about since her family ate at five. At school, I ate at a normal time or the cafeteria would close on me. When I came home, I had to force myself to get used to the later meal hours again.

  I hadn’t seen Chetan since I was ten. He was my height, with thick black hair, a thicker belly, and a goatee. The first thing he did was bow to my parents, as was custom. Then he gave me an awkward hug. His eyes raked over my body before proclaiming, “Little Meena, all grown up and so beautiful!”

  I instantly disliked him.

  Dinner conversation was an animated affair where my parents conversed more than they had in the past year. They asked Chetan all sorts of questions about his job and life in Quebec, his parent’s health, his extended family, and his goals. Hell, if it would have been appropriate, my father would have asked his blood type. There was no doubt they already had a clear idea of how much money he made. These things were discernible character traits that floated through the figurative grapevine connecting all Indian families.

  They extolled my virtues as if they were sales men attempting to unload a luxury automobile. Meena’s going to graduate summa cum laude, my mother boasted. Meena has always been a good student, my father explained. Meena made this entire dinner, my mother bragged, although it was a false claim.

  For his part, Chetan answered all their questions with the required respect, calling my parents Uncle and Auntie, again as was the custom. However, he arrogantly went on about his accomplishments, garnishing every sentence with flourishing hand gestures. He emphasized graduating in the upper percentile of his class at the University of Toronto and his senior position in the acquisitions firm he worked at. He even broke into French and made a few statements none of us could comprehend. I squirmed in embarrassment when my mother clapped as if he was giving a Noble Prize acceptance speech.