Variables of Love

by M. K. Schiller

  “Ethan, I am a psychologist. I saw the way you looked at Meena was not the way you looked at Rachael. In fact, I have never seen you look at any girl that way.”

  “Rachael is not my girlfriend. Meena is, or I guess I should say…Meena was.”

  I gave my mother the whole beautiful mess of us so she’d understand why I was so conflicted. It didn’t seem right to describe it as a fling or affair. It was so much more than that. My mother listened with rapt attention as I went on about how this girl came into my life and made me feel things that my cynical, scientific mind didn’t think were possible. And then how she left me, and now I was struggling to feel anything but empty. It helped to talk about it.

  “You’ve been keeping a lot from me, son.”

  “I didn’t think it would matter if you knew. After all, it was just supposed to be a temporary thing.”

  “Sometimes it’s those temporary things that leave the biggest impressions on our heart.” She stood up and pointed to the painting, “She painted this?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s very good.”

  “I know. She’s talented. I’ve told her, but she doesn’t believe me.”

  “It’s a sad painting.”

  “Sad? I wouldn’t say sad. It’s a couple looking at each other. I would say…it’s romantic?” I asked.

  “No, Ethan, they are not quite looking at each other. They’re looking past each other to a point that’s beyond the canvas. Do you see?”

  I stood next to her. I’d examined this painting so much, studying every color, curve, and line. How had I not seen that? The heads were tilted in such a way that it was apparent they weren’t staring at each other like I’d thought.

  “You’re right, and you know what? That’s really perfect.” I sat back down.

  “Ethan, I know you’re heartbroken, but you have to understand she didn’t do that purposefully.”

  “I know that. She was honest about everything.”

  “Cultural ties are some of the strongest bonds there are. I knew enough sitting at that table that it was best to not bring up the focus of my occupation. Every one of you seemed to be struggling with some kind of pain. It’s funny how modern and archaic we are at the same time. Ethan, you have to forgive her, or you won’t be able to move on.”

  “I’m not angry with her.”

  “You are. I can see that. Anger is a useful tool at times, but it never really solves the problem.”

  She was right. I was angry with Meena for abandoning me. For not choosing me when it seemed so simple.

  My mother moved on into a litany of how the heart was the most amazing organ, and it could mend its pain. She was speaking metaphorically, but I wanted to correct her and say the heart was the weakest organ. Typically, it was the first to go and the most complex to fix, but I didn’t. I was quiet and nodded. My mom could usually make me feel better with her words—she was a psychologist, after all—but right now, I just wanted to be sad. It seemed like the best emotion for me. It fit.

  “I know you hate my cookies,” she said suddenly.

  “What? Why would you say that? I love them.”

  She laughed. “I wanted to make sure you were paying attention, but it’s true. I know you hate them, and I love you for that.”

  “Is this some sort of reverse psychology?” I asked in complete confusion.

  “Hardly. I bake them because it makes me feel good to do something for you no matter how small. You pretend to like them because you know it makes me feel good. You’re a very good man, Ethan, and I’m a very lucky mom. I know you’re hurting right now, but I also know there’s a horizon. A point beyond the canvas that you need to focus on, so you can get past the pain and live for your present.”

  “You mean the future, right? Live for the future.”

  “No, Ethan, I said it right. Live in the present. That’s where we all need to live.”

  Chapter 28

  I ENROLLED IN A FEW GRADUATE CLASSES at Boston College. I stayed at the apartment with my father. He ignored me, and I helped him in the illusion by being invisible. He didn’t start conversations with me unless it was about school or a possible marriage candidate. I would only ask him about work or what he wanted for dinner. Those were the acceptable topics of discussion and allowed us to function with each other.

  I emailed or texted Raj and Rachael all the time, but it wasn’t the same. Raj was in India, and Rachael was in England. I was all alone. I missed my friends, especially friend number three. I thought about Ethan constantly—what he was doing and, more specifically, who he was doing it with. I remembered how girls threw themselves at him. He was the intelligent, sweet guy who was incredibly handsome and unassuming. He was the perfect guy, at least to me. Who am I kidding? He was to most girls.

  I vehemently rejected Chetan, and my parents finally accepted that. They arranged new prospects for me, but I found excuses why they weren’t a suitable match. I was putting off the inevitable. My mother lamented that I was being too picky. My father said it was the most important decision of my life, so he understood my high standards, but I could see he was becoming increasingly frustrated as well. What both of them couldn’t understand was that I was in deep mourning. I was grieving like they were for a boy who had been taken from our family before his time, and also for the boy I left behind.

  The summer days passed in slow, miserable agony, leaving me consumed with sadness. At the end of the semester, I moved back to Mashpee, deciding I needed a break from school to start life. My parents disapproved, but they figured I was young and should make the decision on my own. It was irony at its best.

  Mashpee was beautiful all the time, but I especially loved the fall, when everything smelled fresh and clean. The trees boasted bright canopies of color in hues that were so vibrant they didn’t seem real. I sketched them, but I didn’t do them any justice. I didn’t have the right mindset to appreciate the beauty that surrounded me, although I knew it was there.

  I spent most nights with the telescope Ethan sent me, trying to find Cygnus. It didn’t appear as bright or beautiful as it had last New Year’s Eve. I wondered if he was looking at it too. I slept with Bog, the bear-dog Ethan had won for me at the carnival. My mother threatened to throw it out, saying I was too old for stuffed animals. It was funny since I’d never had one, but I managed to save him from her threats. I clutched that poor imitation of an animal every night because it was the only thing that let me sleep.

  One day in late September, Raj called me on my cell. He told me all about living in India. I knew most of it from his emails, but it was so good to hear his voice. He seemed to be making a life for himself, going to graduate school there and learning to find his way in a culture that was ironically foreign to him. We never discussed Ethan, but Raj and he still kept in touch, so I almost dropped the phone when he mentioned Ethan’s name.

  “What did you say?” I demanded.

  “Ethan was in the hospital…” Raj repeated.

  “Why?”

  “He—” The line went dead, and I felt my heart did too. Fucking dropped call.

  I screamed Raj’s name into the phone, willing him to answer me although our connection was broken. My mom banged on my bedroom door and told me to be quiet so she could work. I called him again, but a cold voice recording told me the circuits were all busy.

  Was Ethan hurt? Was he sick? He was so healthy and vibrant. I had to know. My heart was beating wildly in my chest, and my mind was racing with all the terrifying possibilities. I’d sworn after I said I would see him in the next life that I would never contact him again. Any communication, no matter how small, would be unfair—not to me, but to him. This was an emergency, though, and my heartbeat wouldn’t return to normal until I’d heard his voice.

  I punched number three in my contacts. I’d meant to delete his number, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  I expected to get his voice mail, but he answered on the second ring. “Sunshine?”

&nbs
p; I was breathing so heavily he probably thought it was a prank call. His voice sounded weak and distant although the line was clear.

  “Ethan, are you okay?” My voice quivered, giving away my emotional state. I didn’t care. All I cared about was the answer to my question.

  “I think I should ask you the same thing. You sound like you’re hyperventilating. Take some slow, shallow breaths, Meena.”

  I couldn’t believe he was trying to comfort me right now. “Why were you in the hospital? Please, don’t lie to me.”

  “I’ve never lied to you. Just calm down first.”

  “I can’t. Tell me.” I sounded hysterical, and he was completely calm.

  “I broke my leg playing hockey.”

  I exhaled. It wasn’t life-threatening at least. “You don’t play hockey. You’re a really bad skater.” It sounded stupid that I was explaining this to Ethan like he didn’t know.

  “Hence, I broke my leg,” he replied. I had no idea how he could make me laugh when I thought I was having a heart attack, but he did.

  “Is there someone taking care of you?”

  “Yes, my mother came. She’s staying with me. I’m fine, Meena. Breathe.”

  He was silent while I controlled my breathing. I felt ridiculous. “I’m glad you’re fine. I’m sorry I bothered you. I just…Raj told me, but the line went dead. I wanted to make sure. And I’m really sorry for bothering you. Goodbye.” It was a litany of excuses, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  I was about to hang up when he said, so softly I almost wondered if I’d heard it or imagined it, “Don’t go.”

  “Ethan—”

  “I miss you. Just talk to me.”

  “What should we talk about?”

  “Anything. I just want to hear you again.” There was a pleading in his voice that melted my heart, but it also made me come to my senses. It was wrong to put him through the emotional mess of me again.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “We were friends once. Remember me? I’m friend number three. We can be again. Just tell me what you did today. Just talk.”

  “I had an interview.” There was a whooshing sound as Ethan inhaled, and I quickly added, “A job interview.”

  “What was the position?”

  “Bank teller.”

  “Really?” he asked with clear surprise.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being a bank teller, Ethan.” I didn’t mean it to sound haughty, but it did.

  “No, there’s nothing wrong with it, if that’s what you want to do, but I don’t think it’s right for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Meena, you graduated summa cum laude from Stanford. It just seems like a waste of your education.”

  “There aren’t a lot of choices in Mashpee, and the commute to Boston is brutal.” I didn’t want to tell him about the failed experiment of living with my father in that rented apartment in the city. “Besides, I really don’t want to start a job that will be difficult for me to leave. I don’t know what my future plans are.”

  “Because you might end up moving to Quebec?”

  “I’m not moving to Quebec for sure, but you’re right. I don’t know where I’ll be.”

  “It sounds like you’re putting your life on hold, Meena.”

  “I should go. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound judgmental. Let’s not talk about you anymore. Let’s talk about me. I’m far more interesting.”

  I laughed. He always had an uncanny ability to make me laugh when I needed it the most.

  We talked for an hour about his injury, his exciting job in New York, and his horrible attempts at becoming a decent hockey player. He told me about Darren and Alex and what they were up to as well as a few other mutual friends. He filled up the empty space, and I listened to him, enjoying every word until we were interrupted by call waiting.

  “Raj is calling me on the other line,” I said.

  “You should answer.”

  “Bye, Ethan.”

  “Are you busy on Thursday night?”

  “No.” In truth, I wasn’t busy on any night.

  “I’ll call you at eight.”

  “Nine. I eat dinner around eight.”

  “That’s pretty late for dinner.”

  “It’s an Indian thing.”

  “Nine o’clock then.”

  We never talked about it officially, but Thursday nights became our night. He’d call every week. We’d talk for hours about everything and nothing at all. We stayed away from any tense topics. Ethan never told me he was dating, but I suspected he was. I never told him about my other interviews, the ones I dreaded.

  He’d tell me about New York, his colleagues, or just interesting people he encountered on the street. I’d tell him about my job at the bank, which wasn’t very interesting, but he listened and asked questions as if I were building a rocket. My colleagues didn’t like me very much. They thought I was stuck-up because I was standoffish. Truthfully, the sadness followed me around like a shadow that threatened to envelop me. But on Thursday nights, I smiled and laughed just enough to make up for the rest of the week.

  It was mid-November, and Ethan sounded different tonight. He was telling me about a lucrative deal he’d brokered when he stopped mid-sentence. “What kind of questions do you ask?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “During your interviews for potential mates. What do you ask?”

  “You don’t want to know this.”

  “I do, or I wouldn’t have asked. I’m curious.”

  “I have a working list of questions.”

  “Such as?”

  “What is your favorite color, for one.”

  Ethan laughed. “You can’t acquire any information from someone by asking that.”

  “I think you can. I mean, your favorite color is brown so I know you’re earthy and appreciate nature.”

  “I said that because I was looking at your eyes at the time. You need to ask something more meaningful. Otherwise, you won’t know this guy.”

  “Why do you care?”

  He ignored the question. “Ask him what he would do to make you feel better if you had a bad day.”

  “That’s a good question.” I couldn’t believe we were discussing this after we’d carefully avoided the topic for so long.

  “You like your feet rubbed, a plate of fresh cut fruit, preferably pineapple and strawberries. And watching Austin Powers. It always makes you laugh, especially the third one.”

  “Ethan, what are you doing?”

  “I was just giving you the answer. It’s stupid to ask a question without the answer key.”

  I laughed nervously. “Why would he know that? He doesn’t know me.”

  “Yeah, I guess he’d never say something like that, huh. Your questions need to be refined. You need to take this seriously. It’s the most important decision you’ll ever make.”

  “I have to go, Ethan,” I said. I could hear the melancholy in his voice, and it was contagious. This was a bad conversation for us.

  “Your birthday’s coming up,” he announced, swiftly changing the topic.

  “Thanks, but I knew that.”

  “Do you have plans?”

  “Um…I’m sure I’ll go out with some friends from work,” I said nonchalantly.

  “You don’t have any friends from work.”

  “How did—”

  “I can read between the lines.”

  “I’ll figure it out. I should go. Good night.”

  “Sweet dreams,” he stated as he always did when we ended these conversations.

  I settled into bed, clutching Bog. I was almost asleep when the text message came.

  Come to New York for your birthday.

  That’s a horrible idea.

  Tell you what. I’ll pro your cons.

  I smiled, remembering this game fondly.

  Con: My parents would freak if I told


  them I was going to visit a boy.

  Don’t tell them. It’s not like they know

  about me anyway. Tell them you’re going

  shopping or visiting a girlfriend.

  It’s just a short train ride away.

  He was right on all accounts.

  Con: It will be too difficult for us.

  I promise we will be platonic—Friends only.

  We can do that. We have before. PRO: I’ll

  help you with your interview questions.

  It will only be weird if we make it weird.

  Things are different now.

  I promise I no longer have any physical

  interest in you. I realized you are way too

  skinny for me and your ass is bony.

  I laughed.

  Very funny. You know what comments

  like that do to a woman?

  Yeah, it makes you want to beat me up,

  so there’s another pro for you. You can’t

  beat me up unless you come here.

  Sorry, I’m not a violent person so

  that won’t work on me.

  Pro: You won’t spend your birthday alone. Pro:

  I won’t spend Thanksgiving alone. It falls on

  your birthday this year. Pro: I want to see you.

  I miss my friend. Do it for me, not for you.

  For you?

  What else have I got to do?

  Chapter 29

  I ARRIVED AT PENN STATION in the early afternoon, anxious but excited to spend three days with Ethan. We hadn’t seen each other in almost six months. My heart twisted and my pulse quickened when I spotted him.

  He was wearing a crisp black suit in a modern cut that emphasized his sleek physique. He had a green and white polka dot tie that was formal enough for business, but whimsical too. His hair was shorter, but his bangs still forked over his forehead, creating a focal point toward those brilliant blue eyes. I had said goodbye to a boy back in Palo Alto, but this was definitely a man standing in front of me. I smiled as I approached him, but faltered when he didn’t return it. He looked…angry.

  “You look nice,” I said to him.

  He took my bag and gave me an awkward pat on the back as if any other greeting would have been too much. “I came from work.”