I nodded.
Josh had always treated me like a sister. I appreciated his strength and presence so much more today. How he showed me both sides to Naina and Rohan.
Josh said a good night and closed the door behind him.
I put the glass in the kitchen sink and walked to my room. Ever since Mumma’s death, I’d searched the sky at nights to feel comforted. Some days, the stars brightened up my life and gave me the space I craved; on other nights, I found the stars and they allowed me to hide. I didn’t close the blinds in my room, so I could see “Mumma Star”—the brightest star in the sky—or whatever ones I could make out, given the ambient light in NYC.
- 17 -
Next morning when I woke up, it was still dark outside. I looked at my phone: 5:05 a.m. My body was sore, as if I had climbed a hill five times the night before. The sound of my own breathing hurt my head. I tied my hair into a knot and quietly went into the bathroom.
Looking at my face in the mirror, I noticed my eyes were swollen. “Crying doesn’t look good on you, beta,” Mumma would always tell me and wipe my tears with her hands. How I wish she had let me fight my battles and wipe my own tears instead of turning me into an overprotected, oversheltered weakling who felt clueless at every difficult juncture in life.
I brushed my teeth and tried to relax my entire body as I sat on the toilet. Thinking about my meltdown at the club, I felt embarrassed. I looked at the clock: 5:20 a.m. I jumped into the shower and got dressed for a 6:30 a.m. yoga class. The past week had been a lot, and I needed deep inhales and exhales to jumpstart my weekend. I pined for Mumma and wished more than anything she could join me on the mat. Two years before Mumma died, for Mother’s Day, I had ordered a Manduka yoga mat for her. She had yelled at me when she found out I had spent close to $200 on the colorful, eco-friendly, top-quality yoga mat, a few accessories, and shipping. But Mumma took that mat with her everywhere. Every conference. Every trip. Every vacation. “It’s music to my knees, beta,” she would say.
I changed into my purple yoga pants and a black halter tee, and wore a hoodie on top of it. Tiptoeing around the apartment, so as not to wake up Naina and Josh in case he had spent the night, I put my keys and money in my jacket pocket.
I went into the kitchen to fill up my water bottle. Carefully moving through memories and the dark living room, I wore my sneakers and quietly opened the main door so it wouldn’t squeak.
“Good morning,” I greeted the doorman on duty in the lobby.
When I stepped out into the streets, my bare legs felt cold. But my lungs and heart filled with gratitude—there was no one staring, throwing insults, wolf-whistling, stalking, or groping me. How often women in New Delhi were reminded that public spaces were not for them. How effortlessly I asserted my claim of public spaces in New York.
I liked reaching the studio early in the morning and sitting on the stairs of the brownstone, watching the world not move. I checked my phone: 5:45 a.m.
I heard someone call my name. I didn’t pay any heed. There was no one in New York who would look for me at this hour. I heard my name again. I finally looked up and saw the last person I had expected to see: Rohan Brady.
He was crossing the street and simultaneously calling out to me.
“Getting old and losing your hearing?” He bent down, his hands on his knees, and breathed loudly.
I stared at him hard. I checked the time. It was 5:51 a.m.
“Aah. You are giving me the cold shoulder?” Rohan stood up straight. He was in his workout clothes.
I stood up, dusted my buttocks, and walked toward the end of the street. I didn’t want to disturb those asleep.
He followed behind.
“What are you doing here, Brady?” I turned around and asked him.
“What do people do at a yoga studio?”
“Neither do you practice yoga nor do you wake up this early.” The words glided out of my mouth.
He stretched his arm over his head and stood in front of me. “I came here this morning because I felt bad about last night.”
I crossed my arms across my chest.
Rohan sucked in his lips. “Sorry to have wasted your morning.”
I dragged my feet. Breathing deeply, I said, “I am tired of going unseen. I am sick of not mattering to people.”
Rohan made meaningful eye contact. “What are you talking about? You matter to me, Ahana.”
I stared at him with a million thoughts running through my head. I have faulty instincts. Yes, I have attracted jerks like Dev and Jay into my life. But it’s not like I want to hurt myself. They were both nice men in the beginning. Sure, they both eventually exploited my kindness. And it’s changed my ability to trust men. But I have led a bloody protected life; I can’t identify deceit.
“I’ve been thinking all morning. For a few weeks now, actually.” I shook my head.
Rohan patiently waited for me to complete my thoughts.
I paced up and down the street. It was cold out; I covered my hands with the sleeves of my jacket. “Mumma never trusted me to make my own decisions. Maybe that’s why I could never tell my mother the truth about my marriage. I feared she’d be disappointed. I wondered if she would accept me in all my strengths and weaknesses.”
“I don’t know what to say, Ahana.” Rohan tried to hold my shoulders, but I pushed him away.
“I am sick of walking around on eggshells with people. If I ever bring up my suspicions about Jay, Naina starts with her criticism. I tried discussing him with you last night, and you called me stupid.”
“Sorry—”
I interrupted him, “I am done. I am so done with people not respecting me and hearing my side. I string Jay along because I fear he knows about my past, and he might use it to emotionally blackmail or hurt me.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “I have worked way too hard on this conference and myself for anyone to tarnish my reputation.” I pressed my temples.
He offered me his handkerchief. I blew my nose into it.
He looked at me with kindness. “I’m sorry for everything you have been through. And if I hurt you. I am and will always be on your side.” Rohan walked toward me. “Let’s bury the hatchet.”
I abruptly caught him by both his wrists. “You didn’t think I acted stupid and slutty last night?”
Rohan looked shocked. “You have way too much intelligence and class to ever be ‘slutty.’” He used air quotes. “I was there, as were Naina and Josh. We wouldn’t have let anything happen to you. Allow yourself mistakes and fun, Ahana.”
He gave me a hug. “You’re the most amazing person I know. You make me a better person, Ahana.”
I leaned into him and held him tightly. I didn’t care that we were in public. I needed Rohan to remind me that all men weren’t jerks. I needed Rohan to remind me that even though sometimes I was immature in my reactions, it was OK. That’s what made me human.
* * *
In yoga class, I picked up two mats and put them side-by-side. Rohan confessed that he had never done yoga before.
I unzipped my hoodie and readjusted my halter neck tank top. Rohan glanced at me but didn’t say anything. I noticed that Sheila adjusted Rohan plenty during the class. He left the more difficult poses quickly and went back to child’s pose and corpse pose.
As Sheila instructed us to get into Warrior I followed by Warrior II after a dozen sun salutations, just like that, the heaviness in my heart went away. Just like that, the tightness in my chest dissipated. It was in that moment I understood the difference between good and bad friends. Good friends fight in a relationship to fight for the relationship. Good friends never abandon you. Good friends help you deal with the darkness enveloping you.
As we got into Savasana, corpse pose, after seventy-five minutes, I felt at peace. That was the magic of yoga. It allowed me to pause and gave me the opportunity to introspect. When we sat up and chorused three “Oms,” we all bent our heads down and brought our palms together. The class echoed: “Namaste.”
Mumma was not on a mat next to me, but the universe had sent Rohan. He made me feel safe and calm.
“When did you learn to move like this?” Rohan asked as he rolled his mat.
“I’ve been practicing yoga for as long as I can remember.” I picked up my mat and put it in the bin marked “dirty mats.”
Sheila interrupted us. “Your boyfriend is cute. Chatty but cute.”
“Noooo. Nooo. No. No. Noooo.” I took a deep breath and that turned into an absurd smile as I said, “No! He is not my boyfriend. We are colleagues.”
“Nice to meet you, Sheila.” He extended his hand. “I’m Rohan, by the way, and getting the idea that I’m not her boyfriend.”
Rohan’s joke elicited a laugh from Sheila where it was awkward just a second ago.
I thanked her for the class. Sheila excused herself to speak with other students.
Rohan turned to me. “I am your colleague, eh? Not even a friend.”
“I got flustered, yaar. I’m sorry.” I spoke tentatively.
I think we were both surprised at how honestly we told each other how we felt. Being around Rohan made me less defensive—he quickly forgave and moved on. Neither Dev nor Jay were that way. They both held onto grudges and sharpened them into weapons for when I was at my weakest.
I switched on my phone as we stepped outside the studio. There was a text from Naina. “I’m sorry about last night. We need to talk. I’m home until noon. Can you see me before I head out? Love you loads, Nainz!” There was another message from work. I started to type but Rohan interrupted me.
“I am standing right here and you are ignoring me now.” Rohan spread his arms and then brought them dramatically to his chest.
“You should have been an actor!”
“Why, thank you.” He bowed down.
“Sorry; this is an important message.” I looked at the screen and thought of the best way to respond to Jen from work.
“Text from an admirer?” Rohan lifted his left eyebrow and gave me a cheeky smile.
“If Jen falls under that category.” I smiled back at him.
“Jen texted you? Is everything all right, Ahana?”
“Nope. Hedick made another, even more aggressive move to steal credit for the conference. Jen is at work today and found his email printouts.”
Rohan came to my defense. “I know from freelance writers that we can start a murmur about the irony of a guy trying to stifle the female organizer of a women’s empowerment conference.” He stared into my eyes. “But for it to work, you need to have a sharp sound bite, even an aggressively sarcastic one. Can you do that, Ahana? It’s a gamble, but if it works, he’ll fall all over himself getting out of your way.”
“Ugh. Let me sleep on it. I’m going to go home and work on the details of the poster—the one for the entrance at the conference.”
“You are gonna work on this gorgeous day?”
“Why not?”
“We are going to a bar in NOHO. Hang out with me; you’ll get to meet some of my friends, too.”
“That’s really sweet. But I’d much rather stay in tonight.”
Rohan’s face changed expression. “Don’t be an Indian aunty. One of my friends just returned from Delhi. You guys can talk about the Qutab Minar or something.”
“Haha; look who’s stereotyping now?” I arched my left eyebrow.
“You said last night that you were missing Delhi.” Rohan sucked his lower lip.
“Can I think about it?”
“Text me if you change your mind.”
Rohan whistled and a cab stopped. He had this unique charm where people stopped in their steps for him.
I waved at Rohan and started to walk but not before pulling out my phone from my jacket to check whether there were any messages from Jay.
Naina would say, “Ahana, you know how to sabotage your happiness.”
She was right.
Jay had posted a picture of a wilted rose on social media. And the caption read, “Emotionally raped.”
I never did learn to take the word “rape” lightly. I instantly sent him a private message.
“Hey, everything OK?”
“You are my true friend. You always know when I am low and depressed.” Jay knew what parts of me would get triggered and respond.
“What happened?”
“I was insulted by someone I trusted a lot.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I felt my throat closing—I had been in the same place the night before with Naina. “Who is this person?”
Jay went silent. Typical.
“I guess you don’t want to talk. Take care of yourself.” I wrote to him.
“You are the only friend I have and you too are leaving me,” he replied right away.
“I didn’t abandon you. You didn’t write back.”
A few minutes later, he sent a note. “It’s Amanda from our therapy group.”
“I didn’t realize you guys were friends.”
“We were close.”
OK, this was news to me. Not that Jay needed to announce names of people he was friends with, but Amanda, he, and I were part of the same therapy group. It felt like he had purposefully hidden that information.
I was lost in my own thoughts when the sound of several incoming messages broke my reverie.
“Now you have abandoned me too?”
Oh, my God! I took a deep breath. “Jay, I am trying to understand your situation.”
“What is there to understand? History repeated itself, Ahana. I go out of my way to accommodate people and they kick me to the curb when they are done with me,” he replied.
“Were you guys dating?”
“We live thousands of miles apart. How could we date?”
“OK. Did you love her?” I was angry at Jay for throwing his problems at me without even having mentioned he had a personal life or problems to begin with.
“If I didn’t meet her, how could I love her?”
“We have all had friendships die and friends move on. But the way you are reacting, it seems like more than a friendship, Jay.”
“I helped her cope with a heartbreak. Amanda’s last boyfriend dumped her when she was least expecting it. I tried to show her that there are good men like me out there.”
“That is nice of you.” It wasn’t easy for me to fake anything, but I did my best.
“She’s had a rough life. Her father abused her. Her mother witnessed everything but did nothing about it. I was the sweet, lovable friend in her life she could be goofy with. We had the same interests in food and music. That bitch….”
Wow! Jay not only revealed all of Amanda’s secrets because he was angry with her, but he didn’t think twice before calling her names. Is this how he speaks about me to others when we argue?
I have no idea why I asked Jay what I did next. “What does Amanda do for a living?”
“She’s an investment banker.”
“Nice!”
“We were supposed to meet and start a business together.”
“In New York?” I wanted to see what he would say.
“If I could afford New York, wouldn’t I come to visit you?”
I ignored his flattery. “Where does Amanda live?”
“In Ohio. She was going to come visit me in Louisiana.”
I wondered why an investment banker lived in Ohio instead of New York or Silicon Valley. “I didn’t realize you guys were such good friends.”
“Awww, don’t be jealous, Ahana. No one can be cuter than you.”
All my Zen bubble broke and I wanted to reach across the phone and punch Jay. Who did he think he was, and where did he think he got the authority to talk to me the way he did?
“Why did she cancel?”
“I have no idea. She said I was too exhausting. Fuck her! I helped that bitch all this time and when it’s her turn to repay, she said NO!”
“I am so sorry, Jay.”
“Yeah. She insulted me repeatedly over email. She has done this in th
e past and I forgave her.”
I tried asking in a different way. “Did she give a reason?”
“Nope. The bitch probably has fucking PMS. Who cares about her? I have you, Ahana. My best friend!”
“Sure.”
“I wish we could hang. And throw stones at ugly, mean, fat people.”
“Or we could grab a chai? Another option.” I was repulsed by Jay, but I didn’t want him to know that, so I ended the sentence with a smiley. “Do you miss her a lot?” Jay was opening up; I needed to know what was going on.
“We were friends for ages. There were feelings involved.”
How could they have been ‘friends for ages’? Our online therapy group was slightly over a year old. Jay had never even met Amanda.
I squinted because the sun was high enough to glare off of my phone.
He quickly added. “But Amanda has changed. She isn’t the same person I met.”
Met? Asshole, you’ve never seen her!
“I feel bad, Jay.” I played along. “How about picking up the phone?”
“I am not going after someone who doesn’t see the value in my friendship.”
Wow, Jay was selfish, abusive, and narcissistic. When he’d lied to me about his partner, I let it go because I knew how belittling it was for me to admit to anyone I was a divorcée and a survivor of sexual assault. Who was I to judge what kind of shame Jay carried around. But lying to me about Amanda made me squirm.
I needed to figure out the level of danger I was in—was it just an emotional threat? Or could I finally listen to my gut and feel that Jay was maneuvering me into position for something? Could it be physical danger, too? The heavy silence of the moment made me breathe harder.
The only way to find answers was by keeping my lines of communication open with Jay.
- 18 -
When I reached Naina’s apartment, she was clad in her pajamas, drinking coffee. Always strong. Always black. Always fresh. Her taste in coffee spoke so much about the person she was: unabashedly bold.
I put my keys on the keychain holder and took off my shoes. I reorganized the stack of newspapers on one of the side tables. Naina had all the space and intention to stay organized, but structure just wasn’t her.
Louisiana Catch Page 18
