“All Out of Love.”
Eight days. Sixteen. Thirty-two.
Weeks. Months.
Nothing—no word from the girl in Singapore.
Taj thrived on effort, on success, on accomplishment in his life. Somewhere monotony had slipped into the room and was slowly smothering him to death with a pillow.
His routine had been reduced to ten repeating steps, items he could easily check off a daily list. Fred would be so proud.
1. Wake up.
2. Eat breakfast.
3. Go to school.
4. Eat lunch.
5. Go to work.
6. Study.
7. Eat dinner.
8. Study.
9. Get ready for bed.
10. Go to sleep.
Day in, day out. Day in, day out. Day in . . .
The weekends were barely different. On Saturday, Taj would work a double shift. On Sunday, work was replaced with church.
Hamster. Wheel. Round and round he went. Would it ever end?
Worse, every time he dropped into the restaurant to see Daniel, she was there—eternally peering out cheerfully from the wall.
He didn’t dare tell Daniel about his recurring dream—or was it a nightmare? Priya would always be standing on a fog-covered rise, Taj running uphill to reach her—calling, begging, pleading to know if she’d received his package. No matter how hard he ran, or how loud he screamed, or how frantically he thrashed his arms, she would never turn, never acknowledge, never even look in his direction.
She was trapped behind glass.
“Hello, Christopher? It’s Taj, Taj Rowland.”
“Taj. How are you?”
“Frustrated. I sent you more ideas for items to export, and I haven’t heard a word. It’s been a good month, so I’m following up. Did you get them? I sent them by e-mail.”
There was a fumbled pause.
“No, Taj, I’m sorry. I haven’t seen them. I have to go to Chennai to get my e-mail. And I haven’t done that. Can you just tell me what it says?”
Taj squeezed the receiver. “Chris, if I have to call to tell you what my e-mail says, that sort of defeats the purpose of e-mail, don’t you think?”
He could almost hear the man nod. “I see your point.”
“Well, good.”
Christopher promised to do better. Taj agreed to be patient.
Next, Taj slid behind the wheel of his car, aimed toward the school, then pressed the gas to see if he could outrun the cloud that had been hanging over him for days.
As he passed Bombay House, he considered dropping in to tell Daniel about Priya’s package, perhaps to even ask if Daniel wouldn’t mind calling up his sister to find out if it was ever received.
But Daniel’s laugh was hard to forget.
“You! Dating my sister? Of all people!” he’d blurted out when they’d joked together that day in the restaurant.
“I can’t help but wonder . . .” Taj had asked, grinning. “Why is that so funny?”
Daniel patted him on the back. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re a good friend, and while you’re Indian on the outside, you’re American cream-filled all the way to your center.”
“So?”
“So . . . Priya dating an American? Taj, my father would never allow it.”
When Taj arrived home late—not unusual—there was an envelope waiting on his desk. He tore at the eager paper.
It was a wedding invitation. Kelly was getting married. He didn’t bother even looking at the clock before dialing her number.
“You didn’t tell me!” he said the second Kelly answered.
A laugh drifted through the line. “I’d decided it would be more fun to surprise you. Are you surprised?”
“I’m surprised you found a guy with enough patience. Who is he? I want to hear all about it.”
She was like a teenager at girl’s camp. “Do you remember how I was going to draw my own map?”
“I do.”
“It meant doing things that I knew would be hard, very hard. I hadn’t spoken to my mother in over three years, but I’d reached a point in my life where I needed to move past it, to step forward. I mean, how could I hope to help others professionally if I was a mess myself?”
“I don’t think I’d call you a mess.”
“Inside I was. In ways, we all are. Anyway, Taj, I’d had a restraining order out against my stepfather, and in order to see my mother, I had to work with an attorney—an attorney whose name is Jason.”
“You’re marrying an attorney?”
“A fantastic, hard-working, thoughtful, and kind attorney.”
“Those are all oxymorons, but I’m happy for you.”
“Here’s the stunning part. If I hadn’t decided to move on, to forgive my mom—and my stepdad—I would never have met my husband. That is both so profound and terrifying that at times it steals my breath away.” Kelly paused. “But enough about me. How about you? How are you coming with your map?”
Silence betrayed him.
“Come on, let me hear the details,” she coaxed.
“Life right now is like . . . a ship without a rudder . . . in a typhoon. I’m blowing around in circles.”
True to form, Kelly wasted no time. “Your ship metaphor is a bit cliché, but if we’re sticking with it, I’d suggest you need an oar.”
“Here’s the deal, doctor. I’ve already been paddling the hell out of my boat, and all it’s doing is making me dizzy.”
“In that case, Taj,” she said, “quit paddling.”
Taj’s tone lifted. “What do you mean? I’ve read the books, seen the movies. We’re told to never give up, fight to the bloody end, make our own luck . . . blah, blah, blah. Did you not get the memo?”
“I’m not suggesting you give up trying or even hoping. All I am saying is relax. Listen to the wind, feel the water. See where life’s breeze wants to take you. Look, if God wants to give you a bigger oar or two, he will. He has plenty. There are times, however, when he’s trying to blow us one way and we’re paddling like crazy the other. Occasionally we just need to stop and be grateful.”
He said nothing. He was busy thinking.
“Are you there?”
“I hope so.”
“Are you coming?”
“To your wedding? I wouldn’t miss it.”
For dinner, Taj often grabbed something cheap from a vending machine at school, but when his Wednesday night class was canceled, he drove home instead to eat with the family.
“You’ll never guess who I just sold a house to,” Linda said as she passed the mashed potatoes.
When nobody jumped in to play, Taj took his best shot. “Oprah?”
“No, of course not. Daniel, who owns Bombay House. He’s buying a cute little home about three blocks down the street. We’ll practically be neighbors.”
It was arguably interesting news. It had been two or three weeks since Taj had dropped in to see Daniel, but the man had said nothing about buying a home.
“When is he moving?” Taj asked.
“That’s the thing. He was very particular about the closing date because of their milk boiling.”
“Milk boiling?”
“It’s fascinating. It’s like an Indian house warming.” Linda eyes widened. “Daniel was telling me all about it. It’s regarded as second in importance only to a wedding ceremony. It has to be done on a certain day and time that’s determined by astrological charts. Family comes from all over to attend. They boil the milk in a new container until it spills over, which they believe ushers in abundance, and as soon as it boils over, they break a coconut. It’s at that moment the house becomes a home.”
“Wait just a minute,” Taj said, tilting back his head. “Can you back up?”
“To the coconut?”
“Before that. Did you say that family comes . . . from all over?”
“Oh, yes. It’s very important. Daniel said many of his relatives will be there.”
Taj lowered his fork. “Do you know if his parents and siblings are coming from . . .”
Linda finished his sentence. “Singapore? Yes, the entire family.”
Taj straightened, almost laughed. His head lifted. Did angels just begin to sing hallelujah?
“The family will be there!” Taj repeated. By the third time he was shouting with two fists in the air. “THE FAMILY WILL BE THERE!”
Taj pushed himself back from the table, snatched his keys from the counter, and bolted toward the garage door.
“Where are you going?” Linda asked. “What’s the rush?”
“I was begging for an oar, but I just got a motor.”
Her entire face crinkled. “What does that mean?”
The door was already closing. He didn’t have time to explain. He barked his reply, letting it scoot around the door just in time before it slammed shut.
“I’m inviting myself to a milk boiling!”
Chapter 28
Taj hadn’t seen a room packed with so many Indians since London. It was more crowded than Free Appetizer Tuesday at the Bombay House. That proved both good and bad. Bad because he had only twice caught a distant glimpse of Priya mingling with the congregating relatives, giving him no chance to make eye contact and introduce himself. Good because the throng of friends and family made it easy for Taj to avoid her father.
Though house-warming ceremonies could be elaborate, depending on religious and family traditions, Daniel had kept his simple. As a Christian, he claimed it was more cultural than religious, though he was the first to admit the distinction for Indians was like conjoined twins—hard to separate.
The purpose, however, was clear: to purify the space, to cast out negative energy, to bestow health, wealth, peace, and prosperity on the home and its owners.
Like nearly all religious ceremonies, if taken solely at face value, it was rather odd. They were, after all, watching milk boil. Once you scratched beneath the surface, however, even Taj had to agree there was an undeniable beauty in the gathering, with so many friends and relatives all channeling their hopes, hearts, and prayers into the success of a single family.
When it was time, the crowd massed into the kitchen. Taj watched from the back. A prayer was offered, and then Daniel and his wife, wearing new clothes, poured fresh milk into a just-purchased pan which was heated on a brand-new stove.
Milk warmed, swirled, and bubbled. Eager family watched, whispered, and waited. Anticipation rose like steam. A shawled woman with a long neck held her breath. A man with a yellow turban and a parted beard took out glasses and fastened them onto his nose. A young girl, perhaps four, asked her father to lift her up so she could watch the house become a home.
Flames. Bubbles. Steam. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Few sporting events were as tense.
When the milk finally frothed and billowed over the pan, every person in the room cheered—including Taj.
After eating a plate of wonderful food, as expected at the home of a man who owned a restaurant, Taj went in search of Priya.
He started in the basement: mostly children. Next, the back bedrooms: friends, family, no girl. Upstairs: empty rooms, since moving in any of the family’s main furniture before the boiling was strictly forbidden.
Taj was beginning to worry that she’d slipped out until he rounded a corner of the living room in a rush and nearly crashed into her.
She was standing in a semicircle of relatives: mother, aunt, uncle, two brothers—and her father.
“I’m sorry,” Taj said.
Daniel made the introduction. “Family, this is my good friend, Taj Rowland. His mother, Linda, is the real estate agent who sold us our home.”
As Daniel presented his family, Taj tried to pay attention, but the only words he heard were, “Taj, this is my younger sister, Priya.”
Her hand was warm and soft, her fingers slender but firm, and he held her grip much longer than he should have, especially with her father watching.
She was polite enough, shaking his hand with confidence, but her eyes never directly met his. Instead she gazed momentarily past him before pulling away to reach for her glass of water.
Taj turned next to greet her father, a man quite happy to make eye contact—and unless Taj was mistaken, the man’s steely stare seemed to be asking for someone to please pass him an ice pick.
“It is nice to meet all of you,” Taj said.
He was about to excuse himself when Priya’s uncle spoke. “Join us. Daniel was just telling us about his restaurant.”
“Thank you,” Taj replied, flashing an unintentional grin as he stepped in beside Daniel and across from the girl.
“Daniel,” the uncle said, “you never answered. How do people hear about the restaurant? What brings them in?”
The circle listened politely while Daniel expounded on the finer points of restaurant advertising. It didn’t take long before Priya’s aunt—Taj hadn’t caught her name—grew bored with the business talk and shifted the conversation to her niece.
“Priya, are you enjoying your time here?”
“Yes, Auntie,” Priya answered as she reached over and grasped the woman’s hand. “It’s wonderful. I especially love the clean air. It’s just so . . . energizing . . . so soothing.”
It was the first time Taj had heard her speak, and it was like being swaddled in Egyptian cotton sheets while listening to Mozart on a lazy Sunday morning.
Cotton candy.
“It’s because we’re near the mountains,” the aunt replied.
Priya’s finger touched her bottom lip, giving Taj an excuse to stare. “Yes,” she said to her aunt. “I think you’re right—so much sunshine, an endless supply.” Taj could listen to her voice all day—flawless English, with just the slightest adorable accent—but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit her answers were peculiar. He’d chalked up her word choice to cultural differences—until she’d answered that last comment.
His chin rose, but Priya wasn’t finished. “The air and sunshine are great, but even better, we’re all together as family. And, well, here I am. It’s the . . . greatest.” She gathered her small hands to her chest and patted her heart. “It . . . hits me . . . right here.”
The aunt’s head was bobbing—everyone’s head was bobbing. Who wouldn’t agree with fresh air, sunshine, and family?
As the dots connected in Taj’s head he burst into laughter. Everyone in the circle stopped and turned.
“Taj, are you all right?” Daniel asked. “What’s so funny?”
Funny? She was brilliant! The air is soothing? The sunshine is in endless supply? Did she really say here I am? Priya was not only telling him she’d received his gift, Air Supply’s Greatest Hits, but was now quoting its song titles—and nobody had a clue.
Taj’s eyes went immediately to hers, and for the smallest sliver of a second, she glanced back.
Taj straightened. “I didn’t mean to laugh. I just find this conversation fascinating,” he said. “She’s right. It’s terrific here. With the fresh air, even the nights are better.”
Take that! Game on.
She looked at him directly for the first time, “Taj, are you in school? Are you taking the chance?”
“Yes . . . I’ll graduate in business management, and then one day, I’d like to start my own company, but I must add . . .” His gaze ticked around the circle like a roulette wheel. It stopped on Priya. “It’s not easy.” Another song title from Air Supply, this one from their first album. Would she know it?
She smiled. He smiled.
He knew when to quit. “It’s been a pleasure meeting all of you—truly. I think I’ll head to the kit
chen to get some more food. I hope we have a chance to talk again.” He was addressing the group but knew she’d get the message.
As Taj walked away, Priya’s aunt leaned over to Daniel. The woman didn’t realize Taj could still hear.
“Your friend seems like a pleasant young man, but he’s a bit odd.”
By late in the afternoon, Taj and a handful of relatives had helped Daniel move in his furniture. Taj was resting alone on the front steps when Priya stepped through the door and out onto the porch.
Taj stated the obvious first. “You speak Air Supply.”
It caused a smile. “A little,” she admitted. “I wondered how long it would take you to notice. Thank you for the CD.”
He combed dirty fingers through his sweaty hair. “I’m glad to know you got it.”
“How long have you known Daniel?” she asked.
“A while. A few months. He’s a good guy—and he can cook!”
“Ha, yes, that he can.” She glanced back through the front door before she stepped closer, as if nervous someone might be watching.
“Will you be here long? In town, I mean?” Taj asked. They were casual words with impatient eyes.
“I’m not certain,” she said almost in a whisper. “My family is in town for another ten days, but I’m thinking about going to school here. It’s one of the reasons we came out—besides the milk boiling.”
Had he heard right? His voice jumped a pitch with surprise. “When will you decide?”
“I have an appointment with a counselor tomorrow.”
“And your father is okay leaving you here?”
“Is it dangerous here?” she asked, laughing.
“No, I just . . .”
She knew exactly what he was asking. “My brother’s here. Besides, I’ll get a better education than in Singapore. In that regard, he can’t object, can he?”
She glanced back over her shoulder again toward the house, and then answered the unasked question. “I believe he’s napping.”
Ask now. ASK NOW! His head was screaming to his lips. Before her father wakes up and ends this conversation!
“Can I buy you lunch sometime?”
The Orphan Keeper Page 25
