“Oh, I don’t think gender means much to the Hindus. Then,” she pointed, “in the middle is Brahma, of course, the creator, with his four heads.”
He squinted and nodded. “Handy.”
“You mean heady.” She quirked her lips. “Beside him is Shiva doing his rapturous dance. He’s the god of death and rebirth, sort of.” She swung her head around. “Oh, and there, the fat one with the elephant head and several arms, that’s Ganesha. And see his rat there, at his feet? That’s his helper. Businesses like him. He removes obstacles.” She laughed softly.
“Fascinating. What about that one?” He pointed to a small one on the end wall.
She twisted around in her chair, and through the corner of her eye, caught him checking his cell phone again, his jaw tight, his brow furrowed. “Mmm. Looks like Krishna. See, he’s got the lotus, the conch shell and a mace. And that small woman beside him is his lover and devotee, Radha. She is a mere mortal.” Please don’t look up, she begged silently. She held her breath as she watched him scan the room, and finally crane his neck up, his mouth opening.
“And these folks?”
She took a deep breath. “They’re not gods either.” She hesitated, regarding his attentive expression through narrowed eyes. “It looks like an illustration from the Kama Sutra, to me. Probably the four embraces.”
She watched as his head whipped around, wincing, but no words emitting from his open mouth. Then he seemed to regain his composure and turned and studied it again, chewing his lip.
“I imagine that’s why Lali thinks this is his best table, reserved for friends,” she added wryly, tongue in cheek.
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t know.” She could see from his hangdog expression that he was telling the truth, though the irony of it obviously hadn’t escaped him either. He was biting back a smile, two spots of color flaring on his ears. He glanced up at it again. “It’s quite beautiful. A flash of grin escaped and changed the subject. “Shall we order?”
Whew. Moving on. She nodded enthusiastically. She was eager to sample the cooking.
“Do you have any favourites? Or is that a stupid question?” he asked.
Kate laughed and opened her menu, scanning it, though she expected she would find mostly familiar dishes. “I’m fond of bhartha. Do you like eggplant?”
“Sure. They do a great lamb korma here,” he suggested.
She made a face. “I avoid red meat as a rule. But go ahead.”
“No. That’s okay. How about the fish korma, then?”
She nodded in agreement. They discussed a few other options. With his nose buried in the menu, Simon said, “And I always leave room for… ”
“Butter chicken?”
He looked up, grinning. “How’d you know?”
“Who doesn’t like butter chicken?” She shrugged.
They ordered their food, which they agreed was more than enough, but that one could hardly complain about taking a little leftover curry home. With their freshly refilled wine glasses, Simon lifted his and offered a toast. “To… good food, and good… friends.” She toasted, silently, and sipped her wine. She supposed he was on the verge of broaching the subject of their past, and waited, the tension building both inside her, and crackling between them. Tucking a strand of hair behind an ear, she examined her fingernails carefully, her breath shallow.
Instead, he launched into a funny story about his travels in Thailand. He’d made friends with some interesting young people who had taken him home, and he’d spent nearly a week shadowing their mother, learning to cook at her elbow. “They all thought I was positively odd. While they went dancing, I was fighting through throngs at the market and chopping vegetables.”
She laughed. “You’re remarkable.”
He waited until their dishes were set before them, the rich aromas of the wonderful food wafting up to fill their nostrils. He served her before filling his own plate and stood poised with his fork held up. “Bon appetit.”
It was excellent food and Kate sampled the various dishes, along with the trio of homemade chutney’s Lali brought in one of those quintessentially Indian serving dishes, with three tiny silver pots on a tripod and three tiny spoons. “Try the tamarind,” she suggested.
With the first wave of their hunger satisfied, they took seconds and ate more slowly, sipping the wine, which, she noted, was an excellent complement to the food, with it’s fruity aroma and mineral base note. She’d have to remember that.
They talked of many things. He was worldly, philosophical, well traveled, adventurous, unpretentious, spiritual, very well read. Kate thought they could really enjoy each other’s company, if only it wasn’t so complicated for her. The contrast to Jay was jarring. Simon frankly fascinated her. He was open to new experiences, and life-long learning, and the wisdom of others, even children. He spoke dotingly about Madison, how amazing she is, how awed he is by her every day. Kate discovered that he still read, watched TV and listened to music simultaneously. She laughed at the memory. He had quite the intellect, but didn’t take himself too seriously.
At a lull in the conversation, he checked his phone once more. Then he took an audible breath. “Look, Kate. I don’t want to poison this.” He waited, searching her face. She stared warily into his lucid blue eyes, the food in her stomach suddenly oppressively heavy. “Regardless of Sharon’s threats, I’m really… really enjoying getting to know you again. I don’t want to ruin it, but… we can’t dance around it. It almost feels like we’re not the same people we were all those years ago. And maybe we’re not. We were only nineteen, Kate. And we saw something in each other then that’s still there, now. But we weren’t really adults yet, were we?”
He made a valid point, but… “We weren’t children either.”
“Which is not to say our experiences weren’t real.” He shook his head. “What I mean to say is, I think the me you knew then was pretty raw. I had a lot to learn. I look back on that time of my life, and— I have regrets. Don’t we all?”
No kidding! She puffed air through her cheeks, suddenly on edge. She couldn’t believe she was sitting across from Simon Sharpe after all these years, actually talking about one of the most traumatic events in her young life. The feeling was unreal, as though she were in a dreamscape, or twisted nightmare. Lali appeared from the shadows and silently swept away their dirty dishes, sensitive to the fact that they were engrossed in private conversation. She nodded for Simon to continue. As long as he was talking, she didn’t have to.
He stared into his wine glass, sluicing it around. “After we went home for the summer that year, I kind of assumed we’d moved on. That was pretty much my modus operandi back then. It was careless. I guess I was cowardly when it came to feelings, but I was too young to consider anything beyond…” He shrugged. “Fun. Anything deeper just wasn’t on my radar yet. I had a plan.”
“I suppose you were quite freaked out when I called then,” she said, cool and curious. She distinctly remembered pining for him all summer long, wondering why he hadn’t called or written, her heart breaking a little more each day. Foolishly, she assumed they would pick up in September where they left off in May.
“I was a typical guy, I guess. I wasn’t looking for anything long-term. Maybe we had something that was worth pursuing. I don’t know. We probably did. But I wasn’t ready for that sort of thing.”
I was! I was in love with you! I thought you felt the same way. Instead she said, “I guess young girls are more romantic, more idealistic perhaps.” If you only knew how in love with you I was! How enraptured, how disgustingly dependent. Part of her wished he could understand what he’d meant to her, but the other part shied away from revealing how damaged she was. Her love was a sickness. Maybe she could get through this with her pride intact. If only it didn’t make her heart ache so, remembering.
“I’m not so sure about that,” he shook his head, closing his eyes. “I had a pretty fixed idea of the ideal woman I was searching for back then. I probably broke a few h
earts as I sifted through the options. It’s not that I… found fault… exactly.” he said, evidently embarrassed by this admission. “It’s only that I was… looking for something specific.”
“Rachel?” she suggested, raising a brow.
He barked with laughter. “That’s the ultimate irony, isn’t it? I guess I got exactly what I deserved.” His eyes darted to his phone, his expression exasperated.
“What were you were looking for?”
He studied her face for a long moment, his brows low, and she felt peculiarly exposed under his scrutiny, as though he were measuring her against that obsolete standard. “I think, in my naïveté, I thought the perfect woman wouldn’t really depend on me, the way my parents’ generation did. She would be self-sufficient and autonomous, having her own life.” His eyebrows came up, chagrinned, as if to say– I got more than I bargained for. “That way, I could have my cake and eat it too. It was something to do with self-determination… freedom. I was terrified of having to sacrifice or share or really commit myself, I don’t know. Just a selfish, immature cad, I suppose. Like you said last week.”
She bit her lip, remembering. “I’m sorry I blew up at you like that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s okay. It got me thinking. Which is a good thing.” He sucked air in through his teeth and ran his hands through his hair. “This is an appropriate time in my life to revisit some of those earlier ideas. I think I’ve come full circle.” He paused, and reached across for her hand, stopping himself, and tentatively touching the tips of his fingers to hers. It was like an electric current, the heat traveling up her arm, and through her body, alarming her. “I’m truly sorry, Kate, if I hurt you. And I assume I did. It matters little now how I justify it.”
Her heart thawed at his words. His apology was sincere, but she sensed, as well, some residual bitterness at his broken dreams, and along with that, a profound sense of loneliness. “You must have wanted to run in the opposite direction whenever you saw me coming, that next fall.” Ugh! Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone?
“No.” His eyes drifted up to the ceiling while he hitched his shoulders. “I was stupid enough to believe that everyone shared my world view. I really had no idea you were hoping for more. But I still enjoyed seeing you… in a way.” His laugh held a skeptical note.
“I felt like a cast-off,” she dared. His honesty gave her courage. “I really thought that… what we had was… something unique,” she ventured, glancing up at the tapestry. “To you I must have seemed like a clinging vine, choking you. I was naïve too, obviously.” She drew out the last word, feeling foolish that her life had fallen apart over something so seemingly innocent.
He gripped her hand now, his face pained. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to cause so much pain. I can’t understand why you didn’t avoid me, given what I did. We seemed to bump into each other an awful lot, over the next couple years.”
She cringed, recalling how much time and energy she’d expended keeping tabs on him, lurking, hoping he would appear. He was her sun and moon and stars. Along with the images came the feelings, long suppressed. Kate’s stomach tightened as she felt the anxiety coming on. Churning gut, cold sweat, shaking. Her vision narrowed, darkened and blurred. There was a buzzing in her ears. She wanted to run, and run far and fast.
He noticed. “Kate? Are you alright? You look like you’re going to faint.”
She thought it was a distinct possibility. She gripped his hands with white fingers.
“I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed. You must have thought I was… was… stalking you or something.” Her head was spinning, dizzy.
He screwed up his face. “Nooo. But, I guess I did get kind of worried. You seemed so forlorn, after a while, and kind of… ” he paused.
“Pathetic?” she offered. She squeezed her eyes closed, echoes of shame and sadness for her screwed up self filling her mind, pressing down on her, and she felt beads of perspiration bloom on her forehead.
“Maybe—needy?—is a better word. I didn’t really know what you wanted from me. By then, I’d met Rachel and I didn’t know what to do when you were around. I couldn’t ask you out. But I thought that party would be safe. A gesture…” He shrugged and squirmed in his seat. “Maybe you would see me with Rachel and take the hint.” Memories of that night hung like a specter over them, persistent, toxic and destructive. She wished she could purge it from their shared memory.
“Is that why you invited me?” Kate stared in disbelief.
“Problem is, she never showed up that night,” he nodded, chagrinned, “and you did. Things were never meant to end up that way.” He pressed her hands, reassuring.
Fragmented images of their cold, fraught, violent coupling flashed in her mind, stirring a nauseous, squeezing reaction in her gut. He’d seemed so frustrated and… what? Furious? Why? She felt numb, detached as he explained his own thoughts and feelings that night. It never occurred to her to wonder what he had been going through.
“I was angry at Rachel for not showing on my birthday. And hurt, deeply hurt. I’d fallen hard for her, but she was hot and cold. I think I took that anger and hurt out on you, for being there instead of her. There you were, your eyes… staring at me.” His eyes glazed over. Finally, he was remembering. “I’m ashamed that I was such a mindless brute, not really caring about you at all, or why you wanted to be there with me,” he whispered. His face reflected something of the pain she felt. “I don’t know why. I couldn’t stand the… the look in your eyes anymore. I guess I wanted to drive you away…” His voice tapered off. “Sex… should never be like that– so cold. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes welled with tears. She shook her head. Her voice was barely audible, quavering. “You didn’t hurt me, Simon, except…” she pressed her shaking hand to her breast, “…except here. I was ill… vulnerable, depressed. I didn’t know what I was doing. It wasn’t really about you; I only… thought it was. I’m so sorry.” Her lips quivered and she squeezed her eyes shut, releasing hot tears that fell onto her hands.
“You’re sorry.” He looked as if he was on the verge of tears himself, his jaw tight and working. He stood up abruptly. “Look. Let’s get out of here. We can go to my place. I make a pretty mean cup of chai,” he said with forced brightness. “Did you drive?”
She shook her head jerkily. “No, I took the bus.” Her words were wooden, and she swiped at her helpless tears with an angry hand, turning her face to the wall.
“Good.” He turned and went to take care of the bill while she sat in stony silence, her eyes following him. Simon was drawn into a friendly debate with Lali, who kept pushing his credit card away and laughing. Finally, Simon acquiesced.
“Good night, Lali.” Simon shook his head and returned to the table, surreptitiously checking his phone again. “Let’s go.”
Kate wrinkled up her nose. “You seem preoccupied with this situation. Maybe I’ll just head home.”
He frowned, lifted her coat up and held it while she slipped it on, then pulled his own on. “No, please. I want to spend time with you. It’s just, I’d like to be at home in case Rachel drops off Maddie.” He cleared his throat.
Out the door, the cold wind whipped their clothing. He wrapped one arm about her shoulders and held on tight, leading her half a block away to where his car was parked.
They drove in silence, regrouping, remembering, pulling themselves together.
His jingling cell phone jarred her nerves. He jumped and seized it quickly. “’lo?” He stole a glance at Kate. She stared out the window, expressionless, giving him space.
He voice was steely hard. “Yesss. Damn it, you can’t do that Rachel! Where the hell have you been?”
She bit her lip and rubbed her hands on her pant legs, picking up on his tension.
He listened a moment. “You should have talked to me first. I felt like an idiot when the school called looking for her. What kind of parents— ” He peered again at Kate, who glanced at him now in concern, he
r brows knit, and he grimaced.
His face registered disbelief. “When are you bringing her home?” He paused, listening. “We’ll talk later.”
He hung up his phone and seethed for several minutes, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, before stealing another look at Kate.
She eyed him nervously. “Everything… alright?”
He nodded weakly, closing his eyes in a slow blink. “It is now. She picked up Maddie from preschool Wednesday afternoon without telling me her plans.” He shook his head, concentrating on the dark road. “She’s never done that before. If anything, she usually brings Maddie back early.”
“I’m sorry. All this time… you must have been worried sick.”
He nodded silently, his jaw clenched tight. “Maybe I’m being paranoid, but lately… I don’t know. I’m worried that she’s suddenly taken more of an interest in Maddie. I think she’s doing it as a power trip, to mess with my head about custody, but… it sends a confusing message to Maddie, too.
The poor man. Kate reached out a hand and gently squeezed his arm. Now she understood how Rachel’s erratic behavior posed a threat.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Once at his house, he settled her on the sofa and quickly built a fire in the fireplace, then slipped into the kitchen to toss the leftovers in the fridge and make a pot of chai. The air filled with the soft sounds of blues guitar. A few minutes later he carried the tray of tea into the living room and set it down in front of her. The fire crackled nicely, warming the room. He looked self-conscious, fidgeting. “Look, I’m sorry about that…”
She smiled, waving away his concerns. “You have a nice house,” she said, to put him at ease.
He poured two mugs of tea, the warm spicy cinnamon and cardamom aromas filling the air.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the mug he handed to her.
He plopped himself down next to her on the sofa and picked up his tea. “Thanks. It’s a good house. Pretty traditional though. Not like your place. I still can’t get over that loft. It really suits you.”
Reconcilable Differences: A 'Having It All' Novel Page 17
