Jilted: A Love Letters Novel

by Kristen Blakely

  She didn’t love Bharat; Jon was certain of that much. Leaving the relationship wasn’t an option, not to him. It had only been one dinner—one disastrous dinner—but it was still too early to walk away.

  Jon sat up in bed and reached for his smartphone to send a message to his business partner, Marisa. Will be in Baltimore for a few more days. Urgent business.

  Within moments, her reply appeared on the screen. No problem. All under control here. Hope all works out on your end.

  A ghost of a smile flicked over Jon’s face. Yeah, so I do.

  Jon leaned against the buzzer and glanced at his watch when the door did not open. It was almost noon. Anjali had to be awake; she was an early riser. He knocked on the door. “Hey, Ange. It’s me.”

  The lock clicked back, and the door flung open. Anjali stood in the doorway with a tentative smile that might as well have screamed, “I’m not alone.”

  Yeah, well, so much for his high hopes. He peered past her. Her parents, Bharat’s parents, and Bharat sat in her living room. Several people spoke at the same time; their conversation punctuated by loud laughter.

  “I was wondering if you were free for lunch,” he said, his voice deliberately casual.

  He had not tried to time his comment, but it hit a lull in the conversation and his voice carried through the silence.

  Anjali’s eyebrows drew together in the beginnings of a gesture loosely translated to, “What the hell are you thinking?” If she were alone, she would almost certainly have put that question into words. Jon stifled the ironic chuckle. The dampening effect her parents had on her loquacity had saved him from her mini-OMG-rant.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the people gathered in her living room. “I don’t know if now’s a good time—”

  “Oh, go ahead.” Bharat’s mother waved her hand at them. “We can take care of ourselves. Go for lunch.”

  “You go too, Bharat.” Anjali’s mother patted Bharat on the back, hard enough to propel him to his feet.

  Jon nodded at Bharat, but his throat was tight. Even Anjali’s voice had sounded subdued, as if her natural energy were suppressed. Heck, he would have welcomed the rant if only as evidence that the vivacious woman he loved had not been emotionally crushed by her family.

  Bharat grabbed his sports jacket he had slung over the back of the couch and joined Jon and Anjali at the door. His dark eyes glazed over Anjali to lock on Jon. “Shall we?” His tone was mild, but it did not require any imagination on Jon’s part to hear a hint of hostile curiosity in Bharat’s voice.

  Anjali tugged the door close. Jon frowned as he studied her stiff, jerky motions. Her shoulder and back muscles had probably tensed into knots; she needed another a massage. He reached into his pocket for his car keys. “I’ll drive.”

  Within fifteen minutes, Jon, Anjali, and Bharat were settled around a small table in a Japanese restaurant in nearby Charles Village. The glass window offered an outstanding view of the sloping lawn in front of Johns Hopkins University, with the white columned Homewood House in the background.

  “Have you been here before?” Bharat paid no attention to the view or his surroundings as flipped through the menu. “What would you recommend?”

  “We usually order the sushi boat for two when we come here.” Jon did not wince when Anjali kicked him under the table. “But I suppose it’s not entirely appropriate right now. Their teppanyaki set meals are quite good too.”

  Bharat’s lips twisted into a faint smirk. He looked up at the waitress. “I’ll have a yakisoba with fried tofu. Thanks.”

  Jon waited until the waitress collected all their orders and left the table before looking at Bharat. “Is this your first visit to Baltimore?”

  “I was here many years ago, interviewing with Johns Hopkins Medical School. That would have been…wow…thirteen years ago. What about you? You sound like you’ve been here before.”

  “Lived here for four years.” Jon nudged his head across the street at Johns Hopkins University. “Went to school there.”

  “I see,” Bharat said. “What did you major in?”

  “Biology.”

  “Were you pre-med?”

  Jon nodded. “For a while.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Decided it wasn’t the right thing for me. My dad was a doctor, and he wanted me to follow in his footsteps and take over his clinic, but it really wasn’t for me.”

  “I see,” Bharat murmured. “What do you do now?”

  “I run an alternative health center.”

  Anjali flushed as Bharat laughed. “So you went over to the enemy instead?” he asked. Bharat’s tone was light, but the narrow set of his eyes implied he was not joking.

  Tension dug sharp nails into Jon’s jaw and neck. He rolled his shoulders to release the tightness and reached for his iced tea. “The patient matters. If we can restore her to health, does it matter how she got there?”

  “Sometimes, yes,” Bharat said. “How does your father feel about your career choice?”

  “I wouldn’t know; he passed away about two years ago, before I graduated from college.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I like to think he might have approved anyway. We can’t live out our lives forever trying to please our parents.”

  For that, he earned another kick in the shin. Jon looked at Anjali and raised his eyebrow. Come on, I dare you to say something.

  Bharat glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “I see our food will be here soon. Excuse me; I’ll be right back.” He rose and walked toward the restrooms.

  “What are you doing?” Anjali hissed. She slammed her clutch wallet on the table. “Are you trying to get me into trouble?”

  “Sweetheart, you’re in a crap load of trouble, and amazingly, this time, I’m not even the problem.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “From my point of view, the innocent bystander.”

  “There is nothing innocent about the way you’re baiting Bharat.”

  “I’m baiting him?” Jon pointed at his chest. “He asked about me.”

  “Your replies. Your comments about pleasing parents—”

  “If your guilty conscience makes you read more into my words than I’m really saying—”

  “Oh, shove it.” She leaned across the table and jabbed her finger into his nose. “I know you. You’re flinging yourself in his face—”

  “Oh, and how is it different from what your mom did yesterday, rubbing all his successes—his medical school degree, his career as a cardiac surgeon at Mayo Clinic—in my face? Why didn’t you snap at her last night? How come I’m supposed to sit, grin, and bear it, but when I tell Bharat what I do for a living, you get all over my case?”

  “I don’t want you to upset him—”

  “Why aren’t you giving a damn about me getting upset?”

  “He could tell my mother.”

  Jon jerked his hands apart. “Are you blind? Your mother already knows! She’s tagged me as the guy who’s screwing her baby girl even though, technically, we’ve never screwed.”

  Anjali turned bright red, and her nervous gaze darted to the unoccupied tables on either side of them. “Will you keep your voice down? Do you want everyone to know?”

  “That I love you? Yes.”

  “Not that. I mean—” Her shoulders sagged, and she pressed the palms of her hands to her cheeks. “You say stuff like that—” Anjali’s voice cracked, and she sniffled. “—and I forget why I’m mad with you.”

  Jon chuckled softly. He reached across the table and laid a hand over hers to cradle her cheek. “We’re in this together. We’re going to get through this together.” Even if he had no idea precisely how.

  Anjali pulled away from him and tossed her head like a restless horse. “I just need you to play along.”

  “As what? Former classmate? Former dance instructor? Current boyfriend?”

  Anjali’s hands clenched into fists. “I don’t want you complicat
ing this situation.”

  “It’s already complicated beyond belief.”

  “Don’t make it worse!”

  “How? You want me to leave?”

  “Yes. No.” Anjali huffed out her breath, but her words struck Jon like a fist to his chest.

  It punched the air out of his lungs. “You want me to leave?”

  “I…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, I don’t. I just…it’s hard for me.”

  “What exactly is hard?”

  “Stop treating me like an idiot.”

  “I’m not. I’m just trying to figure out how hard it is to say, ‘No, I am not engaged.’ It’s five words, damn it.”

  She slammed the open palms of her hands down on the table. “Don’t you think I’m trying?”

  “Are you? Because it doesn’t look like it to me. Johns Hopkins Technology Ventures dishes out androids with more animation than you display when you’re with these people.”

  “Don’t call them ‘these people.’ They’re my family. Close friends of my family. I’ve known Bharat all my life.”

  Jon checked his tone. He had let irritation get the better of his temper. With a milder voice, he said, “And in the past eight years, how many times has he come to Baltimore to see you?”

  Anjali looked away.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  She scowled. “It’s not relevant?”

  “It’s not relevant when you last saw your fiancé? Really?”

  “He’s not my fiancé, damn it.”

  Jon glanced over Anjali’s shoulder as Bharat strode toward their table. For a moment, he wrestled with the temptation of annoying her into shouting it out aloud. Get the truth out in the open. Clear the air.

  But, no. She had to do it her way. If he tricked or trapped her, he would be no different from her family. He gestured with his eyes. Anjali’s eyes widened, and she swallowed hard before slumping into her seat. In an instant, she seemed smaller, frailer. Jon gritted his teeth at her transformation. Was it evident only to him?

  Bharat tugged at the lapels of his sports jacket before sitting next to Anjali. “So, Jon, have you known Anjali long?”

  “Six years.” He wasn’t going to volunteer information. If Bharat wanted to know, he could just damn well ask.

  “How did you meet?”

  “It was my freshman year. Anjali was a junior. I started a salsa class.”

  “Salsa. Like the dance salsa?”

  Jon nodded. “I danced a lot in high school and didn’t want to give it up in college, so I decided to start a dance class and teach salsa. I put up a couple of posters, and people showed up, including Anjali.”

  Bharat turned to her. “I didn’t know you danced salsa.”

  She shrugged, and said nothing.

  Bharat looked back at Jon. “It’s…basically something you dance at clubs, right?”

  Jon gritted his teeth and plastered a pleasant tone over the bubble of anger. “Actually, the origin is from Puerto Rican and Cuban street dancing.”

  Bharat chuckled and glanced at Anjali. “Quite a change from your usual style.”

  “And what the hell do you know about her ‘usual style’?” Jon wanted to ask. “You haven’t seen her in more than eight years.” He bit his tongue. Don’t bait him. Anjali wouldn’t want it.

  The waiter arrived with their order. The appearance of their lunch negated the need for an answer. Through the entire meal, Jon watched Anjali as she ate mechanically from her plate. She responded to Bharat’s questions, but did not initiate conversation on her own. If it were just her and me, she’d be gabbing up a storm, telling me about the latest celebrity gossip overheard on radio, the most recent rumored appearance of the Hopkins Hospital ghost, the joke the cashier told her at the grocery store. She’d be telling me everything.

  Why wasn’t she even trying to break the news to Bharat? How could the opportunity get any better? No parents were around to heighten her embarrassment, and Bharat did not seem like a bad guy. He asked questions, and he seemed willing to listen to the answers.

  But she just sat there, still and silent. A corpse would have been only marginally less animated, Jon thought with a scowl.

  “The Baltimore Museum of Art is just around the corner, isn’t it?” Bharat asked unexpectedly.

  Anjali nodded.

  “Shall we check it out?”

  Anjali shot Jon a quick glance. “Yeah, sure, we can.”

  Jon sat back, his frustration with Anjali clenching his hands into fists. The narrowed glint in her eyes had warned him off. Message received. Time to take himself out of the equation.

  Bharat looked at Jon, a faint smile on his lips. “You’re coming too, right?”

  “Not big into art.”

  “It’s food for the soul. Come on. I insist.”

  Jon shook his head. With effort, he tugged his mouth into a tight smile. “Don’t want to be a third wheel.”

  “You won’t be,” Bharat said. “We’d enjoy having you join us, won’t we, Anjali?”

  Anjali’s mouth twisted into a half-frown, but she nodded. “Sure, you can come.”

  Wow, that invitation had been the epitome of graciousness. Irritated, Jon said, “Sounds great. I’ll come.”

  The flare of dismay in her eyes was well worth pissing her off. Jon smirked. Besides, with Bharat around, she wasn’t going to start yelling at him, so he might as well take advantage of it. He knew it was uncharitable, but his mood had been soured well past the saccharine-laced milk of human goodness.

  His day had gone to hell.

  The Baltimore Museum of Art was an easy walk from the restaurant, past a revitalized neighborhood vibrant with student traffic. The museum was unusually crowded, likely from family and friends visiting during graduation week. For about ten minutes, Anjali kept pace with Bharat and Jon, but as time passed, Bharat lingered longer at each piece of art, and Anjali and Jon drifted ahead.

  Anjali cast a glance over her shoulder to confirm that Bharat was not within earshot before she broke the tense silence. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?”

  Jon grimaced. “Don’t start with the obvious or we won’t have time to squeeze in a good fight before he catches up with us again.”

  “I don’t want to fight.”

  “Ah, yes.” Jon nodded. “I definitely got that message watching you with your parents. No fight. Not even a whimper of protest.”

  The hard knot clenched in her chest. “You don’t understand.”

  “I’d understand if you just explained it to me.” He stopped walking and swiveled to look at her. “When did you stop fighting for what you want?”

  “It’s not just about what I want. It never is, and especially not in something like this.”

  “Something like being promised in marriage at birth? Do you know how many laws that breaks here in America?”

  “You’re making it something it’s not. It’s not as if my parents married me off to him. It’s just an understanding between our families.”

  “An understanding that they’re expecting you to honor even though you haven’t seen each other in eight or more years.” Jon grimaced and shook his head. “You can’t just stand there and tell me any of this makes sense.”

  But it did make sense to her, and that was the problem. Anjali’s shoulders sagged as she released her breath in a sigh. “I don’t expect you to—”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Yes.” Finally, a question with an easy answer.

  “Do you love him?”

  “No.” Wow, two easy questions in a row. She was on a roll. She tensed, however, in anticipation of the next question.

  “So why is this complicated? Do you see how ridiculous this is? You’re twenty-six years old, you’re graduating as a doctor, you’ll be making life-and-death decisions for patients in less than a week, and you’re not allowed to decide who you’re engaged to?”

  “I’m not engaged!”

  “Yet.” Jon wagged a finge
r in her face. “You may not be engaged yet, but from the way your mother describes it, she’s ready to start planning the wedding. My point is this isn’t something that happens in the twenty-first century.”

  “It’s something that happens in highly traditional Indian households.”

  “In America?”

  “In England, and yes, in America, too. This isn’t about just Bharat and me. It’s not even just about our parents. Others—extended family, friends—have expect Bharat and me to get married ever since we were children. Their expectations…” She rubbed her hand across her chest, trying to loosen the tension. “They’re all counting on it. And, you know, he’s not a bad man.”

  “Wow, that compliment just rang with the highest praise.”

  She smacked him in the upper arm. “Don’t be snide. In the circles in which my parents and his parents move, Bharat is easily the most eligible bachelor.”

  “And you’re the most eligible bachelorette?”

  She nodded, biting down on her lip.

  Jon scowled. “So it’s supposed to make your wedding inevitable?”

  “People are expecting it. And if I let them all down, I’ll need to explain it. Justify it.”

  “And that you’re in love with me isn’t a good enough explanation?”

  “It won’t be. Not for them.” She sighed. “Jon, you’re American. It’s just that sex, love, and marriage are all the same thing for you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I can tell the difference between love, sex, and marriage, thanks very much.”

  “You expect them to converge.”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t they?”

  “Because in many other societies, they don’t. For centuries, for millennia, they didn’t. Sex equals love equals marriage is a luxury not everyone can afford.”

  “Luxury? The person we choose to marry becomes the most important relationship in our lives. It’s not luxury. It’s essential. We can’t afford to screw that up.” He shook his head. The anger faded out of his eyes, leaving them tired. “If only you could see yourself. You were like a puppet at lunch, doing nothing unless he prompted you. Answering questions only when he asked, never volunteering anything. You’re not like that with me. You’re nothing like that with me. You’re alive, vibrant, you don’t take shit from me, you give as good as you get, but when you’re with him, you’re like a shell, empty on the inside. Is that what you want for the rest of your life? To just be this shell who’s defined only as Bharat’s wife?”