Jilted: A Love Letters Novel

by Kristen Blakely

  More recent memories surged to the fore, of evenings in front of his computer on a video call with Anjali, laughing when she laughed. The hours passed quickly; their long periods of silence were never awkward. It was enough—almost enough—to have her on the screen, and he had not bothered to understand the dull but ever-present ache in his heart.

  Alone at Mudd Hall, surrounded by ghosts of memories, he finally figured it out. In Westchester, limited to video calls, he had missed her scent and her physical warmth, but more than that, he missed the everyday moments, the simple moments.

  If I can’t make it for three months without her, I can’t make it for the rest of my life without her.

  But marriage is such a huge step.

  Am I ready?

  He pushed to his feet and walked back to the main entrance of Mudd Hall. He pushed his weight against the door. Dimly, he heard the sound of one of Mudd Hall’s side entrances opening on the far side of the hall, but he paid it no mind as he stepped out into night.

  Anjali entered Mudd Hall through the side entrance from the parking lot. An uneven gust of air sweeping through the foyer drew her attention to the front glass door as it slammed close. A lone figure, his back to her, shoulders slumped, soon vanished into the darkness. Grateful for the solitude, Anjali wandered to her favorite corner—a square pillar on the far side of the foyer. She slid against the length of the pillar to sit cross-legged on the floor.

  Damn. She closed her eyes as her imagination conjured the fading scent of Jon’s aftershave. She could almost feel the warmth of his body emanating from the cold tiles. This tiny place in Mudd Hall had been their place; it had been where they had met for the first time, and where they would smuggle a quick kiss between classes.

  She closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to wander though the vivid memories of the time he had gotten a C in psychopharmacology because he had helped her study organic chemistry instead of working on his test preparation. When she had aced that difficult class, he bought her chocolates to celebrate. He had dropped her off at BWI to catch a flight to a medical school interview, and when that flight was rescheduled and she found an alternative flight from Dulles Airport, he had driven her into Virginia to catch that plane. When she returned from the interview, he had been waiting at the airport. Dinner—a medley of whatever he had scrounged from the refrigerator—was in the oven, waiting for her when she returned home. The chicken-something-or-the-other had been an amazing blend of flavors, including orange juice.

  He had never been able to replicate it, but over the many years they were together, he had prepared other fantastic meals for her, all by accident. He was always only a phone call away, ready to come over when she returned from medical school, mentally and emotionally drained, her shoulders and back tensed into a clusters of knots. Too often, she had fallen asleep during the massages he had given her, lulled into utter peace and security.

  She had missed the massages after he graduated and returned to Westchester, but it was enough to study across from her computer screen with the video call of Jon puttering around his apartment, watching television or wrestling with his new company’s financials. Often, their eyes would meet over video and they would exchange a smile before returning to his or her own work. Spending the evening together, even if it was over video, filled the huge hole he had left in her life when he moved away.

  She had missed him every day for two years.

  Anjali bit her lower lip. She had wished for forever with Jon, but she had not dared to hope.

  In the end, she had been right not to hope.

  Forever turned out to be six years long.

  The ache in her chest squeezed tears from her eyes.

  Bharat’s voice whispered through her memories. “If we can find the promise of love, then our marriage will be an outstanding success. Love grows over time. All you and I need is that first spark, and a commitment to fan it to flames together, and to keep it alive.”

  Jon’s damning words echoed through her skull. “Possibly. Probably. But I can’t promise it. I’m not…there yet.”

  Her father’s voice interjected with the bitter knowledge of experience. “People change…”

  Anjali drew a deep breath. Do people change? And more important, did I?

  Chapter 12

  Anjali let herself into her apartment, her mind turning over the words she was trying to get right. Hi, Bharat, I want to tell you how kind and thoughtful your offer has been, and I’ve decided to—

  “Why haven’t you accepted the offer from Mayo Clinic?” Her mother’s shrill voice cut through her thoughts.

  Anjali’s head snapped up, and her gaze darted between her parents. “What are you doing here?”

  Her father shrugged. “After you dropped me off at the hotel, your mother wanted to talk to you, but you didn’t answer your phone.”

  “I needed some peace and quiet.”

  “So she insisted on coming over to wait for you.”

  Kashi’s eyebrows drew together. “Your father said Bharat asked to date you.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “You silly girl! Why are you letting him escape?”

  “He asked to date me. Where are these skid marks you’re seeing that I’m not?”

  “He should have proposed. He would have proposed if you weren’t dating that other boy.”

  “His name is Jon.”

  “Jon scared Bharat away.”

  Anjali rolled her eyes. “I rather doubt it. Bharat doesn’t look like the type that scares easily.”

  “It’s all Jon’s fault if Bharat doesn’t want you anymore. You should have known better. You’ve wasted it all. You could have had Bharat, but instead you have this…this boy who’s not even Indian.”

  “It’s not Jon’s fault he’s not Indian.” Anjali slammed her handbag down on the table. “It’s not his fault he’s not Brahmin.”

  “Bharat is a doctor. A cardiac surgeon. Jon’s just a masseur.”

  “He’s a chiropractor, a massage therapist, and a business owner. And I don’t care that Bharat is a cardiac surgeon. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It means he’s clever and rich and—”

  “I don’t need clever and rich. I can do that on my own. What I can’t do is massage my own back. What I can’t do is cook up amazing meals that taste like a slice of heaven. What I can’t do is make my stress vanish with a single smile. What I can’t do is make myself happy, not just contented happy, but crazy happy. Jon does that for me. Do you understand?”

  Her mother’s jaw dropped. “How dare you shout—”

  “Shout?” Anjali raised her voice. “This is shouting!” She glared at her mother. “You’re focusing on the trivial—status, race, caste—”

  “It is not trivial! It is everything.” Her mother stood stiff, her hands balled in fists by her side. “Don’t you think I want for you the perfect marriage?”

  “I don’t want your marriage, and I don’t want marriage to the man you think is perfect for me. I want to marry the man I think is perfect for me, and whether that’s Bharat or Jon, or some hobo off the street, that is my choice!”

  Kashi’s shoulders shook. “You stupid girl! You think it’s about you? Just you, you, you? No, you marry the wrong man, and your family suffers. Your friends suffer. The children you will have—they will suffer.”

  “I’ve had it with your scare tactics. You’re a bully.” Anjali glared at her mother. “The knots in my back, the migraines, the near-constant anxiety I live with—it’s from you, from trying to live up to your impossible standards. I graduate from medical school with top honors, and instead of ‘congratulations, I’m proud of you,’ you criticize my makeup. Instead of asking me what I think about the residency offers I’ve received, you tell me what I should accept.”

  Kashi’s eyes widened.

  Anjali surged ahead. “You have your own life, and if you let your mother make your choices for you, then it was your decision. It doesn’t
give you any right to make my choices for me.”

  Kashi raised her chin. “It is my duty as your mother to guide you.” Her voice trembled.

  “Then your job is done.”

  “My job is never done!” Kashi slammed her hand on the table. “I feed you. I care for you. I love you. And this is the thanks I get? You see!” She turned to her husband. “This is your doing. You should have been stricter, but you let her do what she wanted. You let her keep studying, and now she defies you with this harijan.”

  “How dare you call Jon a harijan? He is not an untouchable! He’s not even Indian. You know what?” Anjali stalked to the door and flung it open. “I want you to get out of here right now.”

  “You cannot dismiss me. I am your mother. You have to respect me.”

  “Respect is not a right. It is earned. Now, get out.”

  Kashi folded her arms over her chest and sat on the couch. “I am not leaving.”

  “Then I am.” Anjali grabbed her handbag and walked out of the door. The night air flicked cool fingers over her skin. Her head pounded; so did her heart. She tugged her smartphone out of her bag and hit the first number on speed dial.

  His familiar voice came over the phone. “Ange? Are you okay?”

  She inhaled deeply to steady her nerves, but her voice trembled nonetheless. “I need you to come get me.”

  Jon’s car pulled into the parking lot a half hour later. Anjali pushed up from the stairway and walked toward the passenger door he had opened for her.

  “Sorry I took so long,” he apologized as she slid into the car seat. “I was on the highway. I had to turn around.”

  Anjali’s breath caught. He had been on his way back to Westchester.

  He glanced at her. “Want some breakfast?”

  “Sure.”

  It was almost midnight by the time they claimed their usual table at Blue Moon Café. Anjali looked around the restaurant, which buzzed with activity despite the lateness of the hour. Scarcely a few days ago, she and Jon had sat at the restaurant before her parents arrived, before it all went to hell.

  She grimaced. No, I made my own hell by not speaking up earlier. Now I’m going to have to unmake it.

  “A Captain Crunch French Toast and a vegetarian omelet. Two iced teas,” Jon ordered for the both of them. After the waitress walked away, he scooted out of his seat across from her to sit beside her in her booth. “Turn around.”

  Anjali shifted so her back was to him, and closed her eyes, sinking into the familiar touch of his hands on her shoulders as he massaged her tight muscles.

  “What happened?” he asked quietly.

  “I fought with my mom.”

  “What about?”

  “Her interference in my life.”

  Jon remained silent, but she sensed the subtle hesitation in his touch. She spoke instead. “You’re trying to find the right words. Just say whatever you want to say. Everything that can be said wrong has already been said, so why not add to it?” Her laugh was bitter.

  “I think it would be more important to defuse it than add to it.”

  “What?”

  “However your mother acts, I’m pretty sure she loves you.”

  “Love is no excuse for her appalling behavior.”

  “No, but it’s sometimes harder for old people to change.”

  “So I’m supposed to put up with her because she’s too old to change? That’s ridiculous.” Anjali twisted around to look at Jon. “Why are you taking her side?”

  He laughed. “I’m not. I’m just saying that love sometimes makes people irrational.”

  “I’m trying to behave rationally.”

  “I know.” He grunted. “And Bharat’s the rational choice, isn’t he?”

  “Is he?”

  Jon grimaced. He said nothing.

  “My mom also said something else. She said I was doing this—dating you—just to defy them. She warned me not to cut off my nose just to spite my face. She said that I would regret choosing you once I got over my stupid need to rebel.”

  “You’ve never struck me as the rebellious type. You were practically bending over backward not to offend anyone this weekend.”

  “Except you.” Anjali bit her lip. “I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, I’m tough. I’ve got thick skin.”

  “Which was not a good reason to take it out on you.”

  Jon shrugged. “You had a right to ask where we were going. After six years, I should have known the answer. I went to Mudd Hall earlier this evening, to sit and think, about us. I tried to think of all the special moments we’d shared, but nothing really came to mind.”

  Anjali inhaled sharply. The hurt that speared through her chest stole her breath. She scooted away from Jon, but he placed his hand over hers as he continued speaking. “I tried to recall our Washington, D.C. excursions, our trip to the Poconos, but all I could think about were the nights studying across from each other on the couch, your precise chemistry experiments in the kitchen, the things we did together every day that I took for granted…and missed when I moved back to Westchester even though we talked every day.”

  “But you were so busy with your new business.”

  “It was the symptom, not the reason. I was at a loss without you and contemplated moving back to Baltimore just to be with you again, but I told myself I needed time away from you, to figure out if I could live without you.”

  “These past two years, you were trying to wean yourself off me.”

  Jon winced. “Not quite the terminology I would have used, but yes. Sort of.”

  “And all this time, I missed you every single day. Why didn’t you just break it off—?”

  “I couldn’t. Life without you was too…lonely to contemplate. My entire life at Hopkins was wrapped up around you. I figured maybe I just needed more friends—friends who were my friends as opposed to our friends, which was why I forced myself to stay in Westchester.”

  “You could have just told me.”

  “Not without breaking your heart.”

  “And how is it different from what you’re doing now?”

  “I’m apologizing, and I’m doing it poorly. What I meant to say, before you sidetracked me, was that this evening, I realized that the reason I couldn’t really bring to mind the supposedly special moments was because each day was special, each day was memorable. It was being with you that made it wonderful, not where I was.”

  Her head hurt still from the migraine, and his words didn’t seem to make any sense. “So why were you leaving?”

  “I wanted to talk to Marisa in the morning, ask her if she’d be willing to buy me out of the clinic.”

  “What? You’re selling the clinic?”

  “It’s keeping me in Westchester. I don’t actually have to be there. I can work anywhere once you make up your mind about your residency.”

  “And what about this three-month hold on our relationship.”

  “Bad idea. Changed my mind.”

  “And when were you going to tell me about it?”

  “I did. Left a message on your cell phone since you weren’t picking up.”

  Anjali dug her phone out of her bag and glanced at the multiple missed calls and voicemails from Jon and from her mother.

  “So, I don’t have a ring or anything since I hadn’t exactly planned on asking you to marry me this weekend, let alone here, in this most unromantic of places.” Jon grimaced as Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini blasted over the jukebox. “But will you?”

  Her heart thudded, skidded, and plopped like an ungraceful ice-skater falling on her butt. Slowly, Anjali set the phone down on the table. “I was at Mudd Hall too. Could have sworn I smelled your aftershave.”

  “Maybe you did. I was at the pillar. Our pillar.”

  “And I was thinking about what my mother had said, about choosing you because I was making a statement on rebellion. I wondered if she was right.”

  Jon chuckled, the sound touched with iron
y. “Are you telling me we’re in a situation where you’ll never know if I proposed just because I was afraid to lose you to Bharat and I’ll never know if you accepted just because you’re rebelling against your mother?”

  “No, we’re not in that situation. If you were pulling back because you were afraid of how much you wanted me, I was pulling back because I was afraid of how much I needed you. I didn’t want to need you; I’m an educated, twenty-first century woman. I’m not supposed to need anyone—not a husband from my own caste or even a husband at all. But I did. And I do.”

  Jon leaned toward her. “Partners get us through life. Marisa’s talent for numbers makes up for the fact that I can’t tell which way is up on a calculator. And you, your talent for filling each of my days with this gut-deep happiness…it’s a heck of a gift, Miss Bhanot. I don’t care if you add my last name to yours, but I’d like the chance to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “Yes.”

  Jon blinked, wide-eyed. “Just…yes?”

  “What did you expect? Paragraphs of flowery words?” Anjali laughed. “You didn’t have time to get a ring. I didn’t have time to plan a response.”

  Their fingers laced together. Jon squeezed hard. “Maybe it’s meant to be, after all. Here, at the beginning, is where it starts again. God bless Captain Crunch French Toast.”

  Epilogue

  Marisa Chantilly, a glass of champagne in her hand, waited her turn at a conversation with the bride and groom. The elderly couple ahead of her moved on, and she stepped into their place. “Congratulations,” she said, leaning in to brush her cheek against Anjali’s and then Jon’s. “You look lovely.” She smiled at Anjali.

  “Thank you.” Anjali glanced down at her elaborately beaded and laced wine-red sari. “It’s too gaudy to only wear once, so we thought, why not wear it at both weddings?”