“Great,” she replied coldly. “Now, she can be part of our lives forever.”
“Why do I get the sense that you are not very fond of Munmun?”
She was embarrassed that he had guessed her insecurity; that she thought of herself as lesser than Munmun. He had reminded her of who she’d been in her previous life. She took a sharp breath, fortifying her defenses with air. “Here’s what I think, Cyrus. I think I should never have rushed into this marriage. I was so happy rediscovering myself, putting my life together. I regret letting it all go.”
He responded with silence, as if he was too stunned for words. Still, she couldn’t stop her torment from bursting out. “Now, it’s all about your foundation, your team, your play. It’s like I have no individuality left.”
She heard him draw in a deep breath. “I didn’t impose any of it on you. I thought you enjoyed being part of the foundation,” he said finally.
“Heck, no. Not anymore.” Her lips trembled as a sob escaped her throat. She had only seen her husband’s happy side so far, but she could imagine his eyes clouding, his face downcast as he ruminated over her words.
“I’m sorry, Cyrus,” she wept into the phone. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
It was all right, he said after a long moment of silence. They’d discuss it when he got home.
She was afraid he’d rush home, so she fled, driving on the back roads until she reached Alyona’s apartment. Alyona talked more than she listened, her tone light, face shining. She was now engaged to Casper, and tiny diamonds flashed on her left ring finger as she laughed.
“Why you have to think so much? Why you can’t be calm for another week?” Her tone was dismissive. It was as if Alyona needed to believe in the magical, permanent nature of their fairytale because it had revived her belief in love and led her to Casper. She wanted to believe in her own fairytale.
“Because that bitch has found a way to stay permanently in contact with Cyrus by adopting our kids.”
“Listen to me, girl. Don’t push him away. Don’t send him into her arms.”
This was not what Tara had expected to hear from her friend. Her stomach churned as she made her way out of Alyona’s apartment with a quick good-bye hug. She wanted to be calm, to feel nothing. She just didn’t know how. She drove around aimlessly, thinking nothing coherent, the fear in her gut growing. Finally, she slowed down outside their neighborhood park and found a secluded spot to hide herself. It was early September. It wouldn’t get dark until late in the evening, which suited her fine. She was afraid to go back home, to face him, knowing she had wronged him but not knowing how to right the wrong. They were approaching the final week leading up to the staging of the play. Rehearsals were scheduled every evening beginning Saturday. She couldn’t bear the thought of living through the week.
Her decision to go to Mangalore was impulsive. It surprised her at first; the pull of the home she had given up claim to, the need to see her parents, to wrap herself in parental love that she had branded wanting. The desire grew as the long day faded. A storm can be weathered only from a safe spot, not from its eye, she told herself. She needed time to process her feelings, to think rationally.
She expected to see his car in the garage when she returned, for him to anxiously rush to the door. But he wasn’t in yet. She was too exhausted to analyze what this meant, where he had gone, or why it made her heart heavy with fear even though she had run away from him. When he returned, past eight o’clock, she was on the sofa, still wearing the clothes she had spent the day in. She sat up with a start when she heard the garage door open, and her heart gave yet another lurch when he walked in. His smile was steady and his hug long and warm, but his usual easy manner had vanished.
She told him at dinner, as they sat across each other at the kitchen table, leftovers from last night between them. “There is nothing left for me to do. The venue is booked, the tickets are sold, the backdrops are ready, the sound and light guy is hired. You guys won’t have any trouble on my account, I can assure you of that.”
He reacted with the furrowing of his brows. “When will you be back?”
“I don’t know, Cyrus.”
“Star, what’s bothering you?”
She kept her gaze to her plate. “I need some alone time to figure things out.”
“Why do you feel the need to leave?”
“I don’t want to discuss it.”
“I really think we ought to.”
“And I don’t.”
His face had never been this grim before. She hoped for his expression to soften, for him to implore her to stay, tell her he’d miss her, that he needed her on the big day. And yet she said, “I need to figure this out myself.”
Words that ended their conversation.
Her heart was heavy when she went up to the tree house one last time early the next morning. She sat cross-legged on the red mattress looking out into the calm, shimmering lake. She would miss this space, the symbol of their symbiosis, a melding of their childhood fantasies. Meditating, talking, laughing, fooling around; it had seemed possible for a while to be carefree like birds.
He gave her a ride to Hartsfield–Jackson airport on Saturday, acting like all was well in his world, relating his conversation with Dadda that morning—a roof at the home needed repairs; Mira, their four-year-old, was still not talking; the children were in the middle of midterm exams. She listened without hearing, without turning to look at him. His detachment, his lightness of spirit was crushing her chest with its heft. His good-bye hug contained no special sentimentality, or maybe it was she who was stiff. When she disappeared into the long security check line, she didn’t turn back to wave at him. She was afraid he’d be gone, that she’d freed him.
Chapter 26
Amma and Daddy had created a paradise right in the middle of the city, in a lane where conspicuous display of wealth was the unwritten rule. The Raj bungalow had lush lawns and flowers in the front and a wide concrete driveway leading to an ornate, carved teakwood front door.
She had windblown hair and a queasy face when she rang the bell. Her return after eight long years should have been a joyful one. Instead, she was a bundle of nerves. She had prepped herself for all kinds of reactions from her parents, but she hadn’t been prepared to be met by a houseful of stunned relatives. She smiled weakly at a distant male cousin who opened the door, quickly taking off her shoes and entering noiselessly on the marble floor. She kept her head down, but noticed several relatives lounging on the ornate Italian furniture in the living room, their chatter turning to silence at the sight of her.
Amma was in the kitchen, grating a fresh coconut on a countertop grater and chatting with her younger sister, Nanda.
“Oh, Tara,” Aunty Nanda exclaimed, a bejeweled hand flying to cover her open mouth. The coconut in Amma’s hand dropped to the floor; a cracking sound, scattering white, moist flecks on the shiny marble. Tara picked the shaggy half coconut off the floor and placed it on the counter.
“Why didn’t you inform us you are coming?” Amma asked, eyes wide open in shock, made more dramatic by the dark circles under them.
Tara felt a rush of bile burn the back of her throat. She turned around and fled to the bathroom attached to her room upstairs. She took her time, throwing up, then cleaning herself with a cold shower in the green-tiled bath. Amma was waiting for her, clutching a small metal tray that held a tall glass of lime sherbet, when she emerged from the bathroom.