I needed sleep. I didn’t have the excuse that Jahn had to miss work. Liya was slumped against me on the bench seat, her bare feet tucked beneath her, my jacket over her as she slept off and on. I nudged her cheek with my lips and bit her earlobe, rousing her from sleep.
“I’m taking you home.”
She nodded and blinked away drowsiness.
“Want me to take Ma home so you can stay here?” I asked Jahn.
He shook his head. “I’ll take her. I have to shower and get some clothes and food anyway. Shilpa will be fine for a few hours. She needs sleep. Preeti said they’ll call me if anything happens.”
“You’re leaving her alone all night?”
“No, no. Of course not. Shower, eat, grab stuff, come back. Let Ma sleep in her bed and I’ll sleep on this bench.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Jahn stretched.
“Shilpa’s okay with you leaving?”
“She insisted. She’s passed out. Who knew this labor stuff required so much energy?” he joked.
“You’re wrong for saying that, and I hope she bites you during labor.”
He chuckled. “Here’s hoping for tomorrow.”
I slapped his chest with the back of my hand. “Soon-to-be father. God. Can you believe it? A baby. A life that’s totally dependent on you.”
“Yeah, I know. Wish Dad could be here.”
I swallowed, my throat raw and aching. In that moment, I relived the stories Dad used to tell us about when we were born. Men didn’t usually stay in the room when their wives gave birth back then, but he helped Ma just the way Jahn helped Shilpa, always making sure that she was as comfortable as possible. All the pillows, all the blankets, water, and cold washcloths she wanted. “Me, too.”
He gently slapped my cheek and kept his hand there. “But this is a happy time. So be happy with us.”
I nodded, but it was a hard request to fulfill. Dad should’ve been here giving Jahn advice, keeping him collected, laughing at him for being anxious, and able to hold his first grandchild.
“I mean it,” he said. “Take your woman home.”
I smirked. Jahn always knew what to say to lighten the mood.
Liya curled up beneath my jacket in the front seat as I drove her home. “Do you want to grab something to eat?”
“No,” she groaned. “I’m dead tired.”
“Okay. Do you still have my phone?”
“Oh, yeah.” She plucked it out of her purse and handed it to me when I pulled up to her place. We glanced at the lit screen at the same time. Kaajal had sent me three text messages.
She released the phone into my hand and commented, “I forgot to mention that she’d texted earlier when I was looking for texts from Shilpa and Jahn.”
“It’s nothing. I don’t text her or call. I don’t know how she got my number, but I programmed her in so that I know when it’s her.”
“It’s fine. You don’t have to explain. It’s not as if we’re exclusive or anything.”
I took her wrist and gently pulled her back inside the car. “What you do mean we’re not exclusive? Are you seeing other men?”
“No,” she replied, her voice calm, sleepy. “I meant that if you change your mind about us, I understand.”
I cupped her cheek and kissed her, deep, passionate. Fire sparked around us, and she woke up instantly. Pulling away, I said, “Don’t think for a second that there’s even a chance of me walking away from this. You understand me?”
She nodded, her eyes dazed, her lips swollen.
“Should I walk you upstairs? You look as if you’re about to pass out.”
“No,” she breathed. “Unless you want to come inside.”
“And sleep?” My gut clenched.
“Yeah…”
“On the couch?” I swallowed. No. I wanted to sleep in her bed, with my arms around her, some sort of comfort and peace before my emotions blew up. The time around the anniversary of Dad’s death was the hardest out of the year. Jahn had dealt with it. Ma had dealt with it. But I couldn’t let it go.
Every year, I immersed myself in something—school, work, exercise—but tonight I had nothing except a bottle of one-hundred-and-forty proof to drown myself in.
“Jay?” she asked.
Having someone see the wretchedness of my weakness was not something that I could share yet, even with a woman whom I tried to get to open up to me. Hypocritical? Yeah.
I replied, “I need to get some rest and be on my game tomorrow. I just found out that Reinli BioChem is closing for certain. I don’t know if they told you. They were supposed to talk to management today. Don’t worry. I’m confident you’ll be able to find better work.”
“Yeah, they told me. I don’t want to think about it right now.” She covered her yawn.
“My firm couldn’t save the company.”
She kissed me. “Not your fault.”
“Sure feels like it. I have a lot of paperwork to handle tomorrow. I should get home and prepare.”
“Understandable. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.” She smiled and crawled out. She texted me when she locked her front door, then I left.
Silence. Even though we hadn’t spoken most of the ride back, Liya offered a distraction, a tranquility. Without her, that serenity rippled and disbanded. The car provided sound; the engine, the radio, and other cars on the dark roads. At home? Memories pried through.
Terrifying flames rose around me, high, bright, scorching. There wasn’t an escape route for two scrawny boys. But there was Dad. There had always been Dad. He was a superhero, swooping in at the last minute to save us; courageous, confident, selfless. He picked us up, one boy in each arm, and rushed this way and that. He stumbled, falling debris almost hit us, but he was able to get us out.
Dad’s leg fell through a floorboard, and he lunged forward, throwing us out. “Go!” he ordered.
I’d whimpered and pleaded, but he growled, “Jahn! Get your brother out!”
Jahn tugged on me, scratching my arm to get me to run. But I didn’t. I lurched back toward Dad. He couldn’t pull his leg out and shove me away at the same time. With one final push against me—the stubborn, stupid son who distracted him—we stumbled backward while he tumbled in.
What if I’d just run like he told us to? He would’ve been able to concentrate on getting his leg free, crawl out with two arms instead of using his hands to shove me away.
What if I’d not been playing with the stove trying to make dinner? None of what happened afterward would’ve mattered, none of the what-ifs, because there wouldn’t have been a fire to begin with.
Jahn ended up with scratches and bruises and a few burn marks on his hands.
I ended up with a marred back and a lifetime of guilt.
Dad ended up dead.
Ma ended up a widow left raising two kids.
I ruined my family.
But things turned out okay, Jahn always said.
I glared at the bottle of bourbon in the cabinet. Grabbing it, I ran my hand down the glass. Straight out of the bottle, right?
My phone pinged.
Jahn: Get some sleep. Don’t do anything stupid. I need my child to have a levelheaded kaka tomorrow.