Honor: A Novel(88)

“No. I’m really suggesting it.”

“That I give up everything in the US, give up my whole life there, to be here with you?”

He smiled. “You don’t have to make it sound so terrible, yaar.”

It had been a mistake, she realized, sleeping with him. This was precisely the kind of entanglement and heartache she had wished to avoid. “Mohan. Sweetie. Come on. You must know how preposterous this sounds.”

“Does it?” He played with her hair absentmindedly. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. Take a leave of absence. And then, if you are not happy here—if you miss America too much—I will follow you there.”

Move to America? Mohan was suggesting it as if he were proposing buying a new tie. This was a side of him she didn’t know. Did he have a clue how complicated such a move would be? Smita thought of her friends back home. What would they say? Would they be aghast at his presumptuousness?

“I thought you loved your job,” she said.

“I do.”

“Then why would you give it up?”

“Because I love you more.”

“Come on, Mohan. You have no idea what a bitch I am.” She forced a laugh, trying desperately to lighten the mood. But despite herself, Smita was moved. “Because I love you more”—would any of her previous boyfriends have been willing to give up their careers for her? Of course not. A month before, she would have been contemptuous of any man who said such a thing—would have considered him needy and pathetic. Now, she was touched. Somehow, India had worked its spell on her, had made her vulnerable to such sentimentality. When she returned to New York, she wouldn’t be the same person she’d been when she’d left.

She studied Mohan’s face, suddenly so dear to her. “In any case, where would I stay?” she said. “I can’t afford to stay at the Taj indefinitely.”

“You could stay in my room.”

“At Zarine Auntie’s apartment? She wouldn’t care?”

“I don’t think so,” Mohan said. “And if she minds, I can always buy a small flat.”

“For six months or so?” Smita said incredulously. “Until we decide what happens with Abru?”

“Those are all just details, yaar.”

There she was, sitting in a posh bungalow, beside a man who was spreading out a banquet of options for her. Smita thought suddenly of Meena’s life, its parsimoniousness, the lack of choice. What had she ever done to deserve such good fortune?

“Don’t,” Mohan said. “It will only make you sad.”

“What are you, a mind reader?”

“Yes,” he said. “But that’s only because you have the most delightfully transparent face.”

Smita shook her head, bemused. “We have both lost our fucking minds. You realize how crazy this whole conversation sounds, right? We barely know each other.”

“How long did your papa and mummy know each other before they eloped?”

“That was different. The wrote letters back and forth for a long time.”

“So, I will write you a letter. Every day.”

“Very funny. They also didn’t have visas and passports and shit to deal with.”

“So? They had other difficulties, na?”

Smita closed her eyes, beginning to get irritated by his persistence. “Mohan, please let’s drop the subject. I care about you, but this is making me uncomfortable.”

He was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry. You have to remember, this is what I do for a living—solve problems. And somehow, I can always figure out the solution. So it’s easy for me to think that life is just another puzzle to solve.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “It’s okay,” she said. “Let’s just enjoy the time we have together.”

He smiled, then cocked his head, listening. “Abru,” he said, and Smita heard the long wail coming from the other side of the house. Together, they ran into the bedroom. Abru was lying on the tiled floor beside the bed. She was holding her head. “Oh shit!” Smita cried as she lowered herself next to the wailing child. “Sweetie, what happened? How did you fall?”

Abru was inconsolable as Smita gently pulled her hand away from the child’s head, feeling the small bump forming on the side. “Can you get me some ice?” she called to Mohan, who was already running toward the kitchen.

Smita cradled Abru in her arms as she held the wrapped ice cubes to her head. After a while, as the ice water trickled onto her face, the toddler stuck out her tongue and began to lick her lips. Mohan laughed. “She seems to be enjoying this,” he said.

“Can you take her from me?” Smita whispered. “My arm is beginning to cramp.”

He lifted Abru and placed her on the bed. The screaming began again. “Ho ho ho,” Mohan chided. “Nothing wrong with your vocal cords. It’s okay, little one. We are right here.”

Abru inserted her thumb in her mouth and looked at Mohan with her big dark eyes. Then, she tugged at his sleeve to get him to lie down with her.

“Okay, okay. I’m here with you,” he crooned to her.

Smita stood watching as Mohan lay down next to the girl. They would love Mohan, she thought wistfully. Papa would enjoy discussing technological issues with him. Rohit would appreciate his sense of humor. As for Mummy, she would have taken him on her morning walks and showed him off to all her friends.