The Direction of the Wind: A Novel(40)

Nita pondered his words. Every culture had its own caste system. There was always a hierarchy, and people were compared to one another to determine where one fell. This girl’s parents had wanted the same thing for their daughter as Nita’s parents had wanted for her. Rajiv had been their safe choice. Nita would never have even thought of ending up with someone like Mathieu if she were still in India. She didn’t even know where a man who lived for his own whims and pursued passion for passion’s sake would exist. Certainly, outside of her upper-caste community, in which people were born to fit into a limited number of molds.

But she understood not feeling like enough. Understood that part too well. With Rajiv and Sophie, she had known her heart was somewhere else when it needed to be with them. She always knew there was more of her to give that she was holding back. She knew she wanted more from her life than what they had to offer. And she knew she was more selfish than they realized. That she would do whatever it took to get that life she dreamed of. And, for that, she knew they deserved better. She wondered if it was this common feeling that had drawn her and Mathieu together. Maybe they saw in each other the pain of knowing they had not been enough for the people who loved them.

“I know what you mean,” Nita said. “But I think you can’t carry that pain through the rest of your life. At some point, we must let it go and realize that even if we had not been enough in the past, there is still a chance to be enough in the future.”

Mathieu nodded. “This is true. But letting go is easier said than done. And I suspect you know that all too well.” He gestured toward her painting. “Who is she?”

Until then, Nita had always shrugged him off. She couldn’t bring herself to be dismissive, but she also didn’t want to tell him the truth. But given what he’d shared, she knew she had to say something.

“She’s my niece.” Her voice caught on the lie, but she regained her composure. “I miss her sometimes. Often, actually. Children have a strange way of getting under your skin like that.”

He nodded.

“You don’t speak about your family much. It’s understandable. Families are complicated. You want your own?” He lit a cigarette, the end burning bright red until it settled into a steady stream of smoke.

“What?”

“Children.” He inhaled slowly.

Even though she knew what he meant, it still shocked her to hear it. Of course not! I have a child . . . that I left behind. It’s clear I am a terrible mother and should never be one again.

“I just need my paints,” she said softly.

He leaned closer to her on the couch, placing his hand on her thigh. “Perhaps I shall convince you to have a little more than paints.” His eyes glimmered as he pressed his hips against her leg so she could feel his hardness.

She pulled away. “I don’t want children,” she said with more force than she’d intended.

“Okay, okay,” he said, pulling back with a smile, his cigarette dangling in that familiar precarious way. “I was just joking.”

That’s exactly the problem, she thought. Children are not something to be joked about. They were the most serious thing that could happen in one’s life. Children highlighted every trait you lacked. And if you were not meant to be a parent, they stole your spirit in a way you could never get back.



That night, when she and Mathieu had sex, she felt him being harder and more aggressive. Almost like he had the same urgency as the first night, when it had felt primal rather than sensual. There was none of his usual foreplay.

Tonight, he kissed her so hard that his teeth bumped against hers, and, before she even realized it, he was inside of her. Within minutes, he had finished, and rolled onto his back, not caressing the inside of her leg like he usually did while catching his breath and not checking that she had been satisfied too.

He couldn’t possibly be upset about her comments about children. He was a man in his late thirties who spent most of his time drunk or high to “focus” on his artistic passions. In Nita’s mind it was understood that a man like that did not want the responsibility of a child. It would change his entire life in a way that he seemed ill equipped to handle.

He lit a joint and took a puff before passing it to her. She didn’t comment on the roughness of the way he had taken her and accepted the cigarette, taking a few deep inhales before passing it back. She had the urge to rub the soreness between her legs but didn’t want him to know he had hurt her. Instead, she curled into a ball, facing away from him, and told him she was tired tonight and couldn’t go another round later.





25


SOPHIE


2019


That evening, Sophie is getting ready for her shift at Taj Palace when she hears Cecile’s voice outside her door, telling her there is a phone call for her. Sophie already knows it is Vaishali Foi and braces herself for the verbal diarrhea she is about to hear.

“Have you lost your mind?” her foi says before Sophie can even manage a quick hello.

“Foi, please. I will only be gone a short time. A week or two at the most.”

“Do you know what position this puts us in with Kiran’s family? Hah? The wedding is just around the corner. What are we supposed to do about that?”

Sophie closes her eyes and nods even though her foi can’t see her. “I’m sorry, Foi. It is hard to explain how it feels to learn your mummy might be alive after you grew up thinking she was dead.” Her anger rises as she says the words, knowing Vaishali Foi was part of the conspiracy.