The Vibrant Years(73)

She had no idea where that had come from, but she soaked him up, finding her own smell, Cullie’s smell, Rajendra’s lost smell, all of it wrapped up in him. “I love you too, beta.”

He blinked the sleep from his eyes. “I have to drive to Miami today to see Radha and Pran. They’re looking at some contracts for me. I might as well get an early start and beat traffic.” With that he started to make chai.

The urge to stop him was strong, to do it herself, to take care of him. But she stopped herself and sat down at the breakfast bar, watching him with the strangest feeling in her heart. The ritual of making chai was so ingrained in him, it was like watching herself.

The chai too was exactly the way she made it. They chatted about Cullie’s mystery man as they dunked Marie biscuits into their tea. He’d always dipped the crisp arrowroot cookies into her chai because he didn’t like his own picking up the flavor. He did it now, and she didn’t stop him. Not all ways of taking someone for granted were hurtful. Everyone deserved someone whose chai they could dip their biscuits into without thought.

“Did you look at the article I sent?” he asked as a soggy blob dropped into her tea. He fished it out with a spoon and a sheepish apology.

She hadn’t, but they did together. Richard’s children had not named Bindu, because Lee hadn’t divulged that information. But they had called the woman who had “entrapped” their father several things, including a thief. Her face heated, the feeling of shame she’d wrestled to keep at bay for forty-seven years almost knocking her down.

Her son touched her hand. “Ma, it’s okay. They’re assholes. The world is full of those.”

She swallowed. “I didn’t even know he had money.” She hated that her voice was a whisper. “I barely knew him.”

He threw a glance around her condo, with its ocean view and designer color palette. She waited for him to ask how she was able to afford it. For a moment she forgot that she’d told her family that Oscar’s money had come from a wealthy, reclusive aunt. Her shame nudged into panic.

Ashish wrapped an arm around her. “Richard Langley made his own money. Not a cent of it was inherited. It was his talent. Something he suffered for. He can give it to anyone he wants.” Her Ashish, on her side. “I’m going to talk to Radha about it today. Maybe we can sue the assholes for slander if they find out it’s you and name you.”

“No!” Her voice came out firm, and he blinked. “We are not suing anyone. And I’m not taking his money.”

“But why?”

Why did everyone keep asking her that? Why was it so hard to understand?

“Because I don’t even know why he did it!”

Unlike Oscar. She knew exactly why he had.

Whore.

Leave me alone, Aie.

That shame she’d just felt, it had nothing to do with Richard. With Richard she felt nothing but the sadness of an acquaintance. The names his children called her, that was just their greed talking. What did she care?

Ashish squeezed her shoulder. “That’s totally fine, Ma. It’s your call.”

“It is. And I want you to respect that.” If the sharpness in her tone surprised him, he took it well.

“Of course I do. How can I not respect anything about you, Ma?” With that he gave her another hug and left to go about his day.



A half hour after Ashish left, Bindu’s front door buzzed. Lee.

He’d taken to coming over for chai every morning, after confirming that she was alone. Turns out he lived in the building next to hers.

“Morning,” he said in his gravelly voice. He was freshly showered, hair still damp. Even this early in the morning, his golf shirt and shorts were ironed to perfection. And his eyes shone with that something that made him him.

Heart skipping in the most intoxicating manner, Bindu handed him a cup, and they stepped out to the lanai and settled into the rattan couch next to each other. He leaned over and dropped a kiss on her lips. His lips were smooth, moisturized. He cared for himself, his own mechanic. The crisp, clean taste of him was like the first drizzle of the monsoon. Every time.

She smiled against his lips.

The comfort of friendship, with some but not all benefits.

She’d never had this before. No pressure. No need to serve. No desperation to hold on to anything. They’d decided to be friends. Then they’d decided to be the kind of friends who slipped into each other’s condos in the light of day and kissed.

It had never been this way for her.

Being able to talk. Being able to be silent. She wanted nothing from him but how he made her feel.

She told him about her cooking plans, and he leaned over and kissed her again. It had been a while since she’d been so excited about anything.

“He’s coming over tomorrow. Why are we cooking today?”

“Two days of cooking time is the minimum for a respectable meal.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Not counting the two days I’ve been prepping.”

“Will the poor boy be able to walk after how much you’re planning to feed him?”

“He’d better. He’s going to have to prove himself. It’s the way to an Indian grandma’s heart. And the way to Cullie’s heart is through me.”

“If the reverse is also true, I’m in trouble, because I’m still traumatized by the scolding Cullie gave me.”