As he drove to the office, Krish considered the various milestones he would cross today. Both his private and professional lives were about to take a sharp turn whether he was ready or not. All he could do was hope for the best.
He called his mother again. He would control what he could.
“Did you find it, Amma?” he asked as soon as she picked up and then berated himself for his impatience. But he wanted it settled. Done. No loose ends.
But it wasn’t his mother who had answered the phone.
“Amma can scarcely contain her joy, Krishu aann. Or her astonishment. Neither can I, my boy. Oh, you have made two old ladies very happy, and the almighty bhagwaan will bless you for it,” Vallima said. Though he couldn’t see her, he knew Vallima was smiling; he could hear it in her voice.
“I’m happy to oblige, Vallima,” he answered in his mother tongue.
“Imagine! Your good news has caused Principal Savitri Menon to stay up late, on a school night no less, to search her room for your jathakam. I am telling you it is in the desk, Amma,” she said that last bit to his mother.
The desk in question ran along one wall of his mother’s bedroom in the cozy little cottage in Pune, its pigeonhole hutch stuffed with books and papers, random stationery and photographs. Krish imagined his no-nonsense mother rifling through her closet and workspace to find his horoscope.
“I praise the Lord he’s finally bestowed our Krishu aann and Diya kutty with sense. If only you both had listened to our sage advice all those years ago, I would be busy raising your children right now,” Vallima prattled on. “What are you doing there, Amma? Tche-tche. Here, let me help. You have made such a mess.”
Krish smiled, listening to the small, white-haired Vallima—who was only a dozen years older than his mother—call her employer Amma out of respect and at the same time scold her as if she were her daughter.
Amma came on the phone, obviously banished from the search. “I spoke to the poojari, as you’d asked, Krishu. He said today is an auspicious day for new ventures, and he’ll make a list of possible wedding dates as soon as I send the jathakam. We are trying to find yours—oh, Vallima found it.” Her voice grew faint as she thanked Vallima, and then she came back on the phone. “What a relief. Now, I’ll speak to Lubna and ask her to send me Diya’s jathakam. Okay?”
Krish grunted his thanks.
“I had no idea you were superstitious, Krishu,” his mother said hesitantly.
He wasn’t. But Diya was. As he’d stipulated, he wasn’t taking any chances. She wasn’t going to find fault in him or his motives this time around.
He didn’t say that to his mother, of course. Not that he needed to with Vallima freely opining in the background.
“Everyone is superstitious about things that matter most to them, Amma. And about the things they are not too sure about but would like a divine validation for. Maybe we shouldn’t get too excited. Ask him what he’ll do if the priest says the jathakams don’t match? Will he break it off again? Go on, ask him!”
“Hush, Vallima,” said his mother. Then, she must’ve covered the phone with her hand because all Krish heard through the speakers was a muffled debate.
“Amma,” he said, thinking Vallima had made a valid point, “please, make sure the jathakams match. Bribe the poojari if you have to. And, for God’s sake, don’t tell Alisha or the Mathurs if it comes to that. Diya mustn’t know.”
“Krish,” his mother gasped in abject disapproval of such dishonesty.
They debated it for a few minutes, but Krish got his way in the end.
One hurdle cleared, he thought with satisfaction as he said good-bye.
Now, on to the next item on his Monday agenda.
* * *
Around mid-morning, the housekeeper arrived at the house.
A short, rotund woman who spoke “very leetal Eenglish,” Maria managed to converse with Diya just fine and without breaking the rhythm of her duties. Diya, always happy to exchange gossip and information about the world at large, sat in the wingback armchair in the master bedroom, waiting for the oil she’d massaged into her scalp to seep into her hair roots as Maria spot-cleaned the room.
From Maria, Diya learned that the Peters were super-busy people, and like Mr. Menon, they were “always working.” They were absentminded-professor types and quiet as turtles. The only thing going against them, according to Maria, was that they had no children and claimed they wanted none.
“Who not want to have leetal chicos?” Maria asked. It was obviously a rhetorical question.
She painted a slightly more intimate picture of the storybook homeowners, offering Diya more than the bare facts Krish had. Not only did Maria unveil the Peters, but she also dished some juice about Meester Menon. She said Krish’s name like she was addressing God himself.
“Mr. Menon teach my son, miss.” Maria smiled shyly at the revelation. “Alejandro is senior in high school. He go to college next year.” Maria pronounced son as sohn and her son’s name as Alehandro.
“Did he come here for math lessons yesterday?” Diya asked. She didn’t remember any of the kids by name, having been too amused and thrilled by the Sunday school setup as a whole. Next time, she’d pay more attention.
Crap. There won’t be a next time, she realized. She wouldn’t be there next Sunday.
“Yes. Mr. Menon say Alejandro is smart.” Maria beamed with pride while fluffing and arranging the multicolored pillows on the quilted bed. “I tell my son what good this”—she paused the fluffing and pointed to her head—“when you so lazy? When you no work hard?”
Diya nodded sagely, having debated many such questions with her mother all through her childhood.
“Allah only helps those who help themselves,” Lubna Mathur had drilled into her children’s heads. Especially into Diya’s, who’d abhorred schoolwork. “The Almighty works very hard to make our lives better. We must follow his example.”
Diya wondered if she should postpone her travel plans for another week or so. What Krish and she had started last night would need some major work on her part for it to thrive. If she left him alone to brood too soon, they’d tumble back to square one.
Thrive? She rolled her eyes. She should be grateful if they survived two days without fighting, let alone a week.
Diya silently vowed not to get her hopes up. In fact, she wasn’t going to hope at all. She was going to enjoy a week of flirtation and snogging—as Aryan had put it—hopefully some shagging, and then leave because her life no longer revolved around Krish.
“I’m sure Krish won’t allow any of his students to be lazy, Maria.”
“I no worried now, miss. Mr. Menon is good teacher for Alejandro. He is good man. He not take any money for the lesson. He say no to money. He make them work instead.” Maria swished a duster over the dresser.
Diya blinked. “He makes them work? Where? At his office?”
Maria shook her head. “No. At the community center. He teach big kids. They teach leetal kids. They have to keep place clean. Like that. The center very popular place now. Busy all the time. Alejandro all the time there, working with his friends.”
Just like Krish to find a brilliant way to teach the kids not only math, but also about responsibility. And keep them out of trouble, from what Maria was indicating. If Krish had been in the room, Diya would’ve leaped into his arms and smooched him.
Maria brandished the duster over the dresser. “Every day, I count blessing that Mr. Menon come into my son’s life. My husband … he no good influence, miss. He has problem.”
Diya took a wild guess at Maria’s husband’s “problem” and understood completely why Krish had taken Alejandro under his wing. Her heart squeezed in sympathy for both Alejandro and Krish and even for Maria.
“Mr. Menon is good man,” Maria repeated. “First, he help Alejandro. Then, he help my husband. Then, me. He recommend me for many house job.”
Diya was unsurprised by it all. Krish had always been a kind and helpful man.
Although his philanthropy used to be geared toward saving animals before, working with kids had to be as rewarding.
It was only after Maria left and Diya was alone again that a wild thought struck her. Her knave had ditched her despite his promise to do otherwise. He’d tucked tail and run away in a suit.
And he still hadn’t mentioned a word about Wisconsin.
* * *
What had they started?
Diya ruminated over the million-dollar question while she soaked in a bubble bath. When she couldn’t take all the thinking and mental sleuthing anymore, she pulled the drain plug and stood up, water sluicing down her body. She took a quick shower before stepping out of the tub, dabbing herself dry with a fluffy white towel, and spraying cocoa butter moisturizer all over her body.
She was dying to talk to Leesha about these new developments, but she couldn’t put her BFF in the delicate position of gossiping about her brother. Anyway, Diya could guess what Leesha would say—or what she would have said had it been any other man but Krish.
Step away, Dee. The man is toxic for you. You’re too emotional about him to think objectively.
All of it was true. Yet Diya didn’t want to walk away, even when her gut was warning her to run far and fast.
Since her gut was hormonal at the moment, she would take it under advisement.
Squeezing drops of a BB cream and sunscreen into her hand, she mixed it up and dabbed it over her face. She paused to stare at herself in the vanity mirror.
She looked unchanged. None the worse for wear this morning, except for the three lovely hickeys on her neck, shoulder, and breast. She probably had more, but these were all she could see. She ran her fingers over them until they tingled again. They were badges of love, of possession. She used to dream about Krish marking her like this, of her showing the world they belonged to each other.
Was her dream coming true? Were her wishes being granted finally?
She didn’t know.
Krish wasn’t an impulsive man, and last night had been nothing but impulse, a jealous reaction. Why had he kissed her? Why after all these years? What was going on in his head, his heart? How could she be sure of anything unless he talked to her? Would he expose his heart?
And what about her own heart and mind?
Her mirror image shrank as her old fears rose inside her like ghosts in a graveyard.
There was one thing Diya did know. Where Krish was concerned, her heart and her mind were unreliable.
Chapter 13
Danny “Dillo” Jones scrawled his signature across the last of the documents, and Armadillo Farms and Foods ceased to exist. Wisco’s takeover was complete.
Krish watched the consortium of lawyers and accountants representing both companies congratulate each other and begin to gather their things from the conference room table. Somewhere in all the paperwork being stuffed inside assorted briefcases was his letter of resignation, effective immediately.
When the suits finally left after exchanging a bit of small talk and some jokes laced with good-byes and good lucks for the future, Krish sank back into his chair and let out a heartfelt groan.
“I reckoned you would take their offer,” Dillo said and took a swig of his beer. “You’re too young to retire, boy.”
A Texan down to his marrow, Dillo exuded an aura of rock-solid strength, even at seventy. Dressed in jeans, a suede jacket, and his ubiquitous Stetson, Dillo always looked as if he were about to climb on a horse and ride off into the sunset with a blade of grass sticking out of his mouth.
It was the last time Krish would see the old man lean back in his squeaky conference room chair, a smile creasing his shrewd, wrinkled face. It was the last time they’d both be in this conference room together—this room where they’d planned and debated on everything from the price of fruits to world domination.
“I said the same when you announced your retirement last year,” Krish reiterated, grinning.
“Touché!” Dillo raised his beer bottle high, the creases in his suntanned cheeks deepening. “To retirement.”
Krish clinked his glass of chilled water to the bottle. “To retirement from corporations and boardrooms.”
Dillo was right. Neither one of them was ready to retire in the truest sense of the word. Not yet.
“So, what should we do now?” Dillo asked, already sounding bored.
Krish’s mouth kicked up on one side. “Now, you go to Florida and get your health back in line while I begin a new phase in my life.”
“Nothing wrong with my health, boy. When am I seeing you in Florida? We need to discuss those investments you had me look at.” Clearly, the man had zero plans to relax.
“Soon,” Krish promised. “As soon as I’ve settled things here.”
He, too, was looking for a new home, embarking on a new career, taking on a new wife. The newness in his life felt good, exciting. He felt in sync with it.
While Dillo finished his beer, Krish savored one last look around the conference room that he’d lorded over for the past several years. It was a bittersweet moment, sure, but he didn’t feel a single pang of regret that he’d never see it again.
“What now?” Dillo asked again. He’d finished his beer and stood up, adjusting his Stetson.
Standing up, too, Krish grinned at the man who was his boss, his mentor, his partner, and friend, rolled into one. “Now, Mr. Jones, you may accompany me to the jeweler you swear by and help me choose an engagement ring.”
“You’re getting married?”
The question, the voice of the speaker, wiped the smile off Krish’s face. Fuck. He briefly closed his eyes before turning to face Aya, who stood framed within the open doors of the conference room. She looked composed, as always, despite the shock inflected in her voice.
“I believe I’ll say my adieus to the rest of the staff,” said Dillo and started walking toward the exit, stopping to shake hands with Aya. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, young lady. I reckon the transitioning is going well for y’all?”
“It’s been smooth, Dillo. The people at Wisco are great. No problems so far.” Aya had been brought in as an external liaison in the human resources department a little over a year ago when the deal was finalized and both companies had begun integrating. With her neat and trim personality, Aya had managed to lump together, reshape, and whittle down a larger, more competent workforce for Wisco.
Krish hadn’t expected to see her today. She was supposed to be in Wisconsin already, settling down at Wisco’s headquarters. They’d said their farewells on Thursday night at dinner—which he hadn’t been able to reschedule because she’d said she was flying out over the weekend.
Why was she still in Dallas? Was there a problem? Then, it struck him that, whatever it was, it was no longer his problem. He’d resigned.
Dillo tipped his hat to her and walked away to say his good-byes to his old staff, leaving Krish and Aya alone.
Krish walked to her, kissing her on the cheek. The gesture was perfunctory and awkward. They’d been awkward ever since their breakup six months ago.
“So, are you getting engaged?” Her dark eyes cut to his.
Krish ran a hand through his hair. Was he? He hadn’t asked Diya, and she hadn’t said yes. He had no clue how to answer that question, so he said nothing.
Aya took that as an affirmative. “What about your aversion to commitments?”
She wanted marriage and children on top of her thriving career. When she’d made her wishes known, he’d told her he wasn’t interested in marriage or even long-term commitments. He’d assured her he’d make a terrible family man. He’d explained why.
None of it had been a lie. Yet here he was, about to propose marriage to Diya, making him a liar in Aya’s eyes.
How could he make Aya understand about Diya? How could he tell her that he’d loved Diya all of his life in one way or another? That not a day went by without him thinking of her or worrying about her. There was nothing he didn’t know about Diya M
athur. And she knew him, all of him—the good, the bad, and his ugly side.
“Never mind,” she said when he took a minute too long to answer. “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, it’s not why I need to speak to you.”
She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from the sleeve of her navy-blue pantsuit even though her clothes were never creased. Even her hair wouldn’t dare to come loose from the tight French knot she twisted it into for work. During office hours, Aya was all business, but she also knew how to let her hair down. Krish admired her ability to separate the personal from the professional. They had that in common.
“Is there a problem?” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He hoped she wasn’t going to rehash the discussion about Wisco. His resignation was a done deal.
That had been another point of contention between them. At first, Aya had tried to dissuade him from accepting Wisco’s offer, insisting it would be career suicide to tie himself down for five years in the middle of nowhere. She hadn’t been wrong exactly, but her motive against it might have been. Ironically, once Wisco had made her an offer she couldn’t refuse and she’d begun working for them, she’d changed her tune.
“Rayna told me of your new project. Have you lost your mind?” she asked, surprising him.
Although why he was surprised, he had no clue. Aya and Rayna Peters were good friends, after all. In fact, Aya and he had quite a number of common acquaintances through work and from university even though they’d never connected in school. Therefore, awkward or not, they both had to maintain a veneer of friendly equanimity, no matter what had happened or not happened between them.
“I don’t believe so,” he said coolly. “But you’re welcome to your opinion.”
“Don’t get annoyed with Rayna for telling me. She is worried that you and Darren are in over your heads.”
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