One by one they all wish me happy birthday. I can feel Daniel—somehow he is seated next to me on my right—watching me. He smiles and says, “Happy sweet twenty-one.”
Throughout the meal, his presence keeps me on edge. He makes casual conversation which I barely hear. I try to focus on what my friends are saying. I nod, smile, and respond as appropriate, but my actions feel wooden. How can I stay sane when his knee rubs mine every time he shifts in his seat?
“Jillian, are you in there?” Fingers snap in front of my eyes.
“Uh . . . uh, sorry, Mandy. I didn’t hear you.” I look at her with a self-conscious smile.
Mandy reaches across and hands me two pictures. Her baby—in the first picture—is about three months old and has the pudgiest cheeks. She says with a wide grin, “Jason rules my home these days, but Steve doesn’t mind.”
“You should bring him the next time you visit us,” I tell her and pass the picture to Daniel. I feel a twinge of envy to see Mandy and her adoring husband—and now their adorable baby—in the second photo. But the envy is fleeting—my relief at being single and no longer visible to the Hakka community is stronger. Mandy is my only link to them now—and that pleases me, as it means I don’t have to watch every move I make for fear of the gossip that would follow. It’s hard to believe that a year ago, all I wanted was to win Peter’s affection and nothing more. I was prepared to settle for an existence that many women from my background accept and rarely question. No more of that life for me, I promise myself.
Sheryl oohs and aahs over baby Jason. “He’s so cute he makes me want to have babies,” she gushes. That’s fine for her, she’s getting married next month.
Doug produces his belly laugh. “They don’t look this perfect all the time. He’ll cry and drive you insane too, sometimes.”
“I know, but look at him. How could you not want one of these?” Sheryl turns to Daniel, batting her dark lashes. “Don’t you agree? Wouldn’t you just love to have babies of your own?”
Daniel flashes a smile that jerks at my heart. He says, “Perhaps someday . . . with the right person.” Our eyes meet—I blink and then lower mine.
Fatima chimes in. “I can’t believe you don’t have a girlfriend yet. With your Robert Redford looks, you must have your pick of women.” If I didn’t know her better—as well as the fact that she is happily married—I’d say she’s flirting with him.
Faking indifference I say, “Oh, but he does have a girlfriend. I saw them together last week.”
Daniel rubs his chin and frowns. “Who are you talking about?” Then a flicker of understanding crosses his face. He smirks. “Oh, I get it. You saw me with Nina the other day. Nina and I were in high school together. She’s just a friend and she’s getting married soon.”
I hope the expression on my face does not give away the glee that I feel. The possibility of being Daniel’s girlfriend makes me giddy—if only I could convince myself that Papa’s disapproval doesn’t matter to me anymore. With every passing day, Daniel chips away at my resolve to stay away from him as surely as spring arrives and melts away the snow.
·15·
“Daniel is here,” Wendy yells.
I grab my purse and then stop in front of the mirror to take one last look at myself. Wendy has insisted that I go all out for this occasion, my first date with Daniel. But even in my excitement, a niggling doubt still tugs at my gut about this evening. The shadow of my Hakka upbringing hovers over me always. After several months of holding out, finally between Wendy’s encouragement and Daniel’s insistence—he has said he won’t give up—I have given in to my own desire to be with him.
Satisfied that I look presentable and not, as Wendy likes to say, forlorn and sad, I step into the living room. Silence greets me as both Daniel and Wendy look up. Then Daniel releases a low whistle. “You look absolutely gorgeous,” he says.
Certain that I’m turning several shades of red to match my fuchsia dress, I hide behind Wendy’s embrace while she whispers that she approves. Then she steps back with her hands on my shoulders, eyes traveling all over my face, taking in every detail. “Have a great time,” she says at last with a gentle squeeze.
“Thank you,” I whisper back.
As Daniel helps me slip into my coat, his fingers brush my bare arms, sending an electrifying ripple through me. Then he grasps my hand, and together we tread down the stairs while Wendy locks up after us. I like the secure feel of his firm grip. The snow swirls around us. Already, it has left a light dusting on his red Mustang parked at the curbside. I remember the last time I’d ridden with him almost a year ago, the day I discovered Peter and Bobby making love. My mood darkens momentarily.
Daniel senses my brief hesitation. “What’s wrong?”
“I was just thinking about the other time I rode in your car. I was in no condition to notice what you were driving back then.”
“Ah, the day you fainted in my arms.” He laughs. “Forget Peter. Put him behind you.”
I wish it was that easy to forget.
Daniel opens the passenger door. He holds my arm as I swing my feet carefully inside to avoid staining the immaculate white leather seats. I glance up to the windows above the stores. Wendy waves to us—I knew she would be watching from her bedroom window. I blow her a kiss and then settle back before Daniel releases the door and strides over to the driver’s side.
Daniel glances at me with his hands on the steering wheel. “Ready?”
“Yes. Where are we going?”
The car starts to move. “You just sit back and relax. Let me take care of the details tonight.”
I put away Papa’s disapproving face from my mind. Why should I worry now that he no longer sees me as his daughter?
This place Daniel’s brought me to is classy. The bar looks bright and elegant, the dining area is softly lit and carpeted, people are dressed to the hilt. I notice a few appreciative glances thrown in our direction as Daniel—one hand on my elbow—and I follow the hostess to our table.
In Calcutta, sometimes my parents took the family to dine at places where the uniformed waiters served us in hushed tones and the table linens were milky white. Since my arrival in Toronto, my restaurant trips have leaned toward the kind that’s easy on my pocket—fast-food places, Chinese eateries, and only on rare occasions, casual hangouts like a bar.
We place our orders—a fancy steak for Daniel and chicken supreme for me—after which Daniel proposes “To us . . . now and always.”
I murmur, “To us.”
Later as we wait for dessert we watch couples dancing romantically to slow music on the dance floor. I ask myself what will happen now. I am totally confused. I don’t know what should happen, and when it does, will I be ready. Finally, Daniel stretches out his arm. “Let’s dance.”
After the slightest hesitation, I let him lead me towards the neon-lit floor where muted white, blue and red lights glow softly, fading in and out. His arms circle my waist. I place mine around his neck. We move together in rhythm to the melody, “The first time . . . ever I saw your face . . . ” Daniel holds me closer to him. I feel the heat in his body while Roberta Flack’s achingly sweet voice seduces us. His lips brush the top of my head. I lift my eyes to meet his, and the naked longing I see sends a thrill coursing down my spine.
“Do you remember our first dance at our office Christmas party?” he murmurs.
“Yes, I can’t believe I actually had the nerve to Cha-Cha with you.”
He bends his head, nibbles at my ear and whispers, “I think that’s when I fell for you.”
My fingers stroke the back of his head; the gesture feels right. I don’t know what to say, but then no words are needed while we dance cheek to cheek.
All too soon the song ends. Daniel’s lips graze mine briefly before he leads me back to our table, where dessert and coffee wait f
or us.
Shortly after eleven, Daniel pulls up at the curb in front of the apartment. Keys in hand, I face the front door, wondering what to do next. When I turn around, his lips hover over my head. He tilts my face with his thumb and index finger. I can smell his coffee breath mingled with mint as I part my lips in anticipation.
When we break apart, quietly I let us inside. Warning bells ring in my head, but I am too drunk on my emotions to heed them. Wendy has tactfully retired into her room early. Daniel relaxes on the couch and pats the seat beside him, inviting me to join him; I hover like a nervous hen. Gradually I slide closer to him and lean back. He drops an arm over my shoulders and draws me close. I snuggle closer and we settle into a comfortable silence.
After a while, he turns his head toward the side table where a silver frame holds a photo of my family.
“Is this your family?” he asks as he picks it up.
I nod. Thanks to Mandy some of my possessions were returned to me.
“This must be your mother. You look like her. Hmm . . . your dad has a stern face. I can see how he would intimidate you.” Now a finger stops over a young girl, hair pulled up in a high ponytail. “Is this you? Such innocence should be illegal.”
His eyes meet mine in a teasing glance.
I elbow his chest. “I was only fifteen at the time. My mom didn’t want me to wear any make-up until I finished high school.”
Daniel returns the picture to the table and drops his hand on my lap. “You don’t need any make-up. You’re already beautiful without it.”
I blush, becoming even more conscious of his closeness. His fingers trail along my thigh, sending shivers through my body. “You haven’t seen me without make-up.”
“I know a quick way to fix that. Let me wake up next to you in the morning.” The fingers move up from my waist. His fingertips draw circles on my breast, gently stroking. Every nerve in my body tingles. I close my eyes, letting myself thrill to his touch.
Then suddenly I see Peter’s face—crazed and contorted, panting and grunting over me—and I’m terrified; the image is so real I could almost touch it. “Please stop.” I struggle to sit up.
“What’s the matter? I thought you liked it.” He looks perplexed.
“I’m so sorry, Daniel. I’m not ready yet.”
“We won’t do anything you don’t want.”
I sense his disappointment, but I cannot quell the panic rising from the pit of my stomach up to my chest. “It’s not you. It’s just . . . I just can’t.”
“If you’re not ready, then you’re not.” He gives me a quick hug as he rises. “It’s getting late. I should go home.”
“Oh, you don’t need to leave yet.” I can’t keep the disappointment out of my voice as I stand up beside him. I wish I could turn the clock back and recapture the earlier magic.
With one hand on my shoulder, the other under my chin, he says, “I do.” He lowers his head and brushes my lips with his. And then he is gone.
From my bedroom window, I watch him get into his car. Soon the faint twinkle of the red tail lights fade into the distance.
“How did your date with Daniel go last night?” Wendy pours some cornflakes into a bowl.
“I think it went well until I did something stupid at the end.”
She stops pouring the cereal and looks up. “So tell me about it.”
Wendy is the only person who knows and understands the deep emotional scar Peter has left on me. When I tell her how the evening ended, she looks thoughtful. “If Daniel loves you, he’ll wait for you to come around. Do you think you’ll be able to tell him what Peter did to you?”
“What’s to tell? Peter was my husband. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, he was claiming his spousal right.”
“You don’t believe that, and you never should. No one has the right to do what Peter did to you. Don’t ever forget that.”
I gnaw at my lip. Although I know that Wendy makes perfect sense, how does a woman claim that she was raped by her own husband?
She lowers her spoon into the bowl. “Listen to me, Jillian. I see the doubt in your eyes. I have never told you why I left my husband. He thought he had the right to do whatever he wanted with me. Linda was only three when I left him. He came home drunk one evening and became belligerent when I refused to accommodate his desires. Yes, he hit me, had his way with me and then fell asleep in a drunken stupor. That’s when I packed my bags and left with Linda.”
I put my mug down and circle around to stand behind her, wrapping my arms around her neck. I feel a tremor run through her.
“Thank you for sharing your story with me. I want us to be friends forever.” I kiss the top of her head before going back to my chair.
·16·
The snow banks have disappeared from the roadside, and tufts of green grass peep out from the brown patches left over by the winter. Crunching over the gravel path up to the building, I notice the tulips on either side. I bounce up the steps and reach inside the mailbox, and am rewarded with a lone envelope—the red, blue and white borders, and the stamps, tell me that it is from India. My brother Shane’s handwriting is boldly legible.
Although my parents have stopped writing, Shane and Robert keep me connected. Shane’s friend, Vikram Kumar, is our conduit. I mail my letters to Vikram’s address, and he passes them on to my brothers; we take care to keep our correspondence a secret from Papa.
I let myself into the apartment, and my coat is still on as I read the letter.
Shane writes about his studies at St Xavier’s College and his progress in the family business with Papa. There is news about the goings-on in Tangra—which friends are now engaged or married, the movies he has seen recently. He has a love interest in a girl a few tanneries down the road. Of course, no one must find out yet, especially our parents. If they found out, they will insist that they marry—and he is not ready for marriage yet. I agree. At nineteen, he needs to focus on finishing college.
He says that Ah-Poh will turn seventy-one with the next Chinese New Year—the older Hakkas still mark their ages by the Lunar New Year. Papa wants to throw a banquet for this milestone, in December, eight months from now. That should give me plenty of time, he writes, to decide whether or not to join them in India for the event.
I fold the letter, a smile on my lips. Shane has been a great brother and ally. During his mid-teens, I had covered for him during his many escapades when he took off to the movies instead of going to school. The Hakka community may have shunned and ostracized me—Peter’s side of the story being the only version they know—but I still have my brothers, and to some extent, Mama and Ah-Poh. Papa keeps his vow to have no communication with me, but Mama and Ah-Poh get updates from Shane and Robert.
I haven’t heard from Peter yet. Surprisingly, he has gone along with the divorce proceedings. Perhaps he found his conscience when he realized that I’d left everything behind except my bank account. If not for Mandy, I would be totally cut off from the Indian Hakka community in Toronto.
The phone rings as I take my coat off. The sound of Daniel’s voice gives me a warm feeling inside. “Do you want to go out for a quick bite in about an hour?”
After our first date, I thought he would cool off toward me, but that hasn’t happened. He reassured me that we would never do anything that I’m not comfortable with.
“Why don’t you come over and I’ll cook us dinner instead?” I tell him. “Wendy is spending the evening with Alan, so it’s just you and me.”
Wendy and Alan Schott, our landlord, started dating recently when she complained about a foul smell next door. Alan located a dead rabbit in that vacant apartment, and the noxious odour disappeared, but Alan stayed—a welcome fixture in Wendy’s life.
Daniel arrives an hour later while I am setting the table. The sight of him—blue eyes crinkled in
a smile—still twists my insides. Long after he has draped his six-foot frame on the couch with a glass of wine in hand, the feel of his kiss hangs on my lips like soothing balm.
While I set the table, we chat about our day.
“I received a letter from Shane today. He said that my papa is thinking of celebrating my grandmother’s seventy-first birthday later this year. I wonder if I should visit them.”
“Will your father let you step inside his house?”
I beckon him to come to the table, and we sit down to eat. “I don’t know,” I tell him.
“Just think about it. You’ve committed two major sins in their eyes—getting a divorce and dating a white man. The first one got you disowned. What will the second one get you?”
“They don’t know about you yet.”
His gaze searches my face. “You can’t hide me forever, and I’m not planning to let you out of my life any time soon.” He arranges his chopsticks carefully between his fingers. His attempts at eating like a Chinese endears him even more to me.
“I’ll tell them when I’m ready.”
“My parents know all about you. They want to meet you soon. So when will you come with me to visit them?”
“What if they don’t like me?”
“I’ve told them everything about you and they can’t wait to meet you.”
Not soon, I hope secretly. The thought of meeting his family terrifies me.
“Do they know that I’m not white?”
“They know that I have a girlfriend. It doesn’t matter what colour you are.”
“But would they care that I’m Chinese?” I persist, still gazing at the glass below.
“They will love you because I love you,” he says, pulling me towards him.
“And your sister, will she and her family be there too?”
“Yes, it’s been our tradition that we all go home for Easter, even after Kim got married. If you’re worried about her, don’t. As sisters go, she’s the best. Her kids will keep her too busy to pay attention to anything else.” He chuckles and traces his fingers along my cheek. “Relax, Jill. I love you and so will my family.”
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