TWENTY-TWO
“How many for lunch?” Jenn said, preparing to set the dining room table.
“Four. Sarah said they’d be back before noon,” Maggie called from the kitchen, hands coated with flour to punch down the spongy dough for christopsomo, Greek Christmas bread, rich and sweet. A yeasty smell emerged from the pantry, where the dough had been rising since early morning. With a whoosh, the sponge collapsed around Maggie’s fist, and she kneaded the soft, stringy mass with pleasure. She used to make christopsomo on special occasions when Jenn was little. Jenn wanted to serve it instead of wedding cake, saying the family and friends she had invited would prefer it. Maggie couldn’t find her old cookbook, but the Internet provided a recipe. She wanted to make sure this version would rise as forecast in her drafty pantry. So far, so good.
“I bet Aunt Sarah is giving Arun the third degree.”
“You know our Sarah.”
“He won’t mind. She has good intentions. Last night she insisted I tell her the exact moment I fell in love with him. I said it was gradual, but she pushed me hard, and I actually found the moment.”
Maggie kept her eyes on the dough atop the floured cutting board. “When was it?”
“About a year ago. We were in a slum outside Delhi, and we’d been meeting nasty people all day, and I was hot and tired and discouraged. We went to this restaurant, and they said they were closing. I was ready to cry, but Arun took the guy aside and talked to him. And then the guy walked us past the restaurant into his house and out onto a courtyard, and he brought fruit drinks and the most delicious food and left us there. It was so peaceful. Arun brings out the best in people.”
Maggie could imagine being so stressed and tired in a foreign city that you mistook relief for love. She said nothing, glad to be let in on the story.
Jenn spoke in a faraway voice, “Arun makes people feel safe. He makes me feel safe.”
Were those the words of a wounded teenager? Maggie wondered. Jenn never talked about being raped. Had she gravitated to Arun because he was so different from her aggressor? And if so, did it matter? The fact was, Jenn was in love.
Maggie broke off a small ball of dough and divided it in half. Then she called Jenn to finish the loaf. Jenn came to her side, smiling, and floured her hands. She formed the two balls of dough into long ropes and slit the ends. Maggie watched, swept by a wave of nostalgia, as Jenn crisscrossed the ropes on top of the mound of dough and curled the split ends into spirals.
“Walnuts or cherries?” Jenn asked.
“Walnuts, I think. Cherries would be pretty, but walnuts will go better with the meal.” She passed a jar of mixed nuts to her daughter.
Jenn picked through the jar, removed four walnut halves, and stuck one in each of the four spirals. “You know, we could use three ropes and make six coils. It’s not Christmas.”
“Do you want to start again? It’s not too late.”
Jenn laughed, “No thanks. This loaf’s practice, and you have enough to do.”
How like Jenn, Maggie thought, to rewrite the instructions. Not because she was a contrarian but because she looked at situations, big and small, with unbiased eyes and created her own logic. Maggie herself was different. Since she could remember, her first impulse had been to figure out what was wanted in a situation and then to deliver it efficiently. She didn’t wander from a path once undertaken, until it was done and done right. Not until recently, when she began to meander. That course on Indian civilization had turned out to be so invigorating, and it had led to the liaison with Brian, such as it was. It seemed to Maggie that Jenn had always been able to make her meanders meaningful. With a shudder, she realized that Jenn’s ability to see possibilities might cement her to Arun. But would anything good materialize from their union? She herself had fallen in love with a vision of Paul—a noble vision of struggle against the pain of cancer—that was not fulfilled and that, she had come to realize, would never be fulfilled. She had so little to look forward to as Paul’s companion. Fear for Jenn’s future crept into her heart.
“May I say something? When you talk about Arun, you remind me of me. I fell in love with your father because he was going to cure cancer. He didn’t.”
Jenn covered the dough with a dish towel. “Arun’s very different from Dad, no offense. Arun doesn’t have all the answers, but he’s optimistic about change. I know he will make a difference. I never met anyone who turns philosophy into action as beautifully as he does.”
“Sounds very abstract.”
“Yeah, but he’s a concrete guy. And he makes me happy. In every way.” Jenn picked up the cutting board. “Where do you want me to leave the loaf?”
“Top shelf in the pantry. It seems to be warm enough.” Maggie took little comfort in Jenn’s words, although she was glad Jenn had chosen to share them. Yes, Arun and Paul couldn’t be compared; was she off base comparing Jenn to herself at twenty-six? Her own history uncoiled in her head in a split second, and then Jenn’s. The two histories looked similar in outline but so different in detail, the precious, impossibly fine-grained detail wherein God, or the devil, lay. She realized she could not predict the future trajectory for either of them, except that they would necessarily diverge. She pursed her lips, chiding herself to stay in the moment, the immediate task being a hearty vegetarian salad for four with a tuna fish option for Sarah.
The doorbell rang; Jenn wiped her hands and went to answer. In a moment, Sarah and Arun followed Jenn back into the kitchen. Sarah plopped down in the breakfast nook; Arun stood leaning in the doorway. Jenn cozied into him. Seeing the high color in Sarah’s cheeks, Maggie put on the teakettle and sat opposite her.
Sarah’s eyebrows arched. “It seems we have a difference of opinion. Arun and I agree there’s more to a human than flesh and blood. There’s something ineffable I call spirit. He says it’s a life force, like an aura, you know, a ring of energy around someone’s head, and it’s just a matter of time before some hacker cracks the code.”
Arun said, “Not exactly, Sarah.” His cheeks bunched up in a broad Indian smile. He addressed Maggie. “I am trying to express my opinion that humankind will eventually develop a deeper respect for the mystery of life. I used the example of bees. Bees can perceive the electric field of a flower. It’s like another color for them, I imagine. I told Sarah that I hope there is potential for people to perceive so many colors that they stand back in awe.”
“Are you talking about darshan?” Maggie said.
“Ah, Maggie, you are very kind. Jenn told me about your studies. I have seen darshan; I have seen Indian people moved to tears by the sight of greatness. My grandparents talked about Gandhiji with such love, and my parents about Mandela. No, I mean something more earthly and achievable.
“And I say,” Sarah cut in, “that we don’t need to wait for some academic to write up auras. Spirit is in the holy books that have guided people for thousands of years.”
Jenn said, “I thought you didn’t hold with religious orthodoxy, Aunt Sarah.”
“I don’t. I don’t feel constrained by dogma, any dogma. I do believe that the great religious teachers of the past have been moved by spirit. It’s no coincidence that all the holy books say the same thing. Love God and you are saved. There’s no need to get more complicated.”
The kettle that had been burbling launched into a full scream. Jenn left Arun’s side to turn it off. No one made a move for a cup.
Maggie said, “Sarah, it is complicated. So many things get in the way. Think of all the self-help books people buy. With cause.”
“I tell you, I can see it in my clients. When people talk about complications they are just making excuses for their unwillingness to look at the truth of their lives.”
Jenn interjected, “Maybe they’re not unwilling. Maybe they don’t know how.”
“That’s no excuse for not doing the hard work to learn. I thought I could ignore the great teachings. I did ignore them until now. And now I am fulfilled.”
Jenn said, “That’s how Arun and I want our clients to feel.”
Arun said, “But it is difficult, especially in India, where so many do not have basic necessities. Clean water, an intact roof during the monsoon. That is why we align ourselves with the microfinance NGO. To provide the whole package, so to speak.” Jenn stepped to his side, and he took her hand.
Maggie said, “We can continue the conversation over lunch. Do you want to wash up first? I need twenty minutes to get everything on the table.”
Jenn blew her mother a kiss and led Arun out of the kitchen.
Sarah stared at Maggie. “Why did you cut me off? I didn’t get to use my A game.”
“You can argue with him later. I want you for myself.” Maggie reached across the table to hold Sarah’s hand. “Tell me what you mean about being fulfilled now. You’ve always seemed to be dug in and enjoying it. Far more than other people, including me.”
Sarah’s expression softened. “That’s the way it looked. I even believed it myself. Each time I made a life change, I thought I’d found the key. And I enjoyed the idea so much that I ignored how miserable it made me.”
“You never talked about being miserable. You could have cried on my shoulder.”
“I was too busy being busy. But the universe has finally brought me peace.” Sarah leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Maybe it will bring me a man. Better than old Matthew—what a misguided choice that was.”
Maggie pictured Sarah on the arm of her former husband, preening and smiling at a thousand watts. Each time they traveled, Sarah brought back acres of photos that looked like happily ever after. Until she began to find Matthew lacking, first in polish, then in gumption. Maggie had thought Matthew gutsy enough, if a little pale. When Sarah had confided her growing doubts, Maggie had said that Sarah had enough gumption for two. Sarah had replied that she wouldn’t settle, and that was the end of that.
“And so?”
“Don’t get excited. I’m not looking for a lover, although it would be nice to fuck now that I don’t need contraception. No, now I have what I needed all along. It is such bliss to finally stop searching and curl up in God’s love, whatever you want to call it.”
Maggie wondered if Sarah heard the irony in her words. How could she be sure this life change wouldn’t disappoint her as well? What a revelation—strong-minded Sarah had felt rudderless underneath! In comparison, Maggie thought, her own commitments looked solid. Her heart went out to her friend, suddenly transformed from heroic into ordinary, and pathetic, and sympathetic. She wanted to shake Sarah and comfort her at the same time.
“You sound a lot like Arun.”
“Nope. Night and day. He makes excuses for people.”
“Do you object because he’s not Christian?”
“Of course not.” Sarah sighed and withdrew her hand. “I have no truck with organized religion. I just don’t trust him. He talks about electric fields and mysteries in the same breath. I think he’s trying to suck up to you and Paul. To make Jenn think you approve of him. I’m sorry to say I do not.” Sarah’s face looked pinched.
“I’ve spent more time with him than you, and I have to say I think he’s sincere. He’s trying to do something old-fashioned in a modern way.”
“Sell snake oil?”
Maggie laughed. “There’s always a market for snake oil. No, he reminds me of a teacher I had in Sunday school, only more up-to-date.” The teacher, Mr. Steede, used to quote Aldo Leopold to the class so fervently that Maggie, at twelve, felt embarrassed for him.
“How is he going to earn a living teaching Sunday school in India?”
“You sound like Paul. We’ll never convince Jenn that he shouldn’t try.”
Jenn walked into the kitchen. “Did I hear my name? I came to help with lunch. Arun’s Skyping with his folks.”
Sarah said, “I meant to ask, how old is Arun?”
“Thirty-one. He seems older because he’s wise.”
Maggie rose to get lunch going. Months before, she’d assumed Arun was older and hadn’t thought to ask. Foolish. His talk made more sense coming from a thirty-year-old than a forty-year-old.
“Does he call his parents often?” Sarah said.
“He’s close to his folks. They’re ophthalmologists. They work in a big hospital and run a free clinic on the side in a poor neighborhood. I think they’re his inspiration, although he says it’s me.” Jenn blushed. “What can I do, Mom?”
“Nothing yet. I’ll need a steady hand at the cutting board in a minute.” Jenn sat in the nook as Maggie gathered ingredients from the fridge.
Sarah said, “What do his parents think about his marrying an American?”
“We spent a week with them last spring. They like me. They sent Arun to school here, so I guess they were prepared.” Jenn paused. “Aunt Sarah, you seem so uncomfortable around Arun. Will you tell me what’s on your mind? I want you two to be friends.”
“Oh, boy.” Sarah leaned back and crossed arms over her chest. She looked at Jenn and her face softened. “I’ll be straight with you, hon. Arun makes me uncomfortable because I think he’s got the wrong idea about what people need to be happy. He can’t build a business on shifting ground. I’m worried that he’ll disappoint you.”
“He’s not building a business—we are. And we expect the ground to shift. It always does when you start something.” Her voice lowered. “Arun and I agree about all the big things and most of the little things, Aunt Sarah. We match. I hope you will be able to see that.”
“I hope so too sweetie.” Sarah uncrossed her arms in a gesture that Maggie took for surrender. Temporary surrender. No doubt a tactic.
“It’s my turn to go wash up.” Sarah rose and headed for the stairs. “Fifteen minutes ’til lunch? Half an hour?”
“Fine. I’ll call.”
Maggie spread plastic tubs on the counter and lifted a chopping knife from the wood-block holder that had been a wedding present a million years earlier. Jenn approached, and Maggie pointed with the knife.
“All the veggies need to be chopped bite-sized. Keep the cooked and the raw separate for now, okay?”
Jenn nodded. She picked up tomatoes and took them to the sink. Rinsing, she talked over her shoulder. “Thank you for stopping the argument. I thought Aunt Sarah would like Arun. I don’t know what’s bugging her.”
“She wants the best for you, according to her way of thinking.”
“Yeah, I know. Like you and Dad. No one seems to see that I have the best according to my way of thinking. You’re all watching Arun’s every move, dissecting every word. It’s like I’m invisible.”
Maggie felt Jenn’s hurt and sought to ease it. “I’m sorry. No one means to ignore you. We’re just trying to understand Arun.” She stepped beside Jenn. “Help me see you better.”
Jenn dried the tomatoes with a dish towel and placed them on the counter next to her mother. “I’m not worried about money. You and Dad should know that I’m not irresponsible. If the NGO deal falls through, Arun and I will both get teaching jobs. We’ll be fine. We know how to take care of ourselves and each other. But we also care about what we do in the world, and we won’t stop until we get that right. Separately and together.”
“You’re so quiet around Arun that I never see the separate part. And you don’t seem to be having fun.”
Jenn looked surprised. “I’m fine. I’m trying to give all of you a chance to get to know Arun. You already know me.”
“Fair enough.”
Did she really know Jenn as well as she should? Could she imagine Jenn’s dreams? Would she like them if she could? Did she have the right to judge? Maggie promised herself to do a better job of focusing on her daughter and not on the distraction. She handed over the knife. “Chop, please. They took such a long walk they must be hungry.”
Maggie went into the pantry to get a can of tuna, thinking hard. Jenn had said they know how to take care of each other. How wonderful that at twenty-six Jenn understood commitment, perha
ps better than Sarah ever had. Maggie’s heart swelled with pride, and something deep inside shifted: she saw Jenn as her own woman, with a moral compass she wouldn’t lose, more sure of her direction than she herself had been when she first followed Paul. Yet Arun would take Jenn away. That god-awful fact dimmed the light.
TWENTY-THREE
A long marriage, Paul thought, conferred a few benefits. Without a word, they had adopted a truce. Maggie had nodded assent when he left early to escape the clamor of the houseguests. Here in the office, he’d have eight hours—nine if he skipped lunch—of blessed silence to lay out the slides for his presentation, to display the logic behind those gorgeous red and green curves. He opened PowerPoint and the data files. No need to make an outline. The structure of his argument would emerge naturally, as it always did when he concentrated on his science.
A knock on the door. Robert Stamford stood in the open doorway.
“May I come in?” Stamford’s mouth bent in an odd little smile.
Paul did not invite him to sit in the folding chair beside the desk.
Stamford continued. “It seems there’s a problem. I got a call from Martin Miller last night. Evidently he’s been looking up your last few papers.”
“If Miller has questions, he should call me, not you.”
Appetite Page 20