Nights Like This

  “How did you get conviction? Do they sell it nowadays?”

  “Very funny.”

  “So then?” she asked as she tucked my hair behind my ear.

  “Your hair’s gotten long,” she said.

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “That it has.”

  I knew I had to say it. So I did. All at once, I said, “I’m sorry about that night, Vanessa. I’m sorry about everything.”

  In the silence that followed I thought of how strange it is that what we least understand about people is what we hope will save us. I had never understood Vanessa’s forgiveness of all those who hurt her. But she had quietly accepted the world and the fallibility of the human heart. And now I was hoping for her to do the same for me. Softly, I said the words I knew she deserved to hear.

  “Forgive me,” I said.

  I felt my throat constrict and all I wanted to do was hold her and cry.

  She held my hands and leaned towards me.

  “Jess…don’t let those tears fall, babe. What was meant to be, what is meant to be brings us to this moment right now. And we’re okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. This time a tear slipped from my eye. Her thumb pushed it away as if there had never been anything there.

  “It’s all right, Jess.”

  “No, but I’m really sorry. And I’m sorry I can’t be with you but I can’t.”

  In the silence that surrounded us, I didn’t even move. Neither did she. Then she finally spoke.

  “I’m engaged, Jess.”

  “Engaged? To who?”

  “Someone I met a few months ago. I know it’s sudden for both of us but it feels right.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “Very much.”

  “Does she love you?”

  “More than I love her,” she said smiling.

  “That’s great,” I said, somewhat relieved, somewhat saddened.

  Again the silence. This time it was my turn to speak first.

  “I went to India,” I said.

  “I thought so. So what happened?”

  “A lot but nothing at all. I spoke to my mother. I discovered I like Scotch on the rocks. I wrote the book. I missed you.”

  “That’s a lot,” she said as she took my hand.

  When she smiled at me I wanted to kiss her.

  “We were fun together,” I said. “We were good together.”

  “We were.”

  “And I fucked it all up.”

  “I’m engaged, Jess, remember? We end up where we’re supposed to be with whomever we’re supposed to be with. At the end of the day, I have no complaints.”

  “What’s her name?” I asked softly as if it made any difference in my life.

  “Kajol,” she said.

  “She’s Indian?”

  “But what else?” Vanessa said smiling once again.

  “You smile a lot now,” I said, wondering if Kajol read to her on park benches or served her guavas dusted with salt and chili powder.

  “She makes me happy, Jess. She makes life different.”

  “You’re really not upset with me?”

  “I was, Jess. I really was. But now…not so much. She loves me. I love her. We’re happy in our small studio and our small lives. I don’t really care about much else.”

  “Well, that’s all I came to say,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ll always have Philly, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Always Philly.”

  I tried to blink the tears away and saw that she was doing the same. I looked away from her.

  “I’m going to get going,” I said.

  “You have to find her, Jess. Let her know you do love her just the way she wants you to.”

  “How did you know? I mean….”

  “Your eyes,” she said. “Your eyes tell the truth. Always have. That’s why you’re such a bad liar. And besides, I’m good at guessing things like that.”

  I gave her a hug that turned into me holding her for a while. She felt good in my arms.

  “Jess, get going.”

  “Yeah.”

  I let go of her, placed a kiss on her cheek and turned around to go. I felt her fingertip grazing my back as if to write something.

  “Write it again,” I said. “I’ll get it this time.”

  She tried again, slower.

  “Nights like this….”

  “You’re getting better,” she said.

  She turned me around and kissed my lips softly. A kiss that stayed with me much after she pulled away.

  “Now go,” she said, “And find her.”

  I walked away quickly, without stopping. When I reached the stairs I looked back somehow hoping she was still there.

  She had gone inside already. I felt tears in my eyes but realized they were totally unnecessary. I climbed down the stairs slowly thinking the whole while whether she was on her bed with Kajol sharing Diet Coke and Malta. The thought made me smile through my tears. I had a flashback of Philly.

  “Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms,” I said. “My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.” I exited the building, stopped outside and breathed.

  Chapter Forty

  I decided to look for her at Washington Square Park. I decided this for many reasons. One, I had run out of places to look. Besides work and the apartment, I didn’t know where to look for her. Two, she had told me that she went there to think and if I knew her, she was always pondering the fate of the world. And three, I knew that the fountain would have been turned on by now and I wanted to sit by the water and do some thinking myself. So for all these reasons, I chose to go to Washington Square.

  As I stepped under the arch at the park I felt as if I were crossing a threshold. I walked to the fountain slowly and stopped my steps before I reached. She looked amazing as she sat there, regal almost, her shoes in her hand, her bare feet submerged in the water. I watched her for a while and she must have felt my gaze because she turned to me. Her eyebrows furrowed with confusion and then she opened her eyes wide. I saw the surprise in them and also the love that I knew would be there. I walked up to the rim of the fountain and stopped.

  “You look beautiful sitting there like that,” I said. “Makes me realize how much I’ve missed you.”

  She turned away from me and didn’t answer.

  “Anjali?”

  Nothing.

  “Anjali?”

  “What? What is it?”

  “I’ve missed you. Wherever I was I thought you should be there too.”

  She tossed back her hair as if it never bore the anguish of those who loved her.

  “I wanted us to talk. I know you’re married to Abhay and everything but can’t we just talk?” I said.

  She looked at me, the green in her eyes ablaze with anger and indignation.

  “I would never marry Abhay,” she said. “I just said that to hurt you.”

  “That’s fucked up, I said. “That’s more than fucked up.”

  “You deserved it.”

  “For you to lie to me?”

  “Are we comparing lies, Jess, or just ignoring all your lies?”

  I was quiet because the last thing I wanted to remember was my lies, my deceptions, my betrayals. I had thought somehow that my realization, my enlightenment would absolve me of all wrong. That she would be waiting for me, arms open, heart open wider.

  “You deserved it,” she said. “You did. And you still do.”

  “Anjali I just wanted us to talk. I lov -…”

  “Don’t say that,” she said. “Don’t say that. You don’t know what it is to love.”

  “I went to India,” I said in an effort to explain.

  “Good,” she said as if she were done with me, my words, my voice, my very being.

  I tried to take her hand. She resisted.

  “Aren’t you even surprised that I found you?”

  “No,” she said. “Being that the only places I g
o to are work and home and I told you I come here to think, it wasn’t challenging to find me. You probably went to the apartment, realized I hadn’t been there and then called the office to see if I was there. When I wasn’t, you knew to come here.”

  “What do you want from me?” I asked her.

  “Nothing. I want nothing from you.”

  Her voice was flat. It was as if she were reciting a multiplication table instead of having a conversation. We sat in silence for what seemed like forever.

  “I remember,” I said, “Once you told me if you were ever lost I should come here to take you home.”

  “We said a lot of things, Jess.”

  “I know but this is different.”

  “But you’re not.”

  I didn’t answer her. I sat there wondering how to explain to her the pink dress and lace and ice cream. I didn’t know how I could tell her without sounding stupid.

  “Anjali, can I tell you a story?”

  “No.”

  “Then what? Then what? I should never speak to you? I shouldn’t pursue you?”

  “Pursue me?” She asked as she laughed. Here her voice gained flavor once again, rose and fell, spoke to me. “When have you ever pursued me, Jasbir C. Banerjee? What I had was yours for the taking. Always. And you kicked it all back at me every time. Every single time.”

  “So what do you want? What can I do?”

  She looked out into the distance as if I wasn’t even there. I took off my shoes and placed my feet next to hers in the water. I waited for her to say something, an offering of sorts. She said nothing. I, for my part, didn’t know what to say. I had given her nothing but empty dreams and full prayers. But if I could have taken her hand right then and guided her back through all the days I spent without her so she could know how I finally realized my love for her, I would have. But time goes forwards not back and so she could never know the progression of my heart, the culmination of my desire.

  There was a slash of lightning and it suddenly started to pour. While everyone was scrambling to find shelter or umbrellas, we didn’t move.

  “Anjali,” I finally said, “is this it? I mean what else is there to say? To do?”

  She turned to face me, rainwater upon her lips.

  “Nothing Jess,” she said. “Except sit here and get wet.”

  “There has to be more, Anjali. There has to be.”

  I wasn’t talking to her anymore; I was pleading. Begging. Praying.

  “The woman I’m dating,” she proceeded to say, “She loves the rain.”

  Now there was a lash of lightning inside me that tore me in half, that took my breath and held it hostage.

  “You didn’t tell me you were dating anyone,” I said as casually as I could, my breathing fast, my fists clenched as if to hold onto life, to hope, to Anjali.

  “You didn’t ask. You assumed I was here thinking about you. Missing you. Missing what? You staying out all night with someone else? You running away with random women? Lying to me? What exactly should I have missed?”

  “There was more to us than that,” I said, wishing she could also remember me bathing her with freesia, Kabhi Alvidaa Na Kehna, General Tso’s and fresh martinis. Hoping she could recall senseless carriage rides and shiny four slot toasters, The New York Times and Law and Order coexisting side by side. Love making in the kitchen. The kissing of a locket with great affection. Wicked taxicab rides. She didn’t.

  “There was more to me than that,” she said. “There wasn’t much more to you.”

  Now I wondered if what she remembered was lovers crashing anniversary parties and yellow convertibles telling lies on their way to Philly. I wondered if she remembered erotic showers meant to seduce sums of money. A half-fulfilled proposal, a small teal box that remained untouched. Opening bedroom doors to strangers in my bed. Waiting and wasting a night away just to hear the jangle of my key in the door, the whisper of my shadow across the threshold. With great unease I wondered if she remembered broken bones and broken dreams, bruises that burned purple, hearts that burned brighter with pain.

  “So you’re dating someone,” I managed to say, “Fucking fabulous.”

  “This upsets you?” she asked with what sounded like surprise.

  Did she really not believe that I wanted her? But then how could she? I had to show her. But then she had to give me a chance. Now that she was dating someone, I was slowly losing the chance I had. I was restless, my entire body wanting to move yet so still that I could feel myself breathe.

  “Shouldn’t it bother me, Anjali?”

  She shrugged. “I’m going home,” she finally said.

  I realized at that instant that I didn’t even know where home was to her. I felt myself lose my grip on us, on what may or may not have been my reality and I felt as if I were slowly spiraling downwards from a great height.

  “Anjali, wait.”

  I touched her arm and she pulled away.

  “I love you,” I said hoping the words still meant something from my lips.

  “I’ve had your love. I’ve seen your love. And it isn’t love.”

  “So what was it then? What we had?”

  “No, no. What I had for you was love. What you had for me was nothing like love.”

  “That’s not true,” I said as my voice started to fail me, as I blinked harder forcing myself not to cry.

  “Jess…”

  “Okay so where is this woman if she’s so fucking wonderful? Why are you here with me?”

  “She lives in Philly, Jess.”

  Of all the ironies in all the world this would be the most ironic. Or so I thought. But there was another irony that awaited me greater and larger than anything I had known until then.

  As she got up to leave I took her hand. She turned around and shook her hand free. She peered deep into my eyes, into the black abyss of my pupils.

  “Anjali, don’t do this,” I said softly.

  I ached for her to know how I felt, how I loved her, how in a garden filled with the scent of jasmine I had realized that she was the love of my life. How I had offered anjali with thoughts of her, how I had prayed for her. Somehow, I didn’t even know where to start. But I had to.

  “Anjali, just let me talk to you.”

  “For all that you have talked and I have listened, we have always ended up in the same place. And that’s with me getting fucked over. Every time. Every single time. ”

  “It’ll be different, I promise.”

  “I’ve had your promises, Jess and that’s all I’ve ever had of you. I have someone now who loves me beyond belief. Someone who need not make any promises because she lives her promises every day.”

  “She sounds fucking wonderful.”

  “She really is.”

  “Who is it?” I finally asked, curious as to who had stolen Anjali’s heart after every beat had recited my name for five years.

  I wanted to know who she was, wanted to know the name that Anjali endeared by saying it, know the name she said when she awoke, the name she whispered before she slept.

  “Can I at least have her name? Just to know.”

  She stood silently still.

  “Just her name,” I said.

  The tears that fell from my eyes blended with the rainwater. It was just as well because I didn’t want her to see me crying.

  “Just her name, Anjali.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I just wondered….”

  We were silent and the only sound was the falling rain. The water caught in her hair and her curls glistened. Her eyes were no longer empty as when she had left me. In place of the emptiness, there was a vitality, a life that I realized I had never been able to give her. But who had been able to give it to her? Who the reason for the fullness in her eyes? Who, in five months, had stolen our history of five years?

  Finally she spoke. Luck left my side. Karma crept in.

  “Her name,” she said, “is Ish.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

 
I would like to take time to carve a little space to thank all those who made NIGHTS LIKE THIS possible.

  Thanks to:

  Riverdale Avenue Books and especially to Lori Perkins for all the time, patience, work and kindness that went into making NIGHTS LIKE THIS a reality.

  SALGA NYC for offering me a place when I was quite displaced in the world.

  Charles Rice-Gonzalez for taking the time to read one of the first drafts of NIGHTS LIKE THIS despite the thousand and one things I know he has going on.

  Abha Dawesar for treating me with kindness and giving me hope when I felt as if I didn’t have any.

  Tina Bhagnari for that fateful conversation on a crisp autumn evening that inspired the writing of this work.

  Leticia Santana for that World Cup summer that changed our lives, for moving me from thought to action and loving the pages held within a yellow folder that would eventually become this story.

  Kashish Chopra for reading this manuscript when it was just a dream.

  Robert Mitchell for words of wisdom and wise silences whenever they are needed.

  Aileen Mitchell for common sense and solid advice whenever and wherever regarding whatever.

  Priya Rehal for always uplifting my spirits just by being the beautiful person that she is.

  Ratna Bajaj for believing in me sometimes more than I did and posting my short stories on her closet door.

  Aja Camerlingo for loving this story.

  Hung Phan for wishing and hoping this work into existence despite his scientific mindset just because he knew it made me happy.

  Tina Maniwang Phan for being seamlessly thoughtful and generous in every way from the first day we met.

  Priya Dhanda for 2:00 a.m. conversations that have become the best form of therapy.

  Bhavani Ravanan for being there through it all, since way back when.

  Ed Hastie for promising to be there and then always coming through.

  Liz Hastie for offering a beautiful friendship with no reservations and no judgments from the moment she knew I existed.

  Carrie Schwartz for telling me to make that phone call and for always listening.

  Samar Awad for sharing life stories and making me laugh no matter what.

  Tara Wong for her friendship that, much like her, has always been gentle and kind.