Louisiana Catch

by Sweta Srivastava Vikram

  “Paagal, fever has made you mental.” I gently tapped his forehead and feigned a smile.

  He smiled back.

  “There is enough food for you for the coming week.” I pulled each box carefully out of the bags.

  “Thank you.” He helped me unload the groceries.

  “I am doing all this only because I want you up and running before NOLA. Now get me the flash drive, please.”

  Rohan, very dramatically, put his arms around his chest. “Stop seeing me as a sexual object. It hurts.” He pointed toward the coffee table; the USB flash drive was on it.

  “Why, only your harem can see you like this?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I bit my tongue. “I am so sorry. Old habits die hard.”

  He placed his palm on my wrist. “Old Indian aunties have a hard time letting go of old habits.”

  “Who did you call an Indian aunty?” I opened his freezer, took out ice, and threatened to throw it at him.

  “You,” he pointed at me.

  “I will always be younger than you, Grandpa.”

  “Did you just call me Grandpa?”

  I proudly threw two ice cubes in the air and caught them in my palm like a seasoned bowler in cricket. “Yes!”

  “That ice touches me and I will return the favor, Matron.”

  I hated dares. But in Rohan’s company, I often did things I didn’t think I could do. I put ice down the back of his collar. “Aah! Cricket power.” I showed off my biceps and blew air into my fist.

  Rohan grabbed both my wrists.

  Suddenly, the terror took me. I was locked in a cage in Dev’s house getting ready for a cocktail party at his aunt’s and he was pressing my body hard. I worried for my safety. Felt the sting of rope around my wrists, the pull of a bed railing or doorknob. I was unable to scream. Even if I did ask for help, no one would listen to me.

  I stared at Rohan. “Let me go.” His hands were warm.

  “I warned you, Matron.”

  “I will yell.”

  Rohan took ice cubes out of the freezer and he aimed them at me.

  I arched my eyebrow. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” I shouted louder than I knew I could.

  Rohan let go. “I’m sorry, Ahana. I didn’t mean to.... I was only joking.”

  “I need to get out of here.” I picked up the flash drive with the analytics and put it inside my bag.

  “Ahana...”

  I slipped on my shoes and pulled the door shut behind me. No amount of me trying to explain anything would do any good. I didn’t know what was happening to me.

  * * *

  Rohan sent out an email to Ms. Goldstein and Michael—he had promised we would stick to my version of the story. He copied Crystal and me on it. The email with the analytics was indeed in Sarah’s spam folder and she hadn’t bothered checking her office voicemail. Michael took credit for sorting out everything. Crystal sent me a message, “The world needs more people with your kind of heart.”

  By the time I made the delivery and cleared my head, I realized it was time to explain everything to Rohan—why I had gone from happy to neurotic without an explanation. Rohan gave me no reason to mistrust him. But I was still anchored to the trauma in my past. Even as I grew past it, it sometimes caught up with me again and surprised me.

  I figured I’d go to the office, change, and enjoy a long run in Central Park. After reconnecting with my Zen space, I’d check in on Rohan.

  When I reached the office, Michael had left for the day. He spent more time playing golf at country clubs and drinking bourbon in fancy bars than he spent doing any kind of real work. Crystal was still there poring over a big chart while a pot of coffee was brewing.

  “What are you still doing here?” I peered inside the kitchen.

  “Michael said he needed the seating arrangement sorted out for the final VIP dinner.”

  “But didn’t we finish doing all that while I was in India?” I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water.

  “Yeah. But this is what Michael does. He makes last minute changes.”

  The screw on the bottled water was so tight that I grunted, “I am sick of these men screwing around with our happiness. Ego-centric, self-centered maniacs who cannot even be human for a day.”

  “What’s going on, Ahana?” Crystal looked up at me in shock.

  “You shouldn’t be sitting here working while Michael is out living his life.”

  “Well, what can ya do?”

  I spoke fast and pounded the coffee table. “You and I are both leaving right now.”

  “Ahana, I cannot afford to lose this job.” She donned her glasses and put a pencil behind her ears as she contemplated.

  “You won’t.” I turned off the lights in the kitchen and walked into my office.

  “What are we going to tell him?” She followed behind.

  “I am going to think of something.” I quickly opened my laptop and sat in my chair.

  “Hi, Michael. Thank you for stopping over in NYC and for sorting out all the confusion. I came back to the office after dropping the analytics at Ms. Goldstein’s only to find Crystal still working. It would be a shame if she wasted a chance to take the evening off for all of her hard work, and get rested up for our busy week next week. Sorry I missed saying a bye to you. You might already be on your way to New Orleans. My team and I are grateful to you for your support. Thanks, Ahana.”

  Just like that, I sent the email to Michael. I had hit reply all so Ms. Goldstein, Rohan, and Crystal were all marked a copy. Michael loved looking good in front of others. Thrice divorced, he was always looking for the next best woman and trying to impress others.

  He sent a reply all with, “Glad my trip helped you all. Crystal, you call it a day and have a great evening.”

  I shut my laptop with force.

  Crystal was a hugger. She held me tight and shook me up.

  I changed into my running tank, lululemon pants, and the remaining running gear. I pulled my hair into a high bun and locked up my day clothes in the office.

  “Thank you so much for caring and saving our Southern asses today, Ahana. I’ll take you out for some Cajun food when we are in New Orleans,” Crystal said as the two of us stepped out of the elevator of our office building. She walked toward the subway stop, and I headed toward the park.

  A few quiet moments with your own self is the best way to find any answers, Mumma often said. I rubbed my pendant, gently but fast. Inhale. Exhale. I asked my heart to reveal answers and told my head to stay out of the way.

  Rohan didn’t take advantage of me. I am not sure what experience made Rohan into a good guy, but if I were to guess, it was early responsibility at a young age. My mind went to Jay. What would Jay have done if he were in Rohan’s place? It took him nothing to violate both Tanya and Amanda. To what extent would Jay go to get whatever it is that he wanted from me?

  I started to run. Not away from my problems or people; toward what I needed to sort out.

  - 23 -

  Rohan opened the door even before I had pressed the bell.

  “I don’t think my apartment is big enough for you to jog.” He tried hard to smile, but his eyes still looked heavy.

  “Ya ya ya. So funny.” I made a face and took off my shoes.

  “How come you’re here?”

  “Because Crystal wanted me to check on you.” I didn’t look at him.

  “Just Crystal?” He stood with his arms across his chest.

  “Yup.” I washed my hands in the kitchen and wiped them on the kitchen towel.

  “You are a terrible liar, Matron.”

  “And you are a terrible patient.” I looked around. Most of the food I’d brought for Rohan was sitting untouched on the reclaimed kitchen island.

  Rohan walked closer to me. “You missed me. C’mon; say it, Ahana.”

  My knees trembled just a little. “Did you miss me?” I gently pushed him away.

  “Of course, I did.” Rohan stared into my eyes.

  My
breathing became heavier. I rested against the barstool arranged near the kitchen island.

  Rohan stood unmoved. “You still haven’t answered.”

  “What do you think, Brady?” I smiled weakly.

  Rohan rubbed his three-day old stubble.

  The evening sun was painting the sky and Rohan’s niceness made me feel guilty. I knew it was time to have the talk. I unlocked the door to his private balcony, which led to a beautiful view of the Riverside Park. The splash of fall colors combined with the gush of cold air reminded me of Mumma. On some weekend evenings in December and January, she would drape a Pashmina shawl around her shoulders, drink a few pegs of whiskey, and quote Rabindra Nath Tagore. You can’t cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water.

  I sat on Rohan’s sofa and looked at the light wooden floor, which contrasted beautifully against the gray walls. The door to the master bedroom was open, and I could see the masculine blue walls.

  I whispered softly. “I’m sorry I ran out this morning.” A bead of sweat flowed from my forehead into the hollow of my collarbone.

  Rohan sat next to me and looked at me with sincerity.

  “Sometimes, I feel like a fraud for leading this conference.” I looked at the floor. “I suppose Hedick knows it too.”

  Rohan prodded, “We’re not here to talk about Michael Hedick. Whatever it is, just say it, Ahana. I’m not stupid. I have my guesses, but you can tell me whatever you need to say.”

  I heard a thud in my heart. I couldn’t look at Rohan, but I got up again and walked toward the living room windows—away from him and closer to my memories that had been carved into my flesh as scars. Every part of me hurt. The bruises from the handcuffs Dev used on my wrists in our bedroom were gone, as were the red bangles—signs of a married Hindu woman. I rubbed my wrists. He would pin me down, push me against the wall. Dev would grin at the end of the night.

  I felt oppressively hot from the memories, so I cracked open the windows. The crisp autumn air cut through my skin. It was a cool, strikingly clear, nearly cloudless evening. As I explored my heart, my eyes explored the streets of New York. The city was bustling with activity and beauty. I wanted to feel the same lightness. Winter would soon claim these leaves; the way Dev had claimed my happiness. I needed to speak up.

  Rohan walked up to me. “Talk to me.”

  I was going to share the darkness of my marriage and talk about my own “pleasure” with someone for the first time, and a man at that. Mumma had speculated on parts of it. I had opened to Naina recently. But not in entirety.

  My eyes were filled to the brim with tears. I closed them and tried sniffing discreetly. Rohan held my shoulders in a sweet way that took the slight chill away from the air. It had taken me years to come to terms with exactly how much damage my ex had caused. “No meant nothing to Dev.”

  Rohan’s eyes widened as he ran his hands over my shoulders.

  I held my opposite elbows and ran my fingers vigorously over my upper arm. “He made my body his slave.”

  Rohan clenched his fists.

  I turned away from him. “Dev wanted me to cooperate in his sexual sadism, and I did at times so he wouldn’t hurt me. Nobody was going to listen to me anyway, I knew.” My throat tightened. “But if I was coerced into pleasing my abusive husband and occasionally my body got pleasure out of these assaults, could I still call it rape?” I felt dirty, guilty, and violated all over again.

  An involuntary whimper escaped my lips. Once that first tear broke free, a stream of tears escaped my eyes. Rohan moved closer and wiped my tears with his hand. I didn’t freak out.

  “I became the poster woman for shame, Rohan. That is the kind of shame that really sticks, and it’s as strong as the shame over staying in an abusive relationship so long. That is the kind of shame that took away the safety of my small world.” I covered my face with my shaking hands.

  “Ahana, look at me.” He stared into my eyes. “A No means nothing but a fucking No! It is always the rapist’s fault.”

  I tried to battle the onslaught of tears.

  “You didn’t cause your rape. You shouldn’t feel any shame.”

  As soon as those words left Rohan’s mouth, I hugged him tightly and cried some more.

  Rohan ran his hands on my back, “I am so sorry he hurt you. You’re incredibly brave, Ahana,” he whispered as he ran his hands through my hair. “Is that why you got scared earlier today when I was messing around with ice cubes?”

  “Dev has taken away so much of my confidence and ability to trust.” I understood that the seeds of shame were planted by Dev. “I was an abused/silent woman in my own marriage, and now I’m expected to be the face of a global campaign to fight violence against women—if this isn’t hypocrisy, what is?”

  Rohan kept both his hands on my shoulder. “You walked out of a bad situation. And now you are helping other women stand up against violence.” Tucking my hair behind my ears, he continued, “You are a lot stronger than you think.”

  I sighed loudly. “I pretend to be strong, Rohan.”

  Rohan brought me a glass of water.

  “Thank you.”

  He moved up closer. He covered his face with his palms and moved his hands slowly as if wiping away any obscurity.

  “Do you still have any feelings for him?” He asked with a straight face, but I felt him shrink away.

  “Dev?”

  He nodded.

  “He mattered to me a long time ago.” I took a sip of water. I looked at my left hand where the wedding ring used to be. I was finally feeling free despite having been divorced for close to two years.

  “And Jay?”

  “Yuck! No!” I sighed loudly and played with my pendant. I knew I had to come clean and tell Rohan I was trying to do something about my issues in the past by taking control of this thing with Jay. I gave him a hint.

  “Are you sure about the way you are handling the situation, Ahana?”

  I put the glass down and gently held Rohan’s hands. I kissed his left cheek and then his other cheek. Rohan looked at me in awe. “I’m sick,” he said, and gently stroked my face.

  I shivered. “I don’t care.”

  Rohan pulled me closer to him. I could feel palpitations in my chest. My mouth was dry. For the first time in my life, I didn’t think what anyone would think or feel; I listened to my heart. I kissed Rohan on his lips and he kissed me back. The kiss felt so complete that I felt the kiss alone would heal me. I had so many thoughts running through my head. I felt feelings I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  Were Rohan and I flirting with each other, or was it something more? It could have been Rohan feeling emotional and getting caught in the moment? It could have been me handling a breakdown. A kiss in India meant something very different from a kiss in the United States. Dev and I kissed, and then the next thing we knew, we were married. In America, relationships worked in stages. People hung out, dated, lived together, and only sometimes got married. Rohan and I not only belonged to two different cultures but also lived in two different countries.

  Perhaps Rohan sensed my quandary. As he pulled away, he said, “You deserve only the best in life.”

  My head hurt but my chest felt lighter. Rohan felt a little warm, so I made him lie down on his king-size bed and gave him a little head massage. I put away his iPad on the nightstand. I warmed up some soup and poured it into a ceramic bowl. Rohan was happy to sit and eat on his bed. He ate well. We watched reruns of Seinfeld, one of Rohan’s favorite shows. I sat on the recliner next to his bed overlooking high-rises in Manhattan. So much noise outside, so much peace inside his room. I had always secretly wanted care in my relationship with Dev, but I had never found it.

  We didn’t talk about the kiss. I made him Tulsi-ginger tea, and he fussed a little about the taste, but he drank it eventually. “We want you all better for the conference,” I told him. I took the mug from his hands and placed it on the coaster on the nightstand. I got up and turned off the study lamp on h
is work desk.

  “No one has ever done so much for me,” he said with misty eyes. I planted a kiss on his forehead and closed the blinds so the Manhattan lights wouldn’t hinder his sleep.

  It was after 10 p.m. “Shit. It’s late.”

  “What happens after 10 p.m.? You turn into a pumpkin?” Rohan pulled the comforter to his chest and smiled. He still looked exhausted.

  I touched his forehead. “Oh, good, the fever is coming down. You should sleep.”

  “Do you have to go?” Rohan whispered weakly into my hair.

  I smiled at him. “Keep drinking plenty of fluids, Brady.”

  Rohan passed out even before I left his bedroom. He looked like a child. I had never felt more awake as I packed away the leftovers in the fridge. Rohan’s immunity was low; I didn’t want him exposed to germs, so I wiped the kitchen counter with anti-bacterial wipes. I warmed up water and poured it in a carafe. I put it on the nightstand next to Rohan’s bed along with a glass and a note, “Drink this water and do not chew on ice, you American boy. :) Do some steam inhalation and salt water gargle in the morning, please.” I turned off the lights in the living room and kitchen. As I let myself out and reached the lobby, I felt I had left the heaviness of my past behind.

  I got out on the streets of Manhattan. Even as I aimlessly walked around Rohan’s neighborhood, wondering whether I wanted to hail a taxi or take a subway back to Naina’s, I watched the cozy golden light from a few iconic buildings in just the right way. Cab drivers were honking, pedestrians were jaywalking, food trucks were serving a long line of tourists, local New Yorkers were eating their way through all pumpkin everything in the city—I understood the magic of New York. It’s the city where amid all the mess, you find your bliss when you are least expecting it.

  * * *

  I spent the rest of the evening reading and watching mindless television. It was nice to be alone after all these days. While listening to a little Frank Sinatra and having a hot cup of chamomile tea, I thought about the kiss with Rohan just as much as I thought about what Jay would do next. I had avoided him all day. I had shown him his place in our friendship. None of it Jay would have accepted easily.