Kate had to tell Jay the truth. She couldn’t marry him.
She quickly changed back into her own clothing and gathered up the frilly costume, along with her resolve, to deal with Jay’s disappointment and inevitable hurt.
“Coming!” She forced herself to go back to the living room where Jay waited.
“Hey, why aren’t you–?”
“We need to talk, Jay.”
His dark brows bunched.
She turned away from his challenging stare, then forced herself to look back at him with foreboding. He seemed frozen, the pieces of his costume hanging in his limp hands. His dark hair was damp, a stray lock lay ruffled across his forehead. It made him seem oddly innocent, like a young boy.
“Jay, I…”
“What’s going on?” He didn’t seem to be in a mood for listening, but she knew what she had to do.
“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
Recognition lit his dark eyes. “Don’t do this, Katie. I’ve told you, I can wait.”
“I know…”
His voice was terse. “I don’t think you’ll find another man who would wait while being kept at arm’s length. This isn’t the way I imagined this going, Kate. We’ve been serious for two years. I thought… I feel as though… ” He shot a wary glance at her, and cast his eyes down, reflecting his agitation. “This isn’t just about you. I feel betrayed.”
Kate winced. Her chest tightened, guilt swamping her, mixed with the apprehension of finally ending it.
His mouth moved, his eyes searching her face. Perhaps he knew the answer before he spoke. His voice came out tight and quiet. “Will you marry me or won’t you? Why won’t you answer me?”
Kate gnawed her lips, swallowing the searing sensation in her throat, and raised fearful eyes to his. “No. Of course, you’re right. I can’t.” As she spoke, her face crumpled and she lost her composure, tears burning her eyes. How could she explain that he had too much style and not enough depth? That their values just didn’t align? How could she tell him that without hurting his feelings even more? She clenched a fist and held it to her heart, feeling like a terrible person. “I’m sorry, Jay. You’re a wonderful man. But you are not the right man for me. I know you’re frustrated and hurt.” Her voice wobbled and broke “You have every right to be.”
Through her tears, she could see his eyes fill, too. His nostrils flared and he clenched his jaw in his effort to control himself. His head shook minutely from side to side, a hard white line outlining his lips. Eventually he spoke. “I just don’t believe it. I thought…” His brow furrowed, and she could see his pain metamorphose into anger.
“Just tell me why, damn it. What could you possibly want that I can’t give you?”
She shook her head. “Nothing at all. You’re a good person. Kind, generous and fun. You’re very attractive. You are everything any woman could want. You’ve been good to me, and I’m very fond of you. But…” Her eyes fell away, her lips trembling.
“But?”
“I don’t feel what I ought for you. I don’t love you… enough.”
Jay glared at her in silence, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Then his brown eyes lost their focus, turning inward and his jaw went slack. “But I love you, Kate. I really do.”
She could only nod, and nod again. “I believe you, Jay. You’ll find someone else to love, I know you will. But I don’t feel that we’re right for each other.” She spoke through the tears that slid down her face.
~*~
Kate’s splayed hand lay on the open pages of the novel resting in her lap, her heart heavy. Her eyes stared unfocussed at the blackened bus window and the lively layered multi-hued reflections of the other riders bundled in their winter coats, scarves and hats. Overheated bodies made the atmosphere humid, stale and stifling, but she was glad to be among a group of strangers on the bus, alone with her thoughts, all the same. She felt relief to have finally responded to Jay. And guilt to feel that relief, and over the crushing pain she saw on his face when she’d broken it off with him last night. That hadn’t stopped him from showing up at her place again this afternoon, heart in hand.
His usual bravado had been replaced by a plaintive manner, tinged with desperation. Outright refusing his marriage proposal had made an impression on him this time. He understood she was dealing with some tough issues, that it wasn’t only fear of commitment. It was more complicated than that.
His eyes were glassy when he said, “Please don’t say never, Kate. I love you. Let me take you to dinner tonight and we’ll talk it over. I know I rushed things. I can be patient. I promise.”
“That’s not a good idea, Jay. Besides, I actually have a dinner date tonight. I’m just on my way to the bus.”
His face had fallen. “A date? With Alexa? To rake me over the coals?”
“No. An old college friend. No one you know.” There was no sense upsetting him unnecessarily. It wasn’t like tonight was a real date anyway.
“I forgot to mention, I got the roses Monday. Thank you.”
His eyes pinched at the corners even as he smiled hopefully. “I’ll give you a lift. My car’s around the corner.”
“No. Thank you. I’ll be fine. I have a book with me. I need some solitude before I get there.” She had turned away, paused and turned back. A fresh wave of guilt swamped her as she suddenly remembered the good times they’d shared over the past two years. Jay was good and kind, a smart, hard-working guy, and fun to be with, at least some of the time.
Kate didn’t know if there was such a thing as a soul mate, but it wasn’t Jay’s fault he wasn’t hers, or that he didn’t meet some imaginary standard she had imprinted on her heart. Placing a hand on his broad chest, she’d met his dark worried eyes and said, “You’re very sweet. I’m so sorry.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head slightly, could say no more. Then she shrugged and walked away, forcing the image of Simon from her mind.
The bus lurched to a stop and a man in a puffy slick blue down parka fell heavily onto the seat beside her with an “Oomph!” releasing a noxious cloud of onions and stale cigarettes, and she turned her face away. She erased a lens in the breath-fogged glass and peered out at the black night, trying to make out her location. There was no moon to see by tonight, only the intermittent pools of greenish streetlight providing a patchwork to navigate by, illuminating the occasional strand of damp toilet tissue strewn across a lawn or hedge, remnants of last nights revelry. Another few blocks and she’d ring the bell.
Maybe she should’ve told Jay she just needed space to see other people. But she was afraid his possessiveness and jealousy would work against her, and he’d apply even more pressure. She didn’t really want to see anyone, anyway. She’d agreed to have dinner with Simon only to talk. Whatever Simon was thinking, she was determined to keep it platonic, merely trying to get their relationship back on a peaceful, friendly plane before work next week forced them into each other’s company. He really seemed to need some kind of reckoning after their quarrel. Perhaps he felt guilty.
Her stomach clenchd again with a fresh wave of regret over letting Jay go. It was possible her was the last good thing left between her and a long and lonely life as a single woman. Or not that exactly, but that she didn’t have the time or energy to go back out there, or to work on building another new relationship. She shouldn’t worry about it, really. She was self-sufficient and independent. She didn’t need to marry. It’s only that she didn’t want to be alone.
But, the truth was, she still dreamt of all those things, traditional and contradictory though they might be, despite her years of stubborn rebellion against her mother’s and society’s expectations. She did want children, after all. To admit it felt like a betrayal of all that she’d fought for, all that was dear to her, but it was still true. She was manifestly one of a generation of women caught between two conflicting value systems, two very different dreams that sometimes seemed virtually incompatible. She rang the bell and stood up, trying to ignore a small v
oice in her head that warned: Your stubborn independence is just a mask to hide your fear of rejection.
Well, she’d taken care of that by rejecting every decent man she’d ever dated.
Tucking her unread book into her satchel, she alit from the half empty bus into a gust of cold northern wind that slapped her hair across her face and tossed her scarf. Pulling her coat collar tighter to her chin, she bent her head for the short hike to Victoria Drive, the dark night sky enveloping her in a cloak of solitude.
Filled with trepidation, Kate pulled open the door of the small Indian restaurant, warm air drawing her in from the harsh autumn night, tiny brass chimes heralding her arrival. She lifted a gloved hand to push away the stray strands of hair caught in her mouth and lashes. She ardently wished she could have found a way to avoid this showdown. The pit of her stomach felt as hard and heavy as granite. Why couldn’t she simply have said no? She didn’t have any trouble setting boundaries at work. Her chest felt hollow, and each breath she drew was too thin and hard, as if her ribs were bruised.
No matter how determined she was to put distance between herself and Simon, she seemed compelled to become more and more entangled with him. And here they were, breaking bread again. No matter how uncomfortable she was dealing with her past, she still found Simon irresistible. Everything that Jay wasn’t, Simon was, and it drew her in. He was so determined to examine old wounds that there was no way to avoid it, even though the very thought of it made her feel physically ill.
He had no idea he was opening Pandora’s box.
Ching ching ching. She caught her breath. It was like entering another world. The long narrow space was dimly lit, yet crouched within the darkness was a sense of something exotic and alive, like a crocodile asleep beneath still waters. The first thing that hit her was a wall of rich, complex aromas: turmeric, cumin, fenugreek, cinnamon and curry, a hint of anise as she passed the small dish of sonf on the reception podium. Soft sitar music wove its way into her consciousness, though it was so subtle she had to strain to hear it. In the darkness, small oil lanterns flickered on the tables that glowed in the lamplight with an array of colourful sari silks trapped under glass: saffron, indigo, and magenta. The contrast to the colours and textures of her everyday world had a narcotic effect.
The atmosphere was hypnotic. Kate could not tell if Simon sat somewhere in the shadows watching her bewildered arrival.
A handsome middle-aged man with a black shoe-brush mustache, and touches of white at his temples approached her. He wore an ecru Nehru-collared tunic and dark trousers, his white teeth flashing in his café-au-lait face, welcoming. “Good evening, good evening. You would like a table?”
“I’m meeting someone,” she said.
“Aah. Yes. Simon?” Dark brows poised above his black sparkling eyes.
She nodded tentatively, frowning.
His smile broadened. “Simon is not yet arrived. Please. This way. I have our very best table ready for you.”
The man led her to what looked to her to be a perfectly typical table near the far wall away from the cold blind windows overlooking the deserted street. Despite the gauzy curtains that screened the lower part of these windows, they had a forlorn aspect to them and she was glad. Her table was special only in that the tapestry that hung over it was larger than the others. Its tablecloth was deep indigo blue embroidered with tiny metallic gold stars and moons and she thought perhaps it was sari silk as she fingered the edge. It was very beautiful. Perhaps these celestial bodies would guide her along this mystifying stage of her journey.
She perched on her chair, shuddering as the chill left her body, and peeled off her coat, gloves and scarf, glancing around. Small painted and embroidered tapestries hung from dark wooden poles along the side walls, mythic Hindu narratives sketched in blue, green, black, pink and silver, tiny embedded mirrors shimmering and foil tassels trembling in the faintly moving air. Palanquins bearing princes; various gods and goddesses; mentally she ticked them off, all the usual suspects.
Twisting her head, she peered at the large tapestry beside her. Illustrations from the Kama Sutra floated above her. She pondered them, the proud yogic posture of the maidens, their naked breasts jutting in invitation, long ropes of shining black hair, the strong masculine profiles of their young lovers, their entwined limbs and large, evocative, khol-dark eyes. She felt a visceral response in her abdomen and picked up the menu to peruse and take her mind off the suspended sensuality of the images around her, wondering if their choice of artwork had cost them their family-friendly rating.
The waiter was on his way back when the door opened again with a tinkle of tiny brass chimes, ushering in a gust of cold wind that ruffled the tablecloths and tapestries momentarily, settling as quickly as the door closed. They both looked up to see Simon’s tall form huddled in the entryway. The waiter bustled over.
“Simon. How very good to see you, my friend,” he said in a resonant voice, reaching out both hands. There were a few other patrons, but he did not seem concerned about disturbing their meals.
“Lali, how have you been?” Simon greeted him, gripping, brown leather gloves to brown skin. Then, to Kate’s astonishment, they released each other and hugged briefly, slapping each other’s backs and laughing.
“Excellent. Excellent.” Lali discretely took the brown-bagged bottle that Simon clutched in his gloved fist and, gesturing toward Kate, swept it away, chanting something in Hindi toward the rear of the restaurant.
A woman’s voice rang out from the back of the restaurant, a quiet musical contralto, it stretched nonetheless, “Simon, darling, how are you?”
“Hey, Sarita,” Simon replied, waving to the unseen voice. He turned his attention to Kate, one corner of his mouth lifting as he neared. “Good evening. Sorry I’m late. I’m having some trouble… uh, reaching Rachel.”
She said nothing in return, simply raising her eyebrows. She wasn’t going to surrender that easily, though it gave her an irrational pleasure to see him standing before her, shaking off his sheepskin coat and sinking down. Her chest swelled and she was suffused with warmth, like a shot of good brandy going down.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, glanced at the screen, and set it carefully beside him. Apologizing, he explained he’d been waiting for Rachel to call him back for two days, and it was important. He seemed tense.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Coordination issues.” He leaned forward, releasing a current of cool air and masculine aromas, fresh and crisp. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Just arrived,” she said. “You seem to be a familiar here.”
Laughing, he said, “Sarita’s younger brother Rajit was in law school with me. We came here many times in search of a hot meal and escape from the madness. It was like a second home, and Sarita and Lali feel almost like family.”
“They’re very warm and welcoming.”
He nodded and smiled, looking up as Lali returned with an opened bottle of white wine in an ice bucket.
“What do you know, Simon, I found this highly unusual bottle of wine in the cellar. I thought you might like to sample it.” He filled their small glasses to the brim and set it down on the table, arranging a linen towel around its long green neck. He stood beaming at them, until Kate pondered his purpose. She lifted her glass and tasted the wine, waiting for something to happen.
Simon cleared his throat. “Kate, Lali would like me to introduce you. Lali, meet Kate O’Day, a work colleague.” He said the latter with emphasis.
Lali turned and gave a little bow. “A pleasure to meet you Kate O’Day,” he said, and backed away. “I hope very much you enjoy your meal with us.” He turned and disappeared.
She lifted her glass. “So what’s the deal? You brought this.”
“You noticed. I’ve complained for years about Lali’s wine list, but he claims there is little demand for wine and his clients are happy with the cheap schlock he stocks. So we’ve worked out a little arrangement.”
He smirked and raised his glass. “To something palatable.”
She clinked glasses with him and took another sip. “It’s very good.”
“It’s a favourite of mine, from Alsace-Lorraine, a Sylvaner varietal. I find it goes better with Indian food. The spiciness of a Gewürztraminer competes with curry, somehow. It’s better with Asian food.” He sipped and glanced around. “So what do you think?”
“It’s a charming place. I like it, though of course I have to reserve judgment until I taste dinner.” She inclined her head.
“No worries there. You won’t be disappointed. Sarita is a fabulous cook, and she has good help back there on weekends.”
She wanted to comment on the tapestries, but felt the oppressive presence of the one above their heads, and thought better of mentioning them.
But it was not to be. “Isn’t the decor great? They redecorated last spring. I love the new colours in here. Makes me feel like I’m a million miles away,” said Simon dreamily, echoing her own response, “or in another time, long ago. That’s my favourite—there—the blue ones.” He pointed.
“That’s Rama, one of Vishnu’s incarnations, and his wife, Sita. They’re considered the ideal man and… ” She stopped herself, blushing and catching her lip in her teeth. “ …woman.” Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? He raised his brows in astonishment.
“And you know this because… ”
“I took a history of Eastern Art years ago, and I’ve continued studying Hindu mythology. I told you I wanted to go someday, didn’t I?”
“Okay. Now you have to tell me the rest.” He nodded, smiling in expectation, gesturing at the walls with a sweep of his hand.
She clicked her tongue and sighed, narrowing her eyes. It was so easy to fall under the spell of his charm. “Very well. The other side of Rama and Sita, the very sparkly one, that’s Indra, god of the firmament, with her one thousand eyes.”
“A female god who sees all?”
Reconcilable Differences: A 'Having It All' Novel Page 16