“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m scared… I mean, what if I found her and realized she’s not who I remember? What if nothing I thought or felt about her was true and all these years I’d built her up in my mind to something she never was?”
Liam got up and put on the T-shirt that was lying on the couch where he’d thrown it the night before. “Are we still talking about your sister, or are we talking about us now?”
I didn’t answer and went back to staring out the window.
“Is that why you were looking through my stuff?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I expected to find.” I got up and poured myself a cup of coffee. “I don’t know much anymore,” I said, taking a sip.
We spent the rest of the day meandering through Stanley Park taking pictures, sitting on benches and drinking coffee out of to-go cups. While Liam took pictures of people who passed by, zooming in on their faces with discreet lenses, I sat nearby writing about him in my journal, occasionally watching the way he examined the angles and shifted his perspective. “Depth of field. It’s all about depth of field,” he yelled when he saw me looking on. “Come here. I want to show you.” I tossed my coffee cup into the trash bin and wandered over. He held the camera in front of my face, adjusting the lens for me. “How far away things are even when they’re close up and vice versa.” He held his hand over mine and pressed the shutter release. He pulled the camera away and showed me the picture we’d taken of a young woman pushing a baby carriage. Her eyes were tired, almost vacant.
“She looks sad.”
Liam zoomed in on the image. “Really? I don’t think so. I think she looks thoughtful.” He put the camera down and smiled at her as she walked by with her sleeping baby. “Thoughtful. For sure.”
“Do you want kids?” I asked.
“Yeah. Definitely.” He lifted his camera up again and took a picture of me. I pulled strands of hair away from my face and smiled. He put the camera down. “No smiling for the camera, remember. It looks forced.”
“Sorry.” I frowned. “Is that better?”
“How about you—do you want kids?”
“Sunny can’t have kids.” I looked away, distracted by a group of tourists taking pictures at the nearby lighthouse, all of them smiling.
“That’s not what I asked,” he said. “If you could have kids, would you?” He was holding the camera, poised to take a picture.
“I don’t know. I want to and I don’t.”
“Hmm, that’s a theme for you.”
“What is?”
He smiled behind the lens. “Indecision.”
“Oh, shut up.” I took the camera from him, turned it on him and clicked offseveral shots before I saw Kishor Auntie waving in the distance, walking towards me in her salwar kameez and windbreaker.
“Shit.” I handed Liam the camera and took a step away from him.
“Surinder?” she asked.
“Hi, Auntie.”
“I thought that was you. I told your uncle: ‘That looks like Surinder standing there with that camera.’ And look, I was right.” She smiled and pointed backwards. “My nephew is here from India. We are showing him the sights.” I waved hello. “So, have you heard from your mother, from Sunny? You must miss them, hmmm?”
“Of course. But they’re fine. Everyone’s having a good time.”
“It’s been so hot. Record temperatures, so I’m told.”
“Yes. I heard the same.”
She looked at Liam and spoke in Punjabi. “And who is this?”
I shifted my stance, obscuring her view of him. “Someone I work with.”
When she smiled and nodded, eyeing him up and down, I could tell that she was suspicious and that nothing I said—none of my polite inquir-ies about her nephew—even registered with her.
“Okay, then. I will leave you to your work. Tell your mother hello for me.”
I didn’t exhale until she fell from sight. “Fuck.”
“Who was that? And why did she keep calling you Surinder?” Liam asked.
“It’s a long story. We should go,” I said, handing him his camera bag before walking off towards the car.
Liam threw the bag over his shoulder and rushed to catch up. “Meena, what’s the matter? Who was that?”
“She’s a friend of my mother-in-law and the world’s biggest gossip. She’s probably on her cellphone telling the whole world that she saw us together.”
Liam grabbed my arm, slowing my pace. “Relax, she didn’t see anything. It’ll be fine.”
“No, it won’t. You don’t know how she is. I can only imagine what people are going to say.”
“Who cares what they say?”
“Me.” I was yelling now and not sure why. “I care. I’m married, remember? I have a husband.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And where does that leave me… ”
“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just Sunny. He’s… ”
He shook his head, pausing on a word before dropping his eyes. “He’s your husband. I get it… He’s your husband and you’re going to stay with him and I’m just what, some guy?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No. You didn’t need to. You don’t need to say a fucking thing.” He started walking in the other direction, yelling backwards. “I thought you’d changed.”
“I have changed.”
“No, you haven’t. You still can’t make a decision to save your own life.
Everything is about everyone else.”
“You’ve got no right to say that,” I yelled, arresting him with my voice. “You’ve no idea what it’s like being me. Being Indian and all the shit that comes with it.”
Liam turned around. “You know what, your right. I’m not Indian, but you’ve managed to give me quite a fucking education in it, so I may as well be.” He grabbed my arm. “Meena, life is full of choices. That’s not about being Indian. That’s just life.”
I pulled back. “And what do you choose besides yourself? You never unpack. You never stay anywhere. Don’t you ever get sick of running away?”
“Don’t you?”
Liam and I didn’t talk much that night. We spoke in routine details: Which foreign movie to rent. What wine to drink with the takeout tan-doori that was too spicy. What time we had to work the next day. What… Which… How… All our questions, long or short, were dismissed with short replies. It wasn’t anger that quieted us—it was my doubt. He had no answer for it; it wasn’t a question.
3.6
Iwaited at Serena’s front door, sniffing the ends of my hair, wondering how long it would take before I smelled of the curry and onions that seemed to punctuate the entire neighbourhood. Down the street, Sikh fundamentalists had turned another teardown rancher into a makeshift gurdwara. Most religions fractured into sects because of scripture interpretation, but this division of belief was based on tables and chairs: the moderates had wanted to sit on chairs in the dining hall, and the fundis had wanted to sit on the floor. Both sides rioted and drew their kirpans to settle the matter in an embarrassing display that caught worldwide media attention. I was amazed how many people became fundis after the riots. Even Serena’s mother-in-law became an Orthodox Sikh. When she returned from a pilgrimage to India, she was gursikh: she was reborn. She wore her kara and kirpan, but she had trouble with the kes and still went to get laser hair removal done on her face.
I rang the doorbell again before remembering that Dev hadn’t fixed it yet. Serena’s husband rarely fixed anything other than Scotch and soda for himself and his trucker friends. I knocked, looking up at the green mildew stains on her peach stucco house, and wondered how long before the entire building would be covered in mould. How long before the lazy bastard saw the state of his home. Every time I saw the lingering stains, I thought of the
time I had come over to find Serena on a ladder, pressure-washingher house. When I asked why Dev wasn’t doing it, he popped his head out the door and said that women were always saying they could do whatever a man could do. He laughed as he scratched his belly. “Fifty:fifty, my marriage is fifty:fifty.” I didn’t laugh, and as I helped Serena down from the ladder I asked him if that meant that he would be making dinner. A week later she’d had her third miscarriage.
I knocked repeatedly until my five-year-old niece opened the door.
“Masi Meena, guess what?” she said, breaking free from my stifling hug.
“What?”
“I lothst my tooth.” She displayed a gummy smile, sticking her tongue out of the newly vacant space. “And the tooth fairy left me a dollar.”
“Meena, is that you?” Serena yelled from the top of the spiral staircase in a tone that reminded me of the way my mother had called out to me when I was a teenager returning late from school. “Simran, bring your Masi upstairs and then go finish your spelling,” she ordered.
I smiled and mussed her hair, remembering the frustrations of being so full of energy when no one else was.
Serena was sitting on the floor folding laundry, and barely looked up when I came into the room. “Look who’s here. I was beginning to worry about you; I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”
“I’ve just been busy… Can I help?” I offered, looking at the neatly stacked piles of laundry.
“Oh no, it’s fine… Arjun!” she yelled to my nephew. “Come and pick up your laundry!”
Arjun sauntered in a minute later, his pants slung low on his hips. “Hi, Masi.”
“Hey, A.J.” I resisted the urge to hug him.
“Did you finish your homework?” Serena asked, shooing him offwith his pile of laundry. “Do you want some chai?”
“Sure.” I followed her into the kitchen. “Where’s Dev?” I asked.
“He’s sleeping.”
I bit my lip when I saw new bruises on her arm. We never talked about it—there was no point. She had tried to leave him once, when A.J. was a baby, but my mother, who was grieving the loss of Harj, had convinced her to stay. I wondered if she bore her family’s betrayal anew every time Dev hit her. I suspected the failed attempt to leave had hurt her far more than he ever had.
She saw me looking at the bruise and pulled her sleeve over it as she reached for the phone.
I could tell by the well-placed “hah” and “achcha” in Serena’s speech and by the muffled Pindu Punjabi emanating from the receiver that it was her mother-in-law on the phone. Dev’s mother was as tacky as the dandruff-flaked hair that she pulled back into a netted bun. She had something to say about everyone and as the eldest in-law in our family she was entitled to her opinions and a giant dose of ass-kissing. She was upset when my mother had told her that I was marrying Sunny; she’d wanted me to marry her nephew from India. Marriage was the easiest form of immigration and she’d brought her extended family over marriage by marriage, member by member, building a dynasty of ancestral strangers who shared only title and land. Some had said that she’d only married her son into our family to secure five Canadian brides for her nephews, yet it was only my refusal to marry into her family that infuriated her. She’d arrived late for my wedding and never offered to help my mother in the kitchen as the other women did. When my mother had served tea to Sunny’s family before hers, she’d stormed out of the house, screaming that she had been insulted enough for one day. My mother had scurried after her, offering apologies so that Serena wouldn’t feel the brunt of this bezti. Now, whenever I saw her, she would make sure to tell me how her nephew was, how many sons he had and how beautiful his wife was. She’d then ask me how I was and when I was planning to have children. When I didn’t answer, she’d offer me a smile to match her cunning; my apparent infertility was her retribution.
“Who was she gossiping about this time?” I asked as Serena set the phone down.
“Dev’s cousin Balbir… apparently he just told his parents that he plans to marry his gori girlfriend.”
“And what did they say?” I asked.
She dropped the tea bag into the boiling water. “What could they say but yes. He’s their only son.”
“Such a double standard; it’s okay for him to marry a white girl, but yet no one talks to their cousin Rajinder because she married a white guy.”
“Our double standard is their gold standard.”
“Dumb Punjabs.”
“Why do you always have to do that?”
“What?” I asked.
“Make fun of everyone who doesn’t believe what you believe.” “You don’t believe that shit either.”
“Of course not. But saying it doesn’t change how they are.”
“So you’d prefer me to be silent, like you?”
She sighed. “Meena, why haven’t you returned my calls? Mom and I have left you messages at work, at home and on your cellphone.”
“I told you, I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, I know you’ve been busy. Kishor Auntie called my mother-in-law today… Why give people like them something more to talk about?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She saw you with some guy.”
“He’s just a friend. I can’t help what people say.”
“Meena, stop it. I’m not stupid.” I folded my hands across my chest and looked away, guilt settling in my stomach. “Sunny isn’t going to be gone forever. He’ll be back in less than a week.” She paused as if she were waiting for me to say something. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m not thinking. For once I’m not thinking, and I’m happy. ”
“I can’t believe you,” she whispered. “You’re so naive. What do you think will happen when Sunny finds out? What do you think people will say?”
“I don’t care what people say.”
“How can you not care? For God’s sake, Meena, think of Mom. Do you really want to put her through this?”
“I have thought of Mom. I’ve always thought of Mom. I’ve always put her needs ahead of mine, but I can’t keep doing that forever.”
Serena opened and closed cupboard doors as if she were looking for something but wasn’t quite sure what. “I can’t believe you. You’re so selfish. You just can’t go offand do whatever you want in life with no regard for anyone else.”
“Why not, why can’t I?” I pressed.
“Because that’s not… ” She slammed the cupboard door shut. “It’s not fair.”
I stood in the silencing truth, watching the chai churn and rise until she pulled it from the stove to strain it. I sat down and stared out the kitchen window. My niece was kicking rocks and playing hopscotch alone in the cul-de-sac. Other children rode their bikes around her, zipping about in figure eights.
“So, what are you going to do?” Serena sat down, handing me a cup of tea.
I cupped the mug with both hands and blew the steam away before taking a sip that burned my tongue and stripped me of the need to talk.
3.7
Imet Liam at the Chinese restaurant across the street from his studio apartment. It always smelled like warm noodles and the windows were covered in steam regardless of the weather. Coming in out of the rain, I clamped my umbrella shut and shuffled and excused myself through the dinner rush, leaving a trail of raindrops behind me. Liam was sitting at our usual corner table staring out the window, though there was nothing to see. I sat down across from him and drew a love heart in the condensation; he smiled and said nothing, and we both watched it crack and bleed into itself. His smile faded slowly, but the lines remained, settling into his skin. His eyes were tired—the blue thinner, diluted and watery, as if the colour might spill over the rims. Everything about him was worn and tired—disappointment personified.
“Are you packed?” I asked as I undid my coat and hung it on the back of the seat.
He nodded.
I kept talking, trying to make him speak, to d
raw him out. I told him about my day at work, about the rain, the traffic, but he seemed to want none of it and slumped further into his seat. “Are you excited about the shoot?”
“Yeah, it’ll be a nice change. I need to get out of the city, get away from here.”
I stared around the restaurant, listening to the clatter of dishes, pretending to read the Chinese lettering on the wall hangings. Luck. That was the only one I knew for sure.
“When do you leave?” I finally asked.
“Tomorrow morning. I’ll take the early ferry.”
“You’ll be gone a week?”
He nodded. “Maybe more. It depends how long the shoot takes… You know you could still change your mind and come with me.”
I fiddled with the napkins and packages of soy sauce, trying to ignore the tension and silence between us. We hadn’t argued since the day we’d been seen at the park, but we hadn’t really talked either. Everything about us was suffering like rain.
“You know I can’t.”
He leaned forward and picked up his tea, sipping slowly. “So, what…he’ll be back when?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Perfect timing.” He put his cup down. “And then what? When are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know.” I looked at the window again, wanting to wipe the heart away, wanting to draw it again, to make it good.
“You are going to tell him, aren’t you?”
I reached for his hand, locking his fingers in mine. The waiter interrupted before I could attempt an answer and gave us the laminated menus, pointing to the specials, the photographs of dinner combinations A, B and C. I glanced at it, telling Liam to order for me like he usually did. When the waiter had left, Liam didn’t reach for my outstretched hands, and I dropped them onto my lap, lacing them together like a child waiting to please, waiting to be told what to do.
After dinner we stood outside the restaurant beneath the ripped awning watching the rain fall in all directions, the wind pushing it this way and that. Liam flipped up the collar of his coat and inhaled to my exhale, our breath taking from each other.
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