She pulled at the taped ends, then stopped because she’d begun to cry. He worried he’d upset her somehow, but then she reached her hand to his leg and squeezed it, thanking him. She unrolled the paper to reveal the patchwork monkey that had watched him fall asleep from its spot on the crate near his bed in the little green room.
“Oh! It’s just wonderful. I love it,” she said, pulling it to her heart, and he was so glad she did.
“My mother made it,” he said, feeling proud of the monkey.
She covered her mouth again and began to cry even more. He’d gone and upset her in the end, even though he was trying so hard to follow Mr. Channar’s advice.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her tears away and smiling down at him. He felt confused. Maybe she wasn’t upset. “Don’t mind me.”
But the tears kept coming, and he didn’t know what to do or how to comfort her. Finally she lifted the arm that separated their seats and she reached for the back of his head and pulled him close, kissing his forehead and comforting him instead. She smelled nice, and she was warm. He felt better there at her side, but also tired. He stifled a yawn.
“It’s perfect,” she said, still holding him close. He could fall asleep like this, he thought. “I’ll cherish it always.”
XVI
Edward hung up the phone and sank into the sofa. The quiet house had a message for him: he was alone. Though Jane was asleep in the other room, in the bed they shared, Edward remained alone. Pieces from the latest puzzle Jane had started stared up at him, small clusters of green, black, and brown pieces, which together formed corners and borders but no recognizable shapes. Maddy had blamed jet lag for her early call. She was back in Los Angeles. She would have called last night, she explained, but they’d come home late and, by the time she’d gotten the boy settled, she collapsed, exhausted. He repeated her news to himself, imagining that he was relaying it to Jane: My sister has adopted a boy from India. Jane’s imaginary reaction was unpleasant. His own reaction had already disappointed his sister, he knew. First with the shock and silence, then with his questions, concerns, doubts. As she’d said, it was done already. Didn’t he know she’d posed those and a hundred other questions to herself countless times before making the decision? Couldn’t he just be happy for her? He wanted to believe she’d thought it through, but something had made him doubt it. Still, he said he was happy for her, that she’d just caught him off guard, half asleep. He would love to see his sister happy, for her to have a life outside her work. But a boy from India, he feared, would further complicate what was, in the best of circumstances and with the best intentions, an already challenging situation. Would Maddy even have time to raise a child? Adoption held so many variables. And she said the boy was already eight years old. Had she called him Bindi? Wasn’t that the dot Hindus wore between their eyebrows? Maybe he heard her wrong.
He pulled his encyclopedia from the shelf and opened it to the Bs, then flipped to the entry for Bindi:
A bindi, from the Sanskrit bindu, meaning “a drop, small particle, or dot,” is a forehead decoration worn in South Asia and Southeast Asia. Traditionally, the area where the bindi is placed is said to be the sixth chakra, the seat of concealed wisdom.
The final phrase gave Edward pause. He set the book down and returned his gaze to Jane’s puzzle. What would she do, he wondered, if he connected a few of the pieces without her? Puzzle building used to be a joint activity, a way they passed time together. Now it would feel like an invasion of her privacy. And Jane already had so little patience for Edward’s sister and what she called “that world,” which basically meant anything to do with celebrity and Hollywood. She would no doubt say Maddy was trying to keep up with Cruise and Kidman. Never mind that Eddie and Jane also lived and worked in Hollywood, in the industry, along with almost everyone else they knew. He forced a smile and said the words aloud.
“My sister’s adopted a boy from India.”
He laughed at his own false tone, but then again, he wasn’t an actor. The truth was he really was warming to the idea of a nephew. Jane was an only child and still wanted no children. He’d always assumed this would change in time. He’d also thought they’d be married by now. So there was that. Maddy had invited them to come over that afternoon to meet the boy. In fact, she needed a couple of hours to do some last-minute shopping. He should have asked where she planned to shop on Christmas Eve. Something must be open. And now he would need to get a present for the boy as well. What on earth would he get him? He imagined himself asking for help at the toy store. So my sister’s just come home from India with an eight-year-old boy. What do you have for him?
Toys“R”Us was indeed open, and apparently eight-year-old boys were a no-brainer. The pimply kid working there had simply walked Edward over to a display at the center of the room and handed him a video-game console. Something called a Sega Genesis. Apparently Atari was no longer a thing. Jane was awake when he got home, working on her puzzle. She stared at the large bag for a moment, then at Edward quizzically.
“Are you trying to make some comment about my immaturity?”
Silly, witty, lighthearted Jane. Edward was relieved.
“So my sister called this morning.”
“Ah. I wondered who was calling so early.” Her attention was back on the puzzle. The piece in her hand resumed its tapping, twice on her chin, once at her cheek, and so on. “She’s still in Spain?”
“No, actually. It turns out she went to India.”
“Madeline went to India?” She looked up, flummoxed. Snarky, cynical, mean Jane. Damn. “Why?”
“Ostensibly for research for a current client who cannot be named.” Jane rolled her eyes and returned to her puzzle. He ignored her, almost pleased the announcement would shock her. “But while she was there, she actually adopted an eight-year-old boy.”
Jane let out a bark of a laugh, which was precisely the response he should have expected, yet it was no less irksome. Of course she wouldn’t believe it. He waved the Toys“R”Us bag in front of her.
“See this? There’s a Sega something or other in here, because that’s apparently what eight-year-olds like. I’m an uncle, it turns out. So I guess that makes you—”
“Nothing,” she interrupted. “That makes me nothing. How old did you say he was?”
“Eight.”
“Uff.”
“Come on, Jane. Don’t.”
“Sorry. It’s just that you hear crazy stories.”
“We’re invited for Christmas, but I told her we’re going to your folks’, of course. So I’m going later today to meet him. I told her I wasn’t sure you’d be able to make it. It’s up to you.”
“Wow, okay. Yeah, you go, do your thing. Have some family time? You know me and kids.” She made an X with her fingers and grimaced. She was trying to make him laugh, but he suddenly had to resist the urge to sweep her puzzle from the table and send it flying against the wall.
“You know it’s not a crime to want to be a mother, Jane.”
He regretted it as soon as he’d said it. She liked to play the woman who had no interest in children and no compassion or understanding for those who chose to have them. He’d also believed she would change her mind, with time. Ten years later, he was still waiting, though he no longer knew what for.
Edward pulled alongside the van that was parked in Madeline’s driveway behind her car, which was new to him—and to her, apparently. The “1994” sticker was still on the rear window, red like the car itself: a convertible BMW. She hadn’t mentioned the purchase, but he hadn’t been over in a while. The front door to the house was open. There were two adults inside he didn’t recognize. They were setting up a Christmas tree. Maddy hadn’t mentioned she was having other people over, but this was, he realized now, because they weren’t friends who’d come by for eggnog and garland hanging. She’d hired some kind of service. Edward hadn’t known such a thing existed, and he watched, mesmerized, as one man mechanically removed the ornaments from the
ir boxes and the other found a place to hang them. He heard his name and turned to face his sister. She looked different but also somehow more like the sister he liked to remember, the one preceding the famous interior designer.
“You look great,” he said, hugging her.
“I look awful,” she said. “I’m running around like a chicken with its head cut off, and I’m completely jet-lagged.” She released him. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course,” he said, and he turned once again toward the tree and, now, two eyes that peeked over the top of the sofa. He couldn’t help but smile. “Well, hello, there.”
“Bindi,” she said, “come meet your uncle Eddie.”
Edward hadn’t even seen that the boy was sitting on the sofa, watching the two men work. Now he walked over, and Edward sensed his sister watching him. He was still unsure how to greet his new nephew. He opted for a soft handshake and a tousle of the hair. The boy’s hand in his own was small and smooth and allowed itself to be guided.
“Nice to meet you.” He stopped himself just shy of saying the boy’s name, though Maddy had confirmed what he thought he’d understood on the phone. “So are you enjoying your time in America so far?”
Maddy raised an eyebrow. He felt silly for asking.
“Yes, sir, very much,” said the boy.
“Bindi, honey, remember what I told you,” said Maddy. There was in her voice a similar tone of affection she’d had with Edward when he was a boy, but she’d grown into it with age. “‘Sir’ is only for special occasions here, just like ‘madam.’ He’s Uncle Eddie.”
Edward was distracted again by the men decorating the tree. They moved swiftly, efficiently, as though on fast-forward.
“So much for sitting around the tree, one ornament at a time,” he said. She shot him an exasperated look. “Do they come and water, too?”
“Bindi, your smart-aleck uncle is going to take care of you while I go out for a bit. I need to get a few things still. Is that okay?”
The boy nodded, but his head remained tilted in thought.
“What is aleck?” he said.
“A smart aleck is someone who thinks he’s being funny but he’s not.”
“Well, actually—” said Edward, but she made a sign for him to zip it. He turned to the boy, pretending to be scared of his sister. “Rule number one,” he said. “Don’t talk back.”
He realized he didn’t know what to call Maddy in relation to the boy. Was it Don’t talk back to your mother? Madeline? Maddy?
“Walk me out?” she asked, then turned to the boy. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Have fun with Uncle Eddie.”
He suddenly felt like he should ask for rules or instructions. What were they supposed to do?
“Thank you for doing this. You can’t imagine what it’s like coming home the day before Christmas with an eight-year-old.” He shook his head. She was right: he had no idea. “I just want him to feel comfortable.”
“Of course. I understand. Whatever I can do to help.”
“Just hang out with him. Get to know him.”
When Edward returned to the living room, he put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and they watched the men at work. He was so small and such a mystery; Edward knew almost nothing about him or his life. He felt small talk was all they had, but it felt entirely inappropriate at the same time. He wanted to really get to know the boy, to catch up on his life so far. But he didn’t even know if it had been a terribly traumatic life. He was an orphan, so it must have been. And yet he seemed oddly at ease, or at least curious about the new world around him in a healthy way.
“Hey, Bindi. Would you like to help me finish decorating that tree?” He turned to the man unwrapping the ornaments. “Hey, any chance my nephew and I can finish up?”
The man looked at the nearly empty box, then at Edward, annoyed.
“The ornaments are only covered if we hang them.”
“Oh, sure. Of course we’d pay for any damages.” He stepped around the sofa and lowered his voice. “Look, I’m just trying to let the kid have some Christmas fun.”
“All the packaging has to be replaced in the same boxes, and then they’re stored at the warehouse until the breakdown date.”
This guy was a real modern-day Scrooge, thought Edward. Clearly he had missed his calling.
“How about this,” said Edward, forcing a smile. “There’s a star, right?” He looked back at Bindi. “There’s always a star.”
“You have a choice of a gold star, a silver star, or an angel.”
“What do you say, Bindi? A star or an angel on top?”
The boy weighed his options seriously.
“Do you want to see them?” Edward suggested. The man now released an audible sigh behind him, and Edward felt himself flush with anger.
“I think a star,” said Bindi. “A gold star.”
“Excellent choice,” said Edward, relieved to be able to conclude the frustrating exchange. “Would you and your friend mind leaving one gold star for the boy to put on top?”
“It won’t be covered.”
“Got it,” said Edward, already walking away.
He returned to Bindi’s side, and they soon watched each of the men carry a box out the door. He thought about making some sort of joke at the man’s expense, but it didn’t seem fair to his nephew. In fact, looking at him, alone now, he didn’t know what to say at all, so he suggested they get something to drink first, then hang the star. They walked in tandem to the kitchen island, where the boy took a seat on one of Maddy’s futuristic stools. There was tonic, which tempted him to look for the gin, but he’d be good. There was also 7Up, and there were maraschino cherries among the condiments that lined the inside of the door. Edward was about to ask if Bindi liked maraschino cherries, but then considered the likelihood that he had never heard of a maraschino cherry. Edward felt the boy’s eyes on him as he filled their glasses with ice and soda, then a drizzle of juice from the cherry jar. He found the straws and gave the ice in each glass a spin, and now they were both following the red swirl. When the soda had gone pink, he dropped two bright cherries on top of the ice and slid the pint glass across the island. The way Bindi received it in both small hands made it look ridiculously huge. Welcome to America, he thought.
“That there’s a Shirley Temple. With Coke, it’s called a Roy Rogers.” The boy had no idea what he was going on about. “So how do you spell your name, by the way?”
He set his drink aside and quickly began to spell his name, as though a contestant in a spelling bee.
“B-i-r. No, sorry.” He was adorably embarrassed by his mistake and puffed himself up to try again, slowly this time. “B-i-n-d-i.”
“That’s just how I thought it was spelled. Now, is that a nickname or your full name?”
The boy leaned back in his chair. He had a curious look on his face, as if he wasn’t sure how to respond. Edward thought he might not know the word and was about to explain what a nickname was, but the boy spoke again.
“Not a nickname. It’s my name for America.”
“I’m not sure I understand. What was your name before?”
“Birendra,” he said quietly, almost a question.
“So Bindi was not your name before coming to America?” he said, repeating what they’d already established. “And you wanted to change your old name for a new one when you came here?”
Bindi thought for a second, then nodded, a little more at ease.
“Mama Maddy said it was better on the plane,” he added and returned to his straw.
Mama Maddy? Name for America?
“And is it better? I mean, do you prefer this name?”
The boy shrugged and took another sip of his soda. Then, clearly parroting Maddy’s words, he said: “My other name is too challenging for Americans. They won’t be able to say it.”
“Let’s go see about that star,” said Edward. “Can you get down by yourself?”
He slid easily from the stool and waited for Edward
to come around the island. As they walked to the tree, he grasped Edward’s palm with his hand, and it took Edward completely by surprise. He really was an uncle, and here was the boy to prove it. Edward wondered what it all looked like to him. The tree. The house. A different country. Even Edward himself. In front of the tree, he went down on one knee to be level with the boy. He adjusted the collar of his nephew’s sweater and returned his smile.
“How would you like it if I called you Birendra?” he asked. The boy just stared, wide-eyed, at Edward. His answer, half nodding, half shrugging, was a confused silence. “Only if you’d like.”
Now he nodded with more conviction, and Edward leaned in close.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Birendra. Now, if I’m not mistaken, we’ve got a gold star to hang.”
XVII
Christmas with the Bhatias, despite her prickly relationship with her mother-in-law, was something Nayana looked forward to—usually. It was naturally a pleasure to watch her niece open presents, especially as Jasmeen grew older—she was six now—and knew the gifts were for her. She was overjoyed by each toy, every dress. And watching Ramesh enjoy his niece was itself a treat, even if Nayana knew how badly he wished they were watching a child of their own. Today he smiled freely, even if Nayana found herself out of sorts. In the end, Ramesh was delighted by her pregnancy, and she tried to accept this. Her betrayal was her cross to bear alone, at least for now. Christmas Day was always an easy time for Nayana to imagine a future in which her sister and nephew were part of the festivities, together with Nayana and Ramesh in London, and maybe one more. She’d so hoped her sister would call that morning, before she and Ramesh had to leave the flat. It wasn’t that she would have confessed anything to Aditi, but she would have felt a little less alone now with Ramesh’s family. Without their holiday phone call, she was incomplete and found it hard to daydream.
And so she smiled at her niece, but she thought of India. One way or another, she needed to go home, sooner rather than later. In her most recent letter, Aditi hadn’t sounded ready for a move, but maybe it was time to discuss bringing them over. Selling their parents’ flat in Delhi, if necessary. Maybe she was just waiting for Nayana to say so. To persuade her. To come in person and help her find the strength to say good-bye to the home she’d shared with Srikant, to give her permission to suggest selling their childhood home.
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