Everything Was Good-Bye (23 page)

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-washing
her 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

I
met 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 draw 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.

“Look, I’m sorry about tonight. Dinner and everything. I’m just tired. I should probably go.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited for
me to say something. I stared at his building across the street as though I had only just noticed the stains on the brick work, the yellowed glass, the graffiti wall that said “I wuz here” in big, fat, swollen lettering.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay tonight?” I asked.

He looked away. “Probably best if you go… I’ve still got to pack my equipment and stuff.”

I nodded, grimacing that it was fine before hugging him in one arm, aware that our bodies didn’t touch, that there was distance between us.

I took a cab home, watching the city pass in a rain haze. The rain that made me invisible, that made us divisible. Even when I got home, I stared out the window, tracing raindrops on the glass with my fingertips, unable to see the city. Thin clouds that pulled apart like spun sugar covered the tops of buildings, obscuring the streets below and hiding the sky in grey fibres that made me want to unravel.

I sat on the sofa and listened to the building moan as if it were doing so in service of all its inhabitants. It was only after Sunny left that I’d noticed the reverberation of water in the pipes, how the sound of waves and riv-ers rushing through the walls made me feel like I was drowning, made me want to hold my breath.

I reached for the phone, called my mother and lied. I told her I’d been sick. I lapped up her sympathy.

“You should rest. You don’t eat enough. Have you eaten? You should make some tea. Add in extra fennel. It soothes the stomach. That’s what your Masi does.”

She didn’t stop for an answer and I offered only the occasional “achcha.” That was enough for her to know that she was heard, that someone was there, and she kept talking. I lay down on my bed, believing her. Believing that all I needed was rest.

After hanging up the phone I sat in the bath, my body slumped over the edge, the side of my face pressed against the cast iron tub. I wanted to cry but couldn’t. I conjured up sadness, pulling moments back from the past. My father dead on the ground, Liam walking away, my handwriting crossed out with indelible ink. I zoomed in on moments, finding new moments, new worlds inside each one that had never really existed. Narration
and omniscience, dialogue and monologue in my own mind like a Techni-color imagination, a melodrama that could not make me cry, the same way that
Casablanca
couldn’t make me cry anymore. “I’ve seen it too many times. I know how it ends,” I’d once told Liam.

I pulled myself out of the tub and lay down on the bed, naked and wet, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun round, the chill cutting like a knife slicing layers of skin.

The phone rang. I sat up and flipped on the lamp before picking up the receiver.

It was Liam. He seemed upset.

I adjusted my eyes to the light. “Where are you?”

“Outside. Can I come up?”

I looked out the window. Liam was standing in the rain, looking up.

The rest of the street was quiet; even the homeless had left for shelter.

I buzzed him into the building and waited at the front door.

He held me close.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, you’re fine… We’re fine.” That was all he said before we went to sleep, our bodies folded and encased, with his head between my breasts, my leg over his thigh, his arm around my waist, my fingers drifting down his back, charting the notches of his spine, tracing the spread of his ribs, filling in the hollows.

In the morning he was gone, and I wondered if he was ever there or if I’d dreamed him. I turned my face into the pillow, inhaling. Then I plucked fine hairs from the sheets, blowing one from my fingertip like an eyelash. Make a wish.

After I got out of bed, I got dressed and cleaned the loft. I scrubbed the toilets, the floors and then the bathroom sink, rinsing away Liam’s razor stubble. I vacuumed and dusted, picking up the knick-knacks and cleaning beneath them. I opened windows until the bedroom no longer smelled of sex and longing and then when everything else was done, I pulled off the bedsheets and crumpled them into a ball, pressing my face into them
one last time before tossing them into the washing machine. I wandered around the loft, my eyes sweeping for signs of Liam.