Reconcilable Differences: A 'Having It All' Novel (17 page)

“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 voice 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?”

“Oh, I don’t think gender means much to the Hindus.
Then,” she pointed, “in the middle is Brahma, of course, the creator, with his
four heads.”

He squinted and nodded. “Handy.”

“You mean heady.” She quirked her lips. “Beside him is
Shiva doing his rapturous dance. He’s the god of death and rebirth, sort of.”
She swung her head around. “Oh, and there, the fat one with the elephant head
and several arms, that’s Ganesha. And see his rat there, at his feet? That’s
his helper. Businesses like him. He removes obstacles.” She laughed softly.