Because I enjoy feeding you feels too heavy an answer, but that’s what it is. My feeding kink? It’s the only reason I spend at least fifteen minutes every day scouring the internet for tasty, but quick recipes. I reach across and wipe a crumb off the side of her mouth and smile. “I like cooking, it’s a good destresser and you enjoy what I make.”
“So you do this for me.”
It’s a question posed as a statement and I shrug. “I do it for us. You eating and being healthy is important to me.”
With a snort, she returns to her sandwich. Attacking it like it’s going to run away from her. I take my time eating my serving, the silence between us comfortable and easy. The buzz of the city fills the spaces, conversations from other flats and neighbours drift over now and then. But it never feels like we have to speak. When she’s done, Tamara licks the butter and cheese off her fingers and only then does she use one of the napkins I brought to wipe them clean.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I turn away to look at the stars again, needing the strength not to do something stupid like kiss her before she’s ready. Even as I think it, her lips press against my cheek.
“Thanks for tonight, Patrick,” she says softly and leans against me.
“You’re welcome, Lo.”
Tamara snuggles into my side as I finish my dinner. We stay like that as we drink the buttermilk and munch on the chocolate chip cookies. When the lamp starts to dim, we gather everything and head back to the flat. We wash the dishes together, talking about our days, and finish the rest of the cookies before we separate for bed.
Later, while I’m staring at the ceiling, I wonder if the rest of our lives could be this easy. This simple and carefree.
Twenty-Five. Daddy Trick
Tamara, October
When I woke up this morning, my biggest relief was the constipation was over! Dr. Gopalan had warned me this would happen, but she couldn’t promise it wouldn’t return. That was less fun. Even though I’ve lived with IBS most of my life, the constipation part of it never really affected me. My stomach pains would surface at the worst times and make me so miserable. Since I got pregnant, I haven’t missed those late night bathroom visits or unusual abdominal pain.
More than that, I feel lighter. Since our conversation things have finally settled back into some kind of normalcy. A part of me felt guilty for hating him when he was mourning the loss of his grandmother. As a teenager, all I knew was the first boy I loved had left me behind and it scarred me for years. Now with the truth and knowing he looked for me eases some of the pain.
He’s been an absolute godsend since then. Patrick took my need for us to do this slowly very seriously. I was half expecting him to launch into a fully planned week of activities. All he’s done is be present more. After our terrace picnic, I make the effort to spend more time with him over my first cup of tea. It’s hard to undo my morning grouchiness, but I’m trying. He updates me on coaching, I tell him about my progress with Julia Christopher’s project. It’s all very normal.
I finally told everyone at work that I’m pregnant. Even though my stomach is showing more—I’m a fat woman carrying a giant baby—it’s not immediately noticeable. However, I understood the importance of letting Aishani, Pallavi and everyone else know the situation. Especially since I’ll be on maternity leave and someone will need to stay on top of all my projects.
They bought a cake and threw a silly congratulations party for me. We agreed to keep the identity of the father a secret. Neither of us want our relationship to be blasted on the internet. Unlike Elias, Patrick still gets to live a hassle-free life. But we’ve seen how many people recognise him. While they’re all very polite and respectful, that won’t always be the case.
Since the announcement, Pallavi has been taking such good care of me at work. I don’t know if Patrick sent her a list, but she always has crackers, ginger candy and tea ready for me when I get to the office. She’s finally mastered the art of making the perfect cup of tea. Some days she even gets me boba to wash out the disgusting ginger candy flavour. I don’t mind it when it’s in my mouth, but afterwards my tongue feels weird.
What my tongue, stomach and baby do enjoy is all of the new things Patrick’s experimenting with. I let it slip that I can cook, but choose not to do it because it’s too time consuming. In all the years I’ve lived there, I’ve only cooked for myself a handful of times. Between Tessammai always sending me leftovers and barely being at home to eat my meals regularly, my kitchen doesn’t get used as much as it should. So while he does the majority of the cooking, Patrick sometimes gives me easy things to do.
We made dosa together one evening and burnt most of them. We were so hungry, we finished all the crispy crumbs with leftover curry. Since the cake tasting, we’ve also been experimenting with dessert. I’ve always been a fan of pedas?1 and payasam?2, but this baby is not having it. They want chocolate and copious amounts of ice cream. So we made a million brownies and inhaled chunks with large scoops of homemade vanilla bean ice cream.
I’ve been putting on weight and combined with the baby growing inside me, I’m a lot heavier than I was before Patrick moved in. I don’t weigh myself regularly, but I like to make sure I’m not crossing into overweight territory. I know doctors say it out of health concerns, but I’ve never been unhealthy. I take care of myself and eat right, I don’t diet and restrict my food intake. I’ve been chubby and fat my whole life. My body is just the way she is and I’m proud of our journey together.
Now, I’m proud of her for carrying this baby for me.
My phone buzzes with a reminder to take my vitamins and I glare at the device. One by one, I swallow the pills and shudder when it’s done. I’m still convinced I’ll choke on the largest one and it’ll be the most embarrassing day of my life. Now is not a good time to get embarrassed; my meeting with Julia Christopher is tomorrow and I have to show her my plans and designs.
I’ve been working round the clock to make the best pitch presentation ever. It certainly helps that she knows me and my reputation; it’s clear she’s seen my work too. After years of having people request Tamara Chandy to do their homes for them, it’s weird for it to be the other way around. That’s the main reason why it’s taken me so long to put the presentation together—I forgot what goes into one of these documents.
As a perfectionist, even that has to look good. Every element I add has to support something else. If she likes all of it, I'll have to find a way to include it later. I want to create an elegant and stylish space, but cosy and welcoming. At the end of the day, people deserve to walk into a bakery and feel like they belong.
“Miss Chandy, there’s a delivery for you,” Pallavi says and pushes the door open. A large collection of flowers and a bakery box are set on my desk. I sign for the delivery and thank them. I stare at the arrangement for a long time and snort out a laugh.
Oh, Vera will love this.
At the beginning of her relationship with Elias, he sent her a gorgeous bouquet of flowers. I insisted only men in love or those who are infatuated would do that. They wouldn’t put in the effort if they’re only looking to fuck. She didn’t believe me and now they’re madly in love. I’m pretty sure Elias is going to pop the question any minute.
Even without looking at the card I know they’re from Patrick. After our conversation that night, it’s clear how he feels about me. We’ve said everything without saying those three words. It doesn’t change what our relationship is or who we are to each other. Twenty years is a long time and I didn’t wait for him, but there was always a part of me that was his.
I grab the card and trace his blocky handwriting with a finger. My heart soars knowing he went to the florist and did this in person.
Lotus.
