She swirls her wine glass, eyes focused on something long past, and I give her the time she needs to collect her thoughts.
“After university, while I was working in London, I made a friend. Her name was Lilavati. She was Indian. Very beautiful, like you.” Mum looks up and smiles at me, her eyes full of warm memories. “She had a brother. Rakesh.” Her voice cracks on the name. “Oh, he was so handsome. And charming. He used to call me Maz.” She pauses, takes another mouthful of wine as if to fortify herself before continuing. “Their family were very traditional, and Lilavati was not allowed to go out at night without male supervision, so the three of us started spending time together. Going to the movies and the theatre. It wasn’t long before Rak and I fell in love.”
Mum’s love and sadness are written all over her face, and I feel a lump forming in my throat. This is not the story I was expecting.
After another sip of wine, she continues.
“One thing led to another, and, of course, we ended up, well, you know. But as I said, Rak’s family were very traditional. One day he told me he had been promised to a girl in India since he was a little boy. There had been no news from the girl’s family for a number of years, so he had been hoping the girl would reject the match and that perhaps we could be together. But we were not so lucky.”
“So he just married her?” My heart bounces between anger, horror and sadness.
“I assume so. To reject her would’ve shamed his family, and hers, in their community. Rak couldn’t bring himself to do that to his parents, his sisters. It would’ve ruined their chances for a good match. When it became clear the marriage would go ahead, we broke it off.”
“But you were pregnant,” I snap, indignant.
“Yes, although we didn’t know that at the time. I couldn’t bear to stay, to see him with someone else, so I left London and cut off all contact with both Rak and Lilavati.”
“When you realised you were pregnant, did you tell him?”
Mum shakes her head.
“No. Your grandmother felt it was best not to. And I didn’t want to put him in that position. Perhaps I was scared he would still choose his arranged bride. Maybe I was a little resentful that since he didn’t choose me, he didn’t deserve us. I don’t know. Either way, I never told him.”
I swipe at the tears that are tracking down my cheeks.
“I don’t want you to think it was easy for Rak to end things. We were both heartbroken. But what else could he do? He tried totalk to his father, but he was furious. Rak was in an impossible situation.”
“And that’s why you kept me? Because you loved Rak?” I sniff, attempting to stop my nose from running.
“Yes. And I loved you, from the moment I knew you existed. Loving you was both comfort and pain.” Mum reaches for my hand, her grip fierce as though she can impress on me how much I was loved, despite the way things have unfolded over the years.
“And then you married Warren. Why?”
“There wasn’t one single reason. He had children. I thought he might be a good father. Thought we might have another child or two, siblings for you.”
How I would’ve loved to have a brother or sister. I gulp the last of my wine and top it up with the little left in the bottle.
“Yet you never did.”
“No. It wasn’t until after we were married that he told me he had no interest in having more children, and that he’d had a vasectomy years before. I was devastated. I nearly left him then. But by then, your grandfather had passed. And Warren felt, I don’t know, he was older. He felt safe?”
I bark out a laugh at that. The last thing Warren turned out to be was safe. Mum closes her eyes and shakes her head.
“But Warren could never forgive me for not loving him the way I love Rak.”
I don’t miss her use of the present tense.
“Love? You still love him?”
Her only answer is a small nod.
I was wrong about the reasons my mother didn’t ever want to talk about my father. It was too painful for her. And maybe she didn’t want a mini-me like I assumed. Maybe, looking at me reminded her too much of her lost love. The trickle of tears speeds up, becoming a flood.
“So why have you been pushing me to get married?” It makes no sense to me, coming from the woman who lost her true love.
“Ah. Well. I never wanted you to suffer the way I did. I wanted you to be safe, wanted to protect you from falling in love and having your heart broken. It hurts too much, and I didn’t want that for you.” Mum swipes at tears on her face.
“So better to marry someone I didn’t love?”
