Thank god!
Andrew had started with weekly sessions. Now he saw Mrs Mathew whenever he needed to, which was down to once in two months.
‘I’m able to accept my past now, the choices my ancestors made, even Noelene not telling me stuff,’ Andrew said. ‘Mrs Mathew told me that returning home when I did was the best thing I did for myself.’
‘Wish you had told me when I was in Bengaluru six weeks ago.’
‘I wanted to. I came close to even, but you were so stressed about your dad’s health.’
Had he told Mrs Mathew about us?
‘Did you tell Neha how it went?’ I asked.
‘She was calling every day initially, but once she saw that I was on my way, we went back to messaging. I called her this morning though.’
Andrew’s gaze caressed my cheeks. My heart was skipping somewhere in the sunshine.
‘I want to get into politics,’ Andrew said.
My brows creased in question, but Andrew wasn’t looking at me.
‘Not right away but in time, in a few years maybe,’ Andrew said. ‘This is not a reaction to the rejection; it’s something I thought about a lot when I was in the US. It’s what I want to do.’
‘For revenge?’ For a woman in the business of words that was basic.
‘The Raos have nothing to do with the decision.’
Andrew had always been interested in politics. Years ago, in his early teens, he had attended political rallies. He found unconventional ways to get on campaign vehicles and tagged around grown men asking questions no one wanted to answer. He had even been to the Raos’ family home, tagging along with volunteers, who at the time were trying to get Hari Rao back on the political saddle. He was awestruck by the man’s command over what he thought was a considerable gathering. The visit was before he had found out who Rao was to him, but remarkably, the discovery hadn’t tinged his opinion of the politician.
I watched him pick up his drink, and as he tipped the glass his way, our eyes met. Andrew hadn’t got much from Hari Rao, but he had his DNA.
‘Which party?’
‘Not his.’
I laughed.
Andrew stretched his arms across the table.
‘Baby?’ I asked.
‘You were always baby, only you. But you were engaged. I was not sure if it was okay to call you that.’
Now that I had the precise echocardiography, I exhaled.
Andrew’s eyes didn’t leave my face. I think I was colouring. His fingers were knotted in mine loosely.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for what I did, sorry for what my folly cost you, cost us.’
A tear rolled down my cheek.
‘I’m sorry that I put my shame above your pain.’
I was disengaging my fingers to wipe my tears, but Andrew was quicker.
‘When are you coming home?’ he asked, waiting for me to compose myself.
‘I was going to book my tickets today.’
