‘For?’
I shrugged.
‘I’m back the day after at 6 p.m. Any time after is okay. I can drop you home. I’ve parked at the airport.’
I laughed. He was making plans for me, and I wasn’t offended.
Chapter 32
I was in a black shirt dress, cinched at the waist with a wide fashion belt. Broad cuffs and long slits, it skimmed my ankles.
My mirror was kind, but it held nothing back. The full picture. This soft fabric I was mantled in had little baby moons running all over it.
I was trying not to laugh, only because I didn’t have the time to indulge in gaiety. This was not a nuanced routine in the be-good-to-yourself therapy.
Polka dots is karma. Listen to me.
I had bought this outfit in Mumbai. I lurched for it at a boutique store that had myriad options. Vertical stripes, middle-class floral, blackbirds flying across white skies. Propriety. Prints. Plain.
I was thinking sweet mints as I twirled in it in the trial room.
This bespattered element of my clothing was not a factor until I wore it today. That might have something to do with the guest list. Pooja Patil was going to be there, and this piece of work I was posing in would capitulate before her like a gushing 13-year-old. Slits and cuffs.
I was standing before the mirror in my brightly lit bedroom, which no longer looked sparse. I hadn’t moved back yet to Bengaluru, but I had brought some of my stuff back with me this time.
Chhaya was going to be there, too! I was going to get the karma talk from her. I stamped my foot.
‘Who are you talking to, Myra?’ my father called. ‘We’ll be late.’
I was talking to no one. I was just stomping around my room barefoot.
Papa was set; he was pacing the sitting room. I know. My dad always took his time gearing up, but on the rare occasion he was ready on time, he drove my mother and me crazy with a running commentary on how we were going to be late.
I took a deep breath. I was preparing for the show.
I spritzed perfume into the air and walked into it, letting it settle on me. This was a haphazard buy; the fragrance was too strong.
That apparently summed up my retail choices lately.
Andrew had invited us to a dinner party he was arranging for Neha, who was in town for work.
I had been messaging her these last couple of days, and I looked forward to meeting her. Andrew had also called a couple of senior advocates who were known to Neha and him.
Mr Kumar and his wife, Nilima, who was a family lawyer, were on the guest list, too.
I wondered if by inviting the Kumars, Andrew was returningMorning Heraldto me in a sense. Not that I was going back, but that I could just walk over to No. 7 any time I wanted. For saccharine-infused coffee maybe.
The other person I was looking forward to meeting today was Sudha. Andrew had wanted to ask Sudha over for a meal ever since he returned, but each time they came up with a date, one of them had to cancel.
We were going to be one nice, happy family this evening.
I couldn’t wear this dress! First of all, why was I wearing a dress? It was only to Andrew’s.
I turned to my cupboard. I should change into jeans and a tee. My comfort wear. I’m a denim junky. I’ve tried to break out of that from time to time, wearing dresses some evenings. Polka dots were the result of that.
This speckle fest was a little too much though. My bottom lip quivered, and my heart was racing. Why?
I laughed again. More like a nervous sound.
