‘If Andrew stays, he’ll make it worthwhile forMorning Herald, but I don’t think he wants to stay,’ she said after I took a sip of the boiling hot black liquid.
Then he won’t,my lips were too scalded to say.
Chapter 16
I sat heavily at the breakfast table Ravi had picked for us. There was a lot on my mind; most of it was Andrew-related.
Were Sudha’s sources right? Was he going to quit? It had nothing to do with me, which was an issue by itself.
Andrew either wanted to up and go because this wasn’t what he bargained for or was being pushed into a corner as Soor had asserted. I was leaning towards the former only because of where it came from, but who’s to say? It was like looking into a kaleidoscope, disjointed bits of a story floating around, parts of which I recognized.
That Andrew had no idea I had messaged him had crept up on me like a snake. Poison.
What kind of a relationship were Meena and Andrew in?
How deep was their love if his phone was with her? If she knew the passwords to his phone?
My airways felt constricted. I needed air.
Andrew had given up on us only a few months after he left Bengaluru.
Ravi reached across the table and squeezed my hand. I returned the squeeze, exhaling. Divinity was in the pacific.
My mind wouldn’t stop going back. Each time I managed to drag it forward, it found a way back. I could feel the surge of emotion; it was showing in my eyes. I could tell.
What brought Andrew back to Bengaluru? Or rather, who?
I wanted to stop these questions because they did not matter. I was almost engaged. I had finally found some peace after my mother’s death and Andrew’s hasty exit from my life.
Closure is not for all things and everyone. Sometimes, you just move on.
My head was spinning, and Ravi was smiling as he always does when we meet. It made me want to smile, too, but all that I could manage this morning was a half-hearted response.
We weren’t at our usual 11 a.m. coffee-break table. We were early, but our spot was taken by two men in slick business suits. House rules ignored. I grumbled to Ravi, who contributed to the charade with no more than an eye-roll.
We don’t do breakfasts; we meet for lunch or dinner whenever possible. But that mid-morning coffee break is our time.
When Ravi called last evening, asking if we could meet for coffee, I suggested breakfast, and he readily agreed. My body didn’t need nourishment until midday most of the time. I drink gallons of water, have fruit – an apple or guava – and a mug of black coffee with a splash of milk, and I’m good most mornings. I save the egg my father fries for me for dinner. Lately, however, I’ve been experiencing hunger pangs early in the day. That’s why I suggested breakfast. It might have something to do with my running, which I was becoming increasingly regular with.
We hadn’t decided on a place, maybe because we didn’t need to. Ravi offered to pick me up at 10 a.m., giving me fair room to drop my bags in office.
‘I want to eat their blueberry waffles,’ Ravi had said as soon as I settled down in his car. He hadn’t even greeted me.
‘Someone is hungry.’ I was speaking for myself, too, and this was after I had already gobbled a two-egg omelette.
‘They must be the only people on the planet who make it without any added sugar or sweetener. The moment you said, “Why not breakfast”, I knew what I was going to order.’ Ravi was beaming.
The food arrived at the table almost as soon as we settled down, and quite a spread it was. The plump walnut and raisin waffles with maple syrup and a fluffy egg-white omelette, condiments and a large breadbasket.
Ravi was digging into his food the moment it was placed on the table. He was obviously ravenous. I was shifting my plate around, wondering where to start, waiting for my coffee to arrive.
Were they still picking the beans?
It was 10.40 a.m., and I couldn’t put another morsel in my mouth without coffee. I also wanted a bite of the waffles, which I feared I was never going to taste, given the pace at which Ravi was polishing his plate. There were four pieces, and he had already eaten two of them.
I waved at the waiter and mouthed coffee when I noticed a familiar figure walking into the restaurant. He was a step or two behind a waitress, who appeared to be struggling with her footwear. The light was on him so I couldn’t tell for sure, but the gait was Andrew’s. The build was Andrew’s. And so was the face.
What was he doing here? I was smiling; no, I wasn’t.
