Andrew spotted me almost as soon as I laid eyes on him and walked over. I tried to apprise Ravi of Andrew’s arrival with my eyes, but he was so focused on his food, clanging cutlery on crockery, that nothing short of a full-throated yell, which would’ve invited the whole room to join the party, would’ve got his attention.
Fortunately for me, just before Andrew joined us at the table, my coffee arrived.
Ravi was quick with his appreciation, as always, glancing at my plate and adding, ‘My girlfriend will finally eat something.’ If I hadn’t stopped breathing, I would’ve laughed out loud. He was so busy with his food, clumping the waffle with cream and syrup, I could’ve fainted and he wouldn’t have known.
This was the first time he had positioned himself as my boyfriend in public.
Andrew, who was standing a little behind the waitress, had suddenly stopped smiling.
I picked up the cup and took a sip. I let the liquid trickle down my throat. I needed to take charge. Introductions were in order.
‘Ravi, this is Andrew Brown, our political editor, and, Andrew, this is Ravi Rao.’ This is where I should’ve stopped. Ravi had the advantage of knowing about Andrew, who he was, and even if only partially, what he had meant to me. Andrew had no idea about Ravi, who he was in my life, and that is not my problem. But my mouth was opening and closing on its own, speaking because it had to. ‘He is Hari Rao’s grandson,’ I said.
‘You two are dating?’ Andrew asked, pointing at Ravi and me.
‘Andy, is it?’ Ravi asked, standing up to shake Andrew’s hand.
‘Andrew,’ he returned. There was no smile to soften the correction.
Ravi’s expression dimmed, and I wanted to dive under the table.
This wasn’t about Ravi, despite how it appeared. Andrew had steadfastly refused to subscribe to shortening names, which was a pastime of sorts in Bengaluru. Like picnics and board games. Anita is Ani and Anil is Anu. It’s that micro. I was Myra or Baby or Bubbs, to him, never ‘Mai’, which is what I’m called most times. I didn’t protest the rechristening, but Andrew has always been vocal about it. I remember him cutting off a classmate when he called him AB. Even before the fellow was out of earshot, he was ranting, ‘It’s like people here don’t have the bandwidth for more than two or three letters.’
‘I’m pushing for an engagement,’ Ravi said, placing his hand on mine.
Not only was the announcement unnecessary, but it was also against his grain. We hadn’t spoken about keeping our relationship quiet only because that’s what both of us wanted. At least until such time that it was formalized.
Andrew smiled.
Just as he opened his mouth to say something, another man, a politician type, tapped Andrew on the shoulder. Whatever else the dolled-in-yellow-metal political aspirant may or may not have been, he was the messiah of face-saving timing.
I was seated beside Andrew at a resto-bar some 10 hours later. The sound system was hurting my ears, a welcome distraction for a change.
I was getting ready to swipe out when Andrew asked if we could get a drink. I could’ve bought myself some much-needed time, saying I was meeting Chhaya or my dad or my kitchen counter at that particular hour, but I thought I owed it to him. Correction, I owed him nothing. But this was not how I had wanted him to find out about Ravi. I’d wanted to be the one to tell him.
It had been an awkward 10-minute walk from Morning Herald Towers. Our mute commute drowned out the deafening evening traffic.
Andrew disappeared to get us drinks as soon as we dropped our bags.
How had this day ended up the way it had? Even if it wasn’t going to plan, the morning had been rescued somewhat when the coffee finally arrived on my table. But that was before my eyes clapped on Andrew Brown. Or was it a storm?
My phone pinged. It was Ravi.Home?
Office.I lied and dropped the phone into my bag.
I didn’t have a clue where my personal life was headed. Only a few months ago, there was an order, which I may not have fully embraced but was beginning to accept. I was at peace, or so I thought.
There was a reason for this steadfast refusal to look at where Ravi stood in my life, what he meant to me. I was searching, digging, reaching, but try as I did, I couldn’t go beyond friend.
Had it always been this way?
In the past, each time I felt a tug or was confronted with the question about Ravi, of where he stood in my life, I was sure it would pan out eventually. The candle I held for Andrew would die, and I would get on with my life.
Initially, when I was going to bed and waking up with thoughts of Andrew, bookending my days with the memories we had made, I let me be. It was understandable, given how things had ended or been left to dry. Some eight years later, when Andrew walked into my den, I told myself it was finally endgame. This wasn’t closure though – far from it. This was stirring-to-life feelings, emotions that should’ve been dealt with and laid to rest long ago.
Why was I having a drink with a man who hadn’t had the minimum decency to end what we shared before hooking up with my friend? Then, having gone right ahead and played that game, he hadn’t bothered to tell me about it. I had to hear it from her.
My face must’ve looked a mess because Andrew raised his brow questioningly.
