‘When’s the engagement?’ Andrew asked, before adding, ‘He’s adopted; I hope you know that.’ He shook his head just as soon as the words were out of his mouth. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
Andrew was taking aim at Ravi. I knew that.
‘Any more modelling assignments?’
Andrew smiled. ‘I was helping her out.’
‘I know! You are very helpful.’ I laughed.
‘Sudha introduced me to her,’ Andrew said. ‘Pooja lives on the floor below mine. She’s a persistent kid, and she just wouldn’t take no for an answer.’
‘I get all of that, Andrew,’ I said, ‘but polka dots?’
‘What could I tell her?’
‘I don’t know! But I certainly wouldn’t have said yes to polka dots if I were you.’
Andrew nodded.
‘And bare-chested.’ I was laughing. I just couldn’t get that roll of cloth out of my head.
‘Myraahh…’
He was calling me, cajoling me; he was trying to pick up the pieces. It was in his voice. Meena’s name sat at the tip of my tongue.
‘What are you going to do about your family?’ I asked.
It was why he had come back. I could finally see that, andMorning Heraldnot only allowed him to return home, but he could also see if the medium worked for him.
Chapter 17
Chhaya was to meet me at Perky Grace, down the road from our respective offices, in an hour. Make that an hour and a half. And that would be my lucky day! #ChhayaStandardTime.
I couldn’t be in office, though; I had to get out. I was struggling to stay away from Andrew. He was around somewhere. I had inhaled whiffs of him.
Even when I was horribly stretched on Thursday, I kept looking for reasons to chat him up.
Does this headline work, Andrew?
Caption with a kicker. Is that our style?
Piss poor, Myra!I know more about politics than the man will ever know about page-making.
Even though that last evening had almost ended with the ‘the adopted grandson’ counter, I rescued it somewhat when I asked him about Pooja. It was part alcohol, part that bare-chested image of Mr Wannabe Model posing beside that roll of cloth that set off a commotion of giggles on what had otherwise been a sobering evening.
I didn’t know what to make of his family.
Noelene, his beloved Nana, only left him drabs of information. And some serious real estate.
He had a grandfather, who was perhaps living, but he had no idea who he was. Who does this?
His mother! Andrew would never know who his father was…
And who was Bhumika Velu?
I had a feeling those notes were a brain-teaser 3D wooden puzzle. It would take some getting used to.
I wanted his phone. I wanted to go through those notes, again and again, with an Americano for company.
