Andrew was on his phone, and then suddenly, his eyes were on me.
‘Did you know he was contesting?’
I didn’t respond to the question, not because the answer was no but because I didn’t want to let him in on the status of that relationship. It was not his business.
That was the moment the waffles arrived. They were smelling of a world beyond the skies, a sweet paradise maybe.
Suddenly, Andrew was on his feet, his hands clutching my wrist. I turned, and before us was this big house. From where we were standing, it appeared to be sprawled out across the lawns.
Andrew was walking, and I followed him.
The server started walking with us. He was worried that we were going to complain about the order that had takensome time to come. He was explaining to Andrew that it was a homestay and that the café was attached to it and that sometimes, orders got delayed when all the rooms in the house were taken up, like now.
Andrew told the waiter he was only interested in the house. We had no problem with the service.
The man nodded, but he wasn’t sure.
‘Who are the owners?’
‘Raju from Bengaluru.’
One side of the house was lined with french windows, giving it a period silhouette.
The manicured lawn was edged with marigolds. Both of us noticed the flowers at the same time. Andrew’s hand clutched mine so tightly that I thought he might crush it.
As we walked up the walkway towards the tastefully enclosed porch, I noticed that on the rear wall was a line of pictures. Most of them were wedding pictures, and all of them were black and white.
Andrew’s hand was around my shoulder as he steered me back to our table.
‘That’s another thing; we don’t have any pictures.’
‘Your mother’s?’
Andrew shook his head.Noelene didn’t have a picture of her only child?
It’s like the Browns wanted no record of their existence.
Andrew paid for the coffees and the untouched waffles, and we walked back to our cottage wordlessly.
We had skipped the dinner Andrew had prepaid for and drank from the bottles we had smuggled into the room.
‘Where did you stay when you came here as a child?’ I asked.
‘At a house; it was huge.’
‘Whose place was it?’
He shrugged.
I wanted to ask if it had a lawn edged with marigolds.
‘It had a garden with marigolds.’ With that, he shut his eyes and let the tears flow.
Andrew was in my room to drop off my bags; he didn’t knock.
His hands were full with his backpack and duffle bag. His biceps strained against the weight he was carrying. These were arms that knew load.
The lighting in the room was annoyingly dim, and the acacia-wood furniture merged into the backcloth. I realized then that he’d taken off his hoodie.
