He was at the entrance to his bedroom, his shorts askew on his spare frame.
My eyes shifted from him to the bar counter. I took four steps into the room and swung my bag at the coffee mug. It went crashing to the floor along with the crime thriller that was now divested of its marking.
Chapter 28
I had put in my papers atMorning Heralda month ago; the intervening four weeks had flown.
I had met with my editor right after I left Andrew’s apartment. It was a difficult conversation. I told him I was looking for a change, that I wanted to move to a digital platform, which was no longer the future. I couldn’t tell him the truth, but I wasn’t lying either.
He was shocked. ‘Why, Myra? Why so suddenly?’
I told him I had been thinking about it for a while. ‘If I don’t take the plunge now, I probably never will,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to regret not having taken a chance.’
Mr Kumar told meMorning Heraldhad plans to ramp up its digital space, which was why Andrew Brown was hired. He added that the management’s laid-back attitude was beginning to wear on Andrew, too, but they both knew that it would happen sooner than later.
As long as the advertising revenue of the organization kept swelling, we both knew that going digital was a distant dream. Rightly so, maybe.
Andrew, I expect, knew what he was signing up for.
Andrew Brown.
That left-handed strike with my pocketbook bag that sent the keepsake coffee mug crashing to the floor wasn’t my proudest moment, but I liked the result. Maybe that’s why the image of the broken pieces of china kept nudging me. It felt like my heart. Broken.
My eyes had met Andrew’s before I exited his apartment. My stare was unapologetic while his face had crumpled.
I will apologize to Andrew for the damage to physical property, I know that now. A month ago, I wasn’t so sure.
I had floated the idea of moving cities with my father a little after I sent out feelers. He greeted the news enthusiastically, much to my surprise. Not only was he willing to move with me, but he was actually looking forward to the shift. He thought it would be good for the both of us. He asked me why I had waited so long.
When speaking to Mr Kumar, I had weaved that in, too. I said my father would benefit from the move.
I don’t know if it was something I said, in which case I don’t know what exactly it was, but my editor seemed to think this decision to relocate was stirred by my father.
My mother’s death had been reported inMorning Herald; it was a page-one story. It was a horrific accident. If I’m not wrong,MHeven carried a picture of my father sobbing at the crime scene. Quite a few of the senior staff knew how badly my father had taken the loss.
Dad may be the reason why my editor accepted my notice without the spectacle that accompanies a shock resignation.
‘These doors are always open for you, Myra, should you change your mind at any time,’ he had said.
As the weeks rolled by, my father’s enthusiasm seemed to deflate. He was like a punctured tyre now. At first, he suggested that we rent out our place for a year ortwo. He even started looking for apartments in Andheri and Vile Parle, which he passed up for a better location in Prabhadevi. Then, early one morning, he walked into my room to tell me he didn’t want to rent our house. I understood that because if we leased our place and Mumbai didn’t work for us, or even one of us, reclaiming our home would be a hassle. He briefly considered letting it out short term – there would be takers given the location – but he backtracked from that, too, saying people would spoil the furniture Amma had bought.
Finally, he said, it didn’t make sense to lock up the house; it wasn’t safe either. He would come with me for a couple of weeks, maybe a month, help me move and then return. That way, I would still have our home every time I was in Bengaluru.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said. ‘Andrew is also here. I can call him if I need anything.’
I was sure that once we were in Mumbai, I could convince him to stay longer. An extra month, a year.
I hadn’t told Chhaya that I had quitMorning Heraldand was shifting cities. We hadn’t met or spoken in over a month. When I made my decision, she was in Delhi, after which her brother had taken ill. Though we messaged every day, it was mostly me asking about Chetan’s condition and her giving me updates.
I didn’t want to debate my decision to quitMorning Heraldwith Chhaya. All I needed to stay put was an excuse, and she could facilitate more than one.
I was in my cabin, working on my last weekend edition asMorning Herald’s features in-charge. I had a piece in it, too. I took a deep breath, exhaling laboriously. The following week, I would begin handing over charge of the eight-page magazine, which I had given a new look and more weight inmy almost seven years in the organization. So much so that it was the most complete weekend section in the country. I had spent weeks and months conceptualizing, planning, finding ways to make an already good product better.Morning Heraldsold 30 per cent more on the weekend than our closest rivals. That’s the kind of popularity the pull-out enjoyed. I take great pride in that the graph kept rising with me at the helm.
I noticed Andrew walking across the editorial floor. He had tried to talk to me twice in office after I had been to his house. The first time I was on a call, the second time I pretended to be on a call when I was actually listening to music on my phone. He had been coming into work early these last couple of weeks. He might’ve wanted to talk, but he hadn’t messaged, and I wasn’t meeting his gaze.
Maybe all he wanted was an apology.
I pulled out my phone on impulse and messaged Chhaya. I typed,When’re we going to meet, Bae?
