She turns to her laptop and taps on the keyboard.“Your editing schedule doesn't start till November, so you have five months.Add two cycles of edits over another two to three months, followed by the cover design.Once we finalise the cover, I won't be able to hold back the marketing team.”
“Give me three months, and I will find someone.”I offer my hand to Priya.We shake on our agreement, and I walk out of her office with a smile.Gosh, what a relief!
***
Go inside or walk away?My feet are stuck on the cemented floor while my mind debates over what awaits me beyond this door.Frustration?Some more angry words?Another round of tears will find their way between Shalini and me.At least the screaming has stopped.
Buck up, Aditya.You cooked this dish, so you got to munch and swallow.
Inflicting pain by flogging myself again before old cuts heal has become second nature, but I need to do this.I need to keep meeting Shalini at frequent intervals.
But for what?To overcome my guilt?To move on?
Shalini and I need to cleanse ourselves of our past to make a new life.Jatin's words from breakfast poke me.'Make a clean break.You are turning your divorce into a festering wound.'Does he not understand?I cannot walk away after slashing and creating this laceration in our lives.I am the one who must soothe and heal the gash.
I take a final deep inhale before pushing open the heavy wooden door to the Burmese restaurant.One more step on this long road.Shalini sits at a corner table, her head resting on her hand, her eyes forlorn and vacant.The serpent of guilt wriggles and tightens its grip on my heart.Jatin may be right; despite my best efforts, remorse lingers on my soul like the lint on a coat.
“Hi,” my voice startles Shalini from her brooding.My lips droop at the longing eyes studying my face.I clear my throat.“How have you been?”I regret the words as soon as I utter them.
She does not waste the opportunity.“How should I be?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh.“I know I have hurt you.But months have passed; we need to move on.”
“Yeah.More than a year.But what about the ten years before?What part of my life should I believe?”She pours her hurt into every word.“Aditya, did I...did I turn you gay?Was there something wrong with me?”She dabs the corner of her eye with her handkerchief.
“No, Shalini.Please...”I stutter, trying to find words to soothe the burn evident in her voice.Hands clutching the chair, I try again.“No one turns anyone gay.It’s a truth that lies here.”I place my palm on my chest.
Shalini’s tearful eyes turn accusatory, but I ward her off.“Sometimes those feelings are hard for us to acknowledge.Social expectations browbeat us to live in denial or hide.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but I stop her with my hand.“I am guilty of hiding behind my internalised homophobia.No matter what I do or say, I cannot return those years to you.But I will be there to support you however I can.”
“Will you stand against my friends who question me about our relationship?What should I tell them when they ask what went wrong?How will you ward off those mocking eyes and sneers when the truth comes out about your sexuality?Can you fight off everyone who scoffs at our divorce?”Tears well up in her eyes, marking a fresh gash on my heart.
“Come on, Shalini.You know we were at the edge of a cliff.We went from lovers to bickering roommates.”
“Were we ever lovers?”She challenges me.A few heads turn at her rising tone.
“Fair enough.”I raise my hands in surrender.There are no ready-made answers.Anything I say will only agitate her more.So I deflect.“How is your new teaching gig?”
There is no point in repeating the same narrative over and over.What is done is done.Yes, I faked my sexuality for ten years and lived through marriage, cocooned in the convenience of a straight-passing relationship.I am the most selfish 'p' in the world.No amount of cuss words hurled at me since coming out can change these facts.The fear, denial, and confusion I fought every day of the past decade are outweighed by my lie.
Shalini studies me for a while before answering, “The school is okay.The kids are great, though.”A smile lights up her face.Once we gave up on having a kid, she started working with children in our local school, using her master’s in education.
The infertility treatments were torture.Shalini bore the brunt of the pain, disappointment, and meddling relatives.Sometimes I wonder if the decision to stop wanting a child was the final shove propelling me out of the closet.Sex had become a chore, performed and timed at the doctor’s instructions.
“Ah, kindergarten and nursery kids are adorable.Have they settled now?How do you deal with thirty crying and cranky kids throwing tantrums?”
“Hmm, the first few months are tough, but things calm down once they settle into the school routine.”
“What do you want to eat?”I push the menu to her, not allowing space for the past to creep into our lunch meeting.
She flips through the menu.“I will have the Burmese pepper soup and the tangy spring vegetable buns.What about you?Order something different.We can share.”
My chest tightens at the idea of sharing.We used to share our meals at dine-outs.We were once friends, if not lovers.
“I will have the Lotus root salad.”
“Only a salad?”She questions my choice.
