“When I spoke to Gracie on the phone a few days ago, she said you’ve been upset,” Hari pushes.
“I’ve been stressed, not upset.” Meera hates hearing this, that her anxiety has become evident to her seven-year-old. She really did try to hide it.
“I don’t think this just has to do with work.”
“It’s complicated, but I’m taking care of it. You won’t have to watch Gracie for long.”
“Gracie is not the problem. You know that Jessica and I”—Meera represses a groan at the mention of the new girlfriend—“are always happy to have her here. As is Marty, of course.” Hari gestures down to the dachshund puppy, who’s busy chewing on the shoelace of Meera’s Nikes. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
The softness of his voice breaks her. She loved him for so long, and sometimes, she can imagine loving him again, despite what he did to their family. But she can’t think about that now; instead, she needs to tell him enough to assuage his curiosity and not so much that he panics. “You know my friend Talia from work?”
“Sure.” After the few occasions the two met, Hari wasn’t impressed with Talia—he dubbed her a people pleaser who couldn’t express an opinion if it killed her.
“It has something to do with her.” Cautiously, Meera adds, “She’s gotten herself into some trouble, and I want to be free of distractions while I help her out.”
“Do you need to get involved at all?”
“I do, unfortunately.”
“Why?”
Meera sighs. He isn’t making this as easy as she’d hoped. “Because I might be in trouble now too.”
“Is this work trouble you’re talking about or”—Hari lowers his voice—“legal trouble?”
“Work,” Meera says, because it’s not exactly a lie.
“Jesus, Meera.” Hari shakes his head. “I don’t know why you still work at that place. After the shitty way they treated you when you were first diagnosed ...”
“It’s not Cuff’s fault I have Hashimoto’s.”
“But the company is at fault for not doing more to accommodate you.”
And what did you do to accommodate me?Meera wants to ask, but it wouldn’t be fair; Hari did do a lot to help her out, just as he’s helping her now. He isn’t the enemy, she reminds herself. For as long as they live, they’ll be tied by Gracie, to whom he’s always been a good father. He just didn’t happen to be a good husband.
“I just think you’d be so much better off doing your own thing, Meer. You’re so brilliant, and your talent is wasted at Cuff.”
Meera leans against his kitchen counter, already tired of this conversation. “Says the guy doing backend engineering for a telehealth giant. What makes you think I’d want to do my own thing anyway?”
“Oh, c’mon. You’ve always wanted to do your own thing. Remember at NYU, when you wanted to develop that app connecting mothers to milk banks?”
“I forgot about that,” Meera admits.
“Or what about that idea you told me about a year or so ago, right after you got diagnosed?”
Meera’s stomach clenches. She’d rather not talk about that idea. “It was a dark time for me. I wouldn’t trust anything I said around then.”
“No, it was great.” Hari is insistent now. “Remember? You’d wanted to create a platform offering holistic autoimmune care to people like yourself. Why didn’t you ever move forward with that?”
“Because I’ve been too busy raising the child you only have to deal with every other weekend.” Meera regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth, but it’s too late. The damage is done.
“I don’tdealwith Gracie,” Hari says, his voice icy. “I live for my weekends with her. And you know I would do anything to have more time with her.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. I just ...” Meera shakes her head. “I don’t want to discuss my lack of ambition right now, if that’s all right with you.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re plenty ambitious. I think you’re just stuck right now.”
“Maybe I am.”
