I want to slap him. I want to run. I want to fight. I want to kiss him. My eyes inadvertently drop to his lips before bouncing back up.
His eyes rove my face, and his beard twitches with his grin. “Where’s that backbone you show me so often?”
I grit my teeth but stand straighter. I wish I had a parting shot, but I can’t think of a single thing. Fudge nuggets. I slide around his hulking form and take my unmarried butt home.
When I arrive, I find a message from Dr. Patel.
Dr. Patel: Are you available to have a conversation?
Am I? My mood is sour, and I have fire in my soul. It’s probably best if I put it off. I check it again. The message came in hours ago. Sheesh.
Me: I just got home. Is now stilla good time?
My phone rings, and I drop onto my sofa before answering it. “Hi, Dr. Patel. How are you?”
“I am well, Dr. Anderson. And you?”
Peachy? Hunky Dory? I’m crazy as a loon.Instead, I offer, “I can’t complain.”
“I’ve been thinking about your data.” His chair lets out a wretched squeak in the background. “I’m afraid I cannot be connected to it in any way. My Nisha would want my integrity to be irrefutable. I cannot have that in question. As much as I want the data, I must recuse myself.”My Nisha.
“That’s the nicest ‘please leave me out of this’ anyone could ever offer. And I understand. Truly I do.”
“When you win some award for all your research, please add a footnote that I loved being your advisor and always knew you’d do great things.”
Pride mixes with other emotions as tears prickle the backs of my eyes. “You are a gifted professor and researcher. There was never another choice for me. You know that, don’t you?”
“Thank you.” His lilted voice is quiet.
“Can I ask you something way off topic?”
“Yes.” The word stretches long in question.
“You had an arranged marriage, right?”
“Yes.” Another question but with less wariness in his tone.
“How did you manage your first couple of months? I’m assuming you were strangers who were stuck and needed each other but didn’t know each other.”
“You’ve watched movies and think you know.” There’s displeasure in his voice. “It was much easier than that and much harder. Divorce was never an option. Never. We were together. We could make it terrible for each other, or we could find a way to be to one another what we needed. My Nisha and I sat down early and decided what was off limits. Things like cruelty, throwing things we could not control in each other’s faces, and talking negatively about the other to our children or parents. Those were behaviors that were unacceptable. We discussed what kindness looked like in our home and when we might need it most. That’s when things got hard. We knew each other’svulnerabilities and how to inflict the most damage, and we had to choose not to do that over and over and over again.”
“Did it work?” My voice is a whisper.
“Yes. Eventually we didn’t have to decide, because it was second nature. Mutual lives and similar goals became friendship and then deep-seeded respect and admiration. Young people these days want fireworks and zero problems. They don’t understand that an inconvenience isn’t a problem. That loving the people in your home is not just a choice, it’s the foundation of peace in life. Quarrelsome homes are miserable for everyone.”
“Thank you for that wisdom.”
“Why do you ask?” His tone is prodding and fatherly.
“I want to set my life up for success. And you are one of a handful of people who have the kind of life I want for myself. I need to know what it’s worth.” My voice drops, “And what it costs.”
“It cost me my pride and my right to be selfish. It cost Nisha so much more, but times were different then, and much has changed. My daughters won’t be in the same situations, even if they accept an arrangement.”
Oh. I hadn’t considered that even exists here. “Are they considering that?”
“It is customary, but their mother and I decided early on they could choose. We were fortunate, you see.”
“You were kind.”
