If Today Be Sweet (28 page)

Tehmina stared at him, afraid to believe what she thought she was hearing. Sorab will be so good running your company for you, she wanted to say. Maybe I'm a little biased being his mother and all, but my boy will really be a good boss—honest, fair, smart. But then her happiness was pricked by another thought. Why did someone's good fortune have to always come at another's expense? “What will happen to Grace?” she asked.

Joe burst out laughing. “Tammy, Tammy,” he cried. “Are you for real? Are you sure you're not computer-generated?” His mouth twisted. “Grace is a survivor. People like her always land on their feet. And she makes a great first impression—believe me, I know, to my eternal mortification.”

Cookie bounded over to her. “Granna,” he said, tugging her sleeve. “I want some ice cream.”

“And who is this?” Joe said, getting down on his haunches to face the boy. “Wait, don't tell me, I know your name. It's…Chocolate, right? No? Oh, I know. It's Cocoa.
No?
Okay, let me think. Ah yes, it's Custard. No? Is it Cake? Candy? What's that? Oh, that's right—Candy's a girl's name.”

Cookie was giggling and hopping from foot to foot. “No, no, no. It's Cookie,” he yelled. “And that's just a nickname. My real name is Cavas.” He looked up at Heather. “Who're you?” he asked. “You're pretty.”

Joe stood up. “Maybe I should ditch the father and have the son come to work for us,” he told Tehmina. “He'll know how to charm the customers.”

Tehmina fairly burst with pride. “I'm so glad both of you are here,” she said to them. “Now, please, come get something to eat.” She glanced at Joe shyly. “I even made some shrimp curry for you.”

Joe groaned. He put his head on Tehmina's shoulder. “Won't you please adopt me?” he said in that little-boy voice that made her
laugh.

“Hey, I'm in line way ahead of you,” a voice said. It was Percy. He stuck his hand out. “I'm Percy Soonawalla. An old family friend.”

“Good to meet you. I'm Joe Canfield and this is my wife, Heather. What do you do, Percy?”

Leaving Percy with her guests, Tehmina excused herself. The party was going well, all the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves, and Susan and some of her friends had taken charge of heating the food and bringing it out. This was a good time to escape for a few minutes and rest. She had been like this her whole life. At every party she had ever attended or hosted, there came a moment when a melancholy feeling came over her, making her feel isolated and alone even in the midst of the swirling merriment around her. She decided to go up to her room and lie down for a few minutes. She had worked all day and she knew that she had to be up at least until midnight to usher in the new year. Besides, she was hoping that Rustom would come to her tonight, to at least see her one last time. The thought of facing a new year without him accentuated that lonely, melancholy feeling.

She fell asleep almost as soon as she laid her head on the bed. But her sleep was restless, punctured by the voices and laughter that drifted like smoke into her bedroom from the party below. When she awoke from her nap, it was dark and her heart was thudding, as if she had spotted an intruder in her room. This is the trouble with napping before bedtime, she chided herself. It makes me feel awful when I wake up.

She decided to splash some water on her face and use the bathroom before rejoining the party. She turned on the light of the bathroom and her eyes fell on the open book that sat on the toilet tank. It was the Omar Khayyám. How had it gotten up here? She was sure she had left it downstairs after Eva came over this afternoon. She tried to remember if she'd put it back in its place on the bookcase in
the living room, but couldn't. Maybe Susan had brought it up here? But why would she do that? She flipped the book over, curious to see what page Rustom had left open for her.

Tehmina laughed. Rustom had never been a subtle man. Nor was he the most patient of men. She was afraid that if she didn't make a decision soon, she would wake up one morning to find her bedroom wallpapered with verses from the
Rubáiyát.
And the floor and ceiling, too. Rustom obviously thought an ancient Persian poet had something to teach an elderly Persian woman.

Darling, she whispered. Are you here? But there was no answer. And the texture of this silence was different. Tehmina knew that immediately. This was not a breathing, listening silence. This silence had a void in it, a hollow in its center. Rustom was gone. He had been true to his word. He had really left her this time. Left her to wherever her own decisions would take her. From here on out, she was on her own.

Past regrets and future fears, she thought. That pretty much summed up how she had lived this past year. She took a few steps across the tiled floor to get a new bar of soap out of the bathroom closet and then froze. One floor below her were gathered all the people she loved, and the realization made her shiver. Sorab, Cookie, Susan, Percy, Eva, Solomon, even Joe and Heather—it seemed as if her family kept growing. What was the term she had heard on
Oprah
a few weeks ago?
Family of choice.

Choice. Making a decision. Getting off the fence. In a few hours, it would be a new year. Whatever decision she made now—and
Tehmina knew that she would make the decision now, before she went back downstairs to join the party—whatever she decided now, she would carry the consequences of that decision into the new year. Home, she thought. Where is my home? Where do I belong? She thought of her apartment in Bombay, the chipping walls that needed a coat of paint, the precious Hussein painting that hung above the sofa, the teakwood closet where Rustom's suits still hung, the new Bajaj stove that he had bought her just two years ago. The thought of leaving that apartment, of selling the home she had spent most of her married life in, made her eyeballs hurt. Bombay suddenly loomed large in her imagination. She forgot the squalor, the slums, the black cloud of pollution, the unbearable heat, the dizzying crowds. Instead, she saw the golden sky at twilight, the vast sea beyond the Art Deco buildings of Marine Drive, the beauty of the old colonial buildings of South Bombay, the dark, cool quiet of a fire temple. Instead of the wretched humidity and sweat-inducing heat, she remembered the warmth of a Bombay morning; instead of the overcrowded, dangerous buses, she remembered streets festive with people, with life-affirming humanity, such a contrast to the dead, empty streets that greeted her in Rosemont Heights each evening. But then she thought: And who among those millions of people out on the streets of Bombay cares if I live or die? Her best friend, Zinobia, would care, some of the neighbors like Persis would care, the heads of the institutions where she volunteered would care. But who else? Whereas here, despite the barrenness of civic life, despite the cold winters and the deserted streets, despite the fact that there were housing complexes built without sidewalks, there were people who cared very much about her well-being. Who worried, who fretted, who had their own lives and destinies tied up in hers. And—and now she forced herself to swallow her natural modesty—here there were people who, despite what she had earlier believed, needed her. She could see that now. Cookie needed her, needed what only a
grandmother could give him. Susan's mother lived too far away to give him the gift of her consistent presence. Susan needed her, to polish some of her rough edges, to coax out of her the softness that a hectic schedule and too many responsibilities had buried. As for the boys—Percy, Sorab, and now maybe even Joe—Tehmina knew she had enough love for all of them.

She knew another thing also. She would stay. Here in America. It wasn't so much a decision as an acknowledgment of something she already knew, a logical culmination of her thought process. Unlike the movies, no drums thundered in the background, no trumpets heralded her arriving at her decision. Because, in fact, the decision had been made a few days ago. When she had loosened her grip on that fence, when she had found the courage to jump, she had landed in more than Antonio's yard. She had landed in America. The fence had been the dividing line between the past and the future, between India and America. Tehmina marveled at the fact that she hadn't known this until a second ago, that her body, her mind, were only now catching up with her destiny. The moving finger writes, she thought. The room was quiet as Tehmina splashed water on her face. For the first time in months that nervous, agitated feeling that was lodged in her stomach left her.

She would stay. But on her own terms. And the main thing was that she had to have her own apartment. There was no reason for the children to sell this house in order to buy a bigger one. Yes, she would insist on that—that she have her own place. That way, she could have her independence and the children could have their privacy. She had never lived alone for a day in her whole life—she had left her father's house to move into the apartment with Rustom—but somehow, the thought didn't faze her. In fact, she felt daring, excited at the prospect.

Sorab would fight her on this, for sure. He and Susan would not understand, might even be hurt. But she would hold firm. She would
combat their passionate arguments with cold reason. And she would not back down. After all, she was a woman who had leaped over a fence. Who had temporarily kidnapped two boys. Who had prayed with a nutcase in the middle of Kmart. Who had received a phone call from the mayor. Who had perfect strangers come up to shake her hand. She was a celebrity, a star. She was an American hero enjoying her fifteen minutes of fame. She was unbeatable, invincible.

Tehmina giggled. What a crackpot you've become, she chided herself. What landlord is going to rent a place to a crazy woman? But already she was thinking of how she would decorate her apartment. The Hussein she would definitely bring back from Bombay. Also, some of the smaller pieces of furniture. And in the summer, she would go shopping for plants with Susan. Maybe the apartment would have a little balcony where she could grow flowers. And make rainbows.

She hurried down the stairs and Sorab was by her side. “Mamma, where were you?” he said. “I was getting worried—didn't see you anywhere.”

“I was in my room. Just freshening up.”

He peered at her. “Are you okay, Mamma? You look—I don't know—a little flushed.”

“I'm fine,” she said. She opened her mouth to tell him and then stopped herself. No, she would wait. She would wait until they had ushered in the new year. She would wait until the countdown had ended, until they had counted backward from ten, nine, eight…until they had reached zero and the room had dissolved into whoops of celebration and silent prayers of hope. She would wait until she had hugged and held her son and told him how much she loved him, until she had whispered to Susan how grateful she was to have such a wonderful daughter-in-law, until she had squeezed Cookie and told him he was part of her liver, and until the boy screwed up his nose and said “Yuck.” She would wait until she wandered around this
room filled with people she knew and loved, until she had wished every last one of them a new year filled with hope and dreams and yearning. She would not wish any of them success or prosperity or wealth because the magic was in the dreaming. She knew that now. America had taught her that. How wise, to talk about the
pursuit
of happiness and not of happiness itself.

She would wait till a few minutes after midnight and then she would pull Susan and Sorab away for a moment. Maybe she'd take them into the kitchen or into the small sitting room adjacent to the living room. And then, alone with her children, she would tell them her decision. How long have you known? they would ask her in wonder, and she would say, “Just this evening.” How did you decide? they would ask, and she would shake her head and say, “I don't know. It wasn't a decision exactly. Just a knowledge.” And then, if she was in a mischievous mood, she would quote some Omar Khayyám, just to watch her son groan and say, “Oh no. You, too, Mamma?”

“Oh, how well I know this look.” Sorab was laughing. “What are you up to now, Mamma?”

She gave her son a wide-eyed look. “What do you mean, beta?”

“Nothing.” Sorab lowered his voice. “Mamma,” he whispered. “Keep this to yourself for now, achcha? But Joe just told me that he was letting Grace go. He wants me to take over.”

“I just hope Joe knows how lucky he is,” she said, her eyes shining with tears. “He will thank his lucky stars for the day he made this decision.”

Sorab laughed. “Good old Mamma. But this is all thanks to you, anyway. It was you who brought me to Joe's attention.”

“Darling, gold can lie below the surface for a hundred years. But sooner or later, its luster attracts someone's attention. This is the result of your own hard work.”

“Sorab, honey, do me a favor and run to the basement and bring out a few more bottles of red wine?” Susan said, coming up to them.
Turning to Tehmina, “Did he tell you the good news?”

“Yes. I'm so proud of him.”

“So am I.” Susan grinned. “You having a good time, Mom? You're not too tired? I'm so sorry you had to do so much of the cooking yourself.”

“It was nothing. Besides, I had Eva helping me.”

“Say, speaking of Eva, her husband seems to have hit it off quite well with Tanya Davar.” Susan raised her eyebrows as she walked away. “Maybe Eva should keep an eye on her husband,” she said in a singsong voice that made Tehmina laugh.

Eva. She needed to find Eva to ask her a question. She walked into the living room and looked around until she found her standing in a small group. She waited politely until Eva finished telling the joke about Jewish people and Chinese food, and then tugged at her elbow. “Can I speak to you for a moment? Alone?” she murmured.