Reconcilable Differences: A 'Having It All' Novel (18 page)

“Fascinating. What about that one?” He pointed to a small
one on the end wall.

She twisted around in her chair, and through the corner
of her eye, caught him checking his cell phone again, his jaw tight, his brow
furrowed. “Mmm. Looks like Krishna. See, he’s got the lotus, the conch shell
and a mace. And that small woman beside him is his lover and devotee, Radha.
She
is a mere mortal.”
Please don’t look up,
she begged
silently. She held her breath as she watched him scan the room, and finally
crane his neck up, his mouth opening.

“And these folks?”

She took a deep breath. “They’re not gods either.” She
hesitated, regarding his attentive expression through narrowed eyes. “It looks
like an illustration from the Kama Sutra, to me. Probably the four embraces.”

She watched as his head whipped around, wincing, but no
words emitting from his open mouth. Then he seemed to regain his composure and
turned and studied it again, chewing his lip.

“I imagine that’s why Lali thinks this is his best table,
reserved for friends,” she added wryly, tongue in cheek.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t know.” She could see from his
hangdog expression that he was telling the truth, though the irony of it
obviously hadn’t escaped him either. He was biting back a smile, two spots of
color flaring on his ears. He glanced up at it again. “It’s quite beautiful. A
flash of grin escaped and changed the subject. “Shall we order?”

Whew
.
Moving on. She nodded enthusiastically. She was eager to sample the cooking.

“Do you have any favourites? Or is that a stupid
question?” he asked.

Kate laughed and opened her menu, scanning it, though she
expected she would find mostly familiar dishes. “I’m fond of
bhartha
. Do you like eggplant?”

“Sure. They do a great lamb korma here,” he suggested.

She made a face. “I avoid red meat as a rule. But go
ahead.”

“No. That’s okay. How about the fish korma, then?”

She nodded in agreement. They discussed a few other
options. With his nose buried in the menu, Simon said, “And I always leave room
for… ”

“Butter chicken?”

He looked up, grinning. “How’d you know?”

“Who doesn’t like butter chicken?” She shrugged.

They ordered their food, which they agreed was more than
enough, but that one could hardly complain about taking a little leftover curry
home. With their freshly refilled wine glasses, Simon lifted his and offered a
toast. “To… good food, and good… friends.” She toasted, silently, and sipped
her wine. She supposed he was on the verge of broaching the subject of their
past, and waited, the tension building both inside her, and crackling between
them. Tucking a strand of hair behind an ear, she examined her fingernails
carefully, her breath shallow.

Instead, he launched into a funny story about his travels
in Thailand. He’d made friends with some interesting young people who had taken
him home, and he’d spent nearly a week shadowing their mother, learning to cook
at her elbow. “They all thought I was positively odd. While they went dancing,
I was fighting through throngs at the market and chopping vegetables.”

She laughed. “You’re remarkable.”

He waited until their dishes were set before them, the
rich aromas of the wonderful food wafting up to fill their nostrils. He served
her before filling his own plate and stood poised with his fork held up. “
Bon appetit
.”

It was excellent food and Kate sampled the various
dishes, along with the trio of homemade chutney’s Lali brought in one of those
quintessentially Indian serving dishes, with three tiny silver pots on a tripod
and three tiny spoons. “Try the tamarind,” she suggested.

With the first wave of their hunger satisfied, they took
seconds and ate more slowly, sipping the wine, which, she noted, was an
excellent complement to the food, with it’s fruity aroma and mineral base note.
She’d have to remember that.

They talked of many things. He was worldly,
philosophical, well traveled, adventurous, unpretentious, spiritual, very well
read. Kate thought they could really enjoy each other’s company, if only it
wasn’t so complicated for her. The contrast to Jay was jarring. Simon frankly
fascinated her. He was open to new experiences, and life-long learning, and the
wisdom of others, even children. He spoke dotingly about Madison, how amazing
she is, how awed he is by her every day. Kate discovered that he still read,
watched TV and listened to music simultaneously. She laughed at the memory. He
had quite the intellect, but didn’t take himself too seriously.

At a lull in the conversation, he checked his phone once
more. Then he took an audible breath. “Look, Kate. I don’t want to poison
this.” He waited, searching her face. She stared warily into his lucid blue
eyes, the food in her stomach suddenly oppressively heavy. “Regardless of
Sharon’s threats, I’m really… really enjoying getting to know you again. I
don’t want to ruin it, but… we can’t dance around it. It almost feels like
we’re not the same people we were all those years ago. And maybe we’re not. We
were only nineteen, Kate. And we saw something in each other then that’s still
there, now. But we weren’t really adults yet, were we?”

He made a valid point, but… “We weren’t children either.”

“Which is not to say our experiences weren’t real.” He
shook his head. “What I mean to say is, I think the
me
you knew then was pretty raw. I had a lot to
learn. I look back on that time of my life, and— I have regrets. Don’t we all?”

No kidding!
She puffed air through her cheeks, suddenly on edge. She couldn’t believe she
was sitting across from Simon Sharpe after all these years, actually talking
about one of the most traumatic events in her young life. The feeling was
unreal, as though she were in a dreamscape, or twisted nightmare. Lali appeared
from the shadows and silently swept away their dirty dishes, sensitive to the
fact that they were engrossed in private conversation. She nodded for Simon to
continue. As long as he was talking, she didn’t have to.

He stared into his wine glass, sluicing it around. “After
we went home for the summer that year, I kind of assumed we’d moved on. That
was pretty much my
modus operandi
back then. It was careless. I guess I was cowardly when it came to feelings,
but I was too young to consider anything beyond…” He shrugged. “Fun. Anything
deeper just wasn’t on my radar yet. I had a plan.”

“I suppose you were quite freaked out when I called
then,” she said, cool and curious. She distinctly remembered pining for him all
summer long, wondering why he hadn’t called or written, her heart breaking a
little more each day. Foolishly, she assumed they would pick up in September
where they left off in May.

“I was a typical guy, I guess. I wasn’t looking for
anything long-term. Maybe we had something that was worth pursuing. I don’t
know. We probably did. But I wasn’t ready for that sort of thing.”

I was! I was
in love with you! I thought you felt the same way.
Instead she said,
“I guess young girls are more romantic, more idealistic perhaps.”
If you only knew how in love with you I
was!
How enraptured, how disgustingly dependent. Part of her wished
he could understand what he’d meant to her, but the other part shied away from
revealing how damaged she was. Her love was a sickness. Maybe she could get
through this with her pride intact. If only it didn’t make her heart ache so,
remembering.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he shook his head, closing
his eyes. “I had a pretty fixed idea of the ideal woman I was searching for
back then. I probably broke a few hearts as I sifted through the options. It’s
not that I… found fault… exactly.” he said, evidently embarrassed by this
admission. “It’s only that I was… looking for something specific.”

“Rachel?” she suggested, raising a brow.

He barked with laughter. “That’s the ultimate irony,
isn’t it? I guess I got exactly what I deserved.” His eyes darted to his phone,
his expression exasperated.

“What were you were looking for?”

He studied her face for a long moment, his brows low, and
she felt peculiarly exposed under his scrutiny, as though he were measuring her
against that obsolete standard. “I think, in my naïveté, I thought the perfect
woman wouldn’t really depend on me, the way my parents’ generation did. She
would be self-sufficient and autonomous, having her own life.” His eyebrows
came up, chagrinned, as if to say–
I
got more than I bargained for
. “That way, I could have my cake and
eat it too. It was something to do with self-determination… freedom. I was
terrified of having to sacrifice or share or really commit myself, I don’t
know. Just a selfish, immature cad, I suppose. Like you said last week.”

She bit her lip, remembering. “I’m sorry I blew up at you
like that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s okay. It got
me
thinking. Which is a good thing.” He sucked air in through his teeth and ran
his hands through his hair. “This is an appropriate time in my life to revisit
some of those earlier ideas. I think I’ve come full circle.” He paused, and
reached across for her hand, stopping himself, and tentatively touching the
tips of his fingers to hers. It was like an electric current, the heat traveling
up her arm, and through her body, alarming her. “I’m truly sorry, Kate, if I
hurt you. And I assume I did. It matters little now how I justify it.”

Her heart thawed at his words. His apology was sincere,
but she sensed, as well, some residual bitterness at his broken dreams, and
along with that, a profound sense of loneliness. “You must have wanted to run
in the opposite direction whenever you saw me coming, that next fall.” Ugh! Why
couldn’t she leave well enough alone?

“No.” His eyes drifted up to the ceiling while he hitched
his shoulders. “I was stupid enough to believe that everyone shared my world
view. I really had no idea you were hoping for more. But I still enjoyed seeing
you… in a way.” His laugh held a skeptical note.

“I felt like a cast-off,” she dared. His honesty gave her
courage. “I really thought that… what we had was… something unique,” she
ventured, glancing up at the tapestry. “To you I must have seemed like a
clinging vine, choking you. I was naïve too, obviously.” She drew out the last
word, feeling foolish that her life had fallen apart over something so
seemingly innocent.

He gripped her hand now, his face pained. “I’m so sorry.
I never meant to cause so much pain. I can’t understand why you didn’t avoid
me
, given what I did. We seemed
to bump into each other an awful lot, over the next couple years.”

She cringed, recalling how much time and energy she’d
expended keeping tabs on him, lurking, hoping he would appear. He was her sun
and moon and stars. Along with the images came the feelings, long suppressed.
Kate’s stomach tightened as she felt the anxiety coming on. Churning gut, cold
sweat, shaking. Her vision narrowed, darkened and blurred. There was a buzzing
in her ears. She wanted to run, and run far and fast.

He noticed. “Kate? Are you alright? You look like you’re
going to faint.”

She thought it was a distinct possibility. She gripped
his hands with white fingers.

“I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed. You must have thought I
was… was… stalking you or something.” Her head was spinning, dizzy.

He screwed up his face. “Nooo. But, I guess I did get
kind of worried. You seemed so forlorn, after a while, and kind of… ” he
paused.

“Pathetic?” she offered. She squeezed her eyes closed,
echoes of shame and sadness for her screwed up self filling her mind, pressing
down on her, and she felt beads of perspiration bloom on her forehead.

“Maybe—needy?—is a better word. I didn’t really know what
you wanted from me. By then, I’d met Rachel and I didn’t know what to do when
you were around. I couldn’t ask you out. But I thought that party would be
safe. A gesture…” He shrugged and squirmed in his seat. “Maybe you would see me
with Rachel and take the hint.” Memories of that night hung like a specter over
them, persistent, toxic and destructive. She wished she could purge it from
their shared memory.

“Is
that
why you invited me?” Kate stared in disbelief.

“Problem is,
she
never showed up that night,” he nodded, chagrinned, “and
you
did. Things were never meant
to end up that way.” He pressed her hands, reassuring.

Fragmented images of their cold, fraught, violent
coupling flashed in her mind, stirring a nauseous, squeezing reaction in her
gut. He’d seemed so frustrated and… what? Furious? Why? She felt numb, detached
as he explained his own thoughts and feelings that night. It never occurred to
her to wonder what
he
had been going through.

“I was angry at Rachel for not showing on my birthday.
And hurt, deeply hurt. I’d fallen hard for her, but she was hot and cold. I
think I took that anger and hurt out on you, for being there instead of her.
There you were, your eyes… staring at me.” His eyes glazed over. Finally, he
was remembering. “I’m ashamed that I was such a mindless brute, not really
caring about you at all, or why you wanted to be there with me,” he whispered.
His face reflected something of the pain she felt. “I don’t know why. I
couldn’t stand the… the
look
in your eyes anymore. I guess I wanted to drive you away…” His voice tapered
off. “Sex… should never be like that– so cold. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes welled with tears. She shook her head. Her voice
was barely audible, quavering. “You didn’t hurt me, Simon, except…” she pressed
her shaking hand to her breast, “…except here. I was ill… vulnerable,
depressed. I didn’t know what I was doing. It wasn’t really about you; I only…
thought it was. I’m so sorry.” Her lips quivered and she squeezed her eyes
shut, releasing hot tears that fell onto her hands.