The Faces of Strangers (26 page)

But that was just it, he'd argued. He had been complicit in an act that had resulted in a child, a child he hasn't known about for most of his adult life. His daughter is a thousand miles away and he hasn't met her. Over those days, Nico learned—mostly through Nora—that Mari has raised his daughter single-handedly, shaping her into a self-sufficient young girl who speaks fluent English, Russian, French and Estonian, while simultaneously nurturing her own burgeoning modeling career.

Instead of acceptance and empowerment all those years ago, he now learns that what he should have felt was shame. What he should have felt was shock. He should have claimed responsibility. But Vera and Leo haven't mentioned a thing about legality, about requirements or expectations. They have told him what they know about Mari and her life with Claudia. They have spoken of Claudia's aptitude for languages, about her zeal for travel, how she is on her third passport after the first two have been filled with stamps. They have told him about Mari's commitment to her little girl and how driven she had become when she learned she had to support two. But they haven't asked him for a thing since the truth has come out. They told him what they knew. But if he wants more, he will have to speak to Mari.

Once the fervor of the scandal had died down, Nico found that he still couldn't reach out to her. Each time he picked up the phone to dial the number, or tried to type out an email, his muscles and joints felt frozen, like a car stalling on a busy highway. On many levels, he felt as he had all those years ago after he'd returned to New York after the first semester of Hallström, when he'd written and deleted countless emails to Mari.

Mari, I hope you're doing well. I'm sorry we didn't get to say a proper goodbye.

Dear Mari—there has to be something that people say in situations like these. Do you know what it is? If so, please tell me.

He couldn't imagine what he might say to her now, how futile whatever words he might choose would sound when he said them out loud. Instead, he has tried to pick up the pieces of his own broken life. Chastened, he has reached out to clients he had written for on the side while he'd been working for the senator, and has picked up some freelance jobs along the way. His reputation and talent preceded him. His client roster is strong enough for him to start his own communications agency, the Mighty Pen. He isn't the star he once was, but he is slowly rising.

He tries now to focus on the keynote speaker, a current student who is reading an essay aloud. It is a piece that she has written for her acceptance into the program, and the new Barbara Rothenberg, a small, perky woman with a matching bouncing blond bob, introduced it as one of the most groundbreaking essays she has ever received during her short tenure as program director.

“It's not enough to learn about these things in books, or watch movies. Most of the time, those aren't even true to how cultures go. Most of the time, we aren't getting a true sense of people, their hearts, their souls,” the student reads, beaming as though she has created the program herself. Nico remembers Barbara ripping the cultural book in two pieces on the first morning of Hallström orientation. He can hardly believe that happened, and yet, it is arguably the most important thing that could have happened. It forced him to not take Paavo or anyone else in the program for granted, to not just read a book and regurgitate it back. It has forced him to get to know Paavo for who he is, and to understand that he is a person and not just simply a representative from Estonia, that his family, as strange and cold as they once had been, weren't secretive and suspicious nor were they KGB spies. It had forced Leo to understand Nico for who he was as they bonded over an esoteric language that even stubborn-as-nails Leo would champion one day.

Quakes have succeeded in shifting plates so that the geology of the earth will never look the same again. Tornadoes have blown through towns, decimating them to dust. Yet these two families have somehow survived, holding on steadily through the storms, gripping pieces of driftwood in order to stay afloat. But they may not have to drift forever. Because that morning, as Nico had deliberated in the foyer of his SoHo apartment, he knew he couldn't even consider facing Paavo at the 40th Hallström Reunion without taking some responsibility. He'd tossed his keys onto the table by the door, pushed his shoes off one after the other—a habit he'd acquired after those few months with the Sokolovs in Tallinn—and sat down at his laptop. This missive was not something to compose while in transit or on a tiny device where the letters appeared shrunken and insignificant. This was a plea, a bridge and an extension, each abashedly long overdue. He wrote as though he'd known what he wanted to say all along, letting his fingers guide the way. He wrote two missives. He sent one and printed the other.

And then what? There was no chance in hell that they'd be one big happy family. He is sure he doesn't want that, and she certainly doesn't appear to, either, not after the years of independence she has insisted upon. Perhaps he can apply for that job at the Estonian embassy. Maybe he can even take the Mighty Pen to the Baltic, offering his services to politicians, celebrities, maybe even models. There are so many opportunities to consider. Because the one he knows he wants is to be part of Claudia's life somehow. Once he meets her, he knows there will be no turning back, and he prays that Mari will be open to it.

Sabine is shifting in her seat, turning her head, looking bored. Nico catches her eye and she smiles at him, shaking her head softly, though he can't tell if the look is for showing up late to the reunion or for all he has not done over the years. He smiles back and points to the hallway, signaling that they will connect after the speeches.

Nico opens his phone to check his email again, but it remains empty.

He thinks of his parents in their sprawling apartment and how fiercely they love him. He thinks of Ivy and everything they have put themselves through in order to accomplish so little. He thinks of the look on her face as he finally had to put the phone down that Election Day and tell her the truth. How she stood up and walked out of the room, didn't return his calls for a week, and then finally agreed to meet him at a coffee shop to officially end their relationship. He thinks of Mari and that December afternoon, the light sprinkling in through the shades, the urgent way she had pulled at his collar and the resigned look she had on her sleeping face as he left the room and clicked the door shut behind him. He thinks of Paavo—a riddle-obsessed teenager who spent years shrinking into himself after being taunted and haunted by a group of insignificant lowlifes. He has changed the world. He has scored the prettiest girl in the program. He has overcome. There is so much that Nico wants to say to him, but there is more that he wants left unsaid. He wants the girl's keynote speech to go on forever; he wants her to have written pages and pages, flipping them over and over like a never-ending wedding toast.

But the girl wraps up, and as the applause continues like a waterfall, Nico rises and walks into the hall. He, too, has a speech prepared. It sits folded in his pocket, ready for its audience of just one. He stands with his back to the wall, a tide of Hallström alumni teeming around him, and feels for the paper nestled against his leg. He starts to second-guess himself, as he does before every speech is sent off to every client. Could he have phrased it in a more eloquent manner? Has he chosen the right words to say what he truly means? Does he have what it takes to approach Paavo in the first place?

But there he is, Nico's Estonian exchange partner, stepping into the hall with the same look upon his face that he wore when he waited in the baggage hall at Brandenburg Airport, unsure which boy had been assigned to him. Nico waits for the current of alumni to bring Paavo toward him. Sabine is nowhere in sight, and Nico is both frustrated and grateful for her absence.

They can reach to touch one another now, initiate an awkward handshake, even grapple if one of them is quick enough to take the other down to the floor in an unexpected hold. Nico smiles and Paavo nods back, though it's not an unfriendly gesture. Paavo has reticence in every movement, hesitance in every gesture. Nico removes the paper from his pocket and hands it to him before either of them has the chance to say anything.

Dear Paavo,

Technically, I am stronger. I've worked out for years. I've bench-pressed and pulled deadweights and squat-thrusted and run for miles. I can do a hundred push-ups and twenty-five pull-ups in a row without breaking a sweat. At least, I used to be able to do that.

But today you have to be stronger than me. You have to go beyond my foibles. You have to embrace the insecurities that I have hidden behind for years. It'll be a more difficult task than any opponent I've ever wrestled or any weight I've ever lifted. I know that you're a bigger person than me, because I don't know that I could forgive myself had the situation been reversed. And I don't want to take advantage of your kindness, but on some level, I have nothing else left to rely upon.

Just because I was strong didn't mean I was confident. My experience with Hallström gave me a whole new kind of strength. My semester in Estonia made me feel infallible, and I wanted to help people the way that I hoped I helped you. But it also made me think that I could get what I wanted, that I could attain a level of superiority that no one should be allowed.

But my actions resulted in hurting you, in changing Mari's life, in potentially estranging her from Estonia—though, in honesty, that was something she wanted long before I ever entered the picture. Regardless, it made her life a lot harder and she shouldn't have had to shoulder the burden alone.

Please understand that I never meant to hurt you, or Mari. I was young, but youth shouldn't be an excuse or an alibi. I take full responsibility for my actions. After all, if I remember anything from junior year physics, it's that every action has a reaction.

So, I hope you'll be kind enough to bestow the answer to this riddle upon me now:

It may only be given, not taken or bought. What the sinner desires, but the saint does not.

Paavo blinks, and looks down at the ground. He folds the paper back along the same lines and puts it in his pocket. His face breaks into a smile, the likes of which Nico has never seen on him before. When he looks up, his mouth is pursed, as though he has already uttered the word. But Nico has to lean in to hear him speak.

PAAVO

New York
City
February 2014

“Forgiveness.”

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
WHERE EARTH MEETS WATER
by Pia Padukone.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

They say that the second child is much easier than the first; I wish it were true of the second book. I couldn't have written this without:

Dear friends and family who nurtured, bolstered and elevated me throughout: Maya Frank-Levine, Shabnam Salehezadeh, Adele Kudish, Manil Suri, Prajwal Parajuly, Nikhil Mitter, Bindu and Joyshil Mitter, Marcia Riklis, Daniella Hirschfeld, Kean O'Brien, Vibhuti Patel, Ed Adams and the 115th Street New York Public Library, and the gracious folks at Harlem Mist.

Joska, Gabi, Gery and Zsofi Molnar in Budapest: once strangers, now family. There would be no story without your unharnessed ability to love.

Ed Dadey at ArtFarm Nebraska, for the invaluable time and space to clear my head, leave it all behind, and just write.

Priya Doraswamy for believing from the very beginning.

My awe-inspiring MIRA team, including Emer Flounders, whose sunny attitude makes anything seem possible. Erika Imranyi, whose keen literary instincts make everything better.

New friends in Estonia, a tiny country with a large heart: Liina Normet, Scott Diel, Mahesh Ramani, Taivo Lints.

Kamala Nair, your unwavering friendship and conscientious advice have buoyed me from the very first page.

Jennifer Field, I can't imagine life without the levity of your humor, your infallible encouragement, your steadfast support.

Nalini Nadkarni, for your incessant, fierce love: of me, of books, of words.

Maitreya Padukone, for more than just happening to be there; for truly
being there.

Rohit Mitter, for supporting me: intimately, inexorably, ineffably.

Neil Padukone, for a whole lot more than you will allow me to publish; for reinforcing me in far more ways than I can begin to express.

Nina Padukone, you are the strongest person I know. Thank you for championing and pushing me every single time I wanted to give up, and inciting an insatiable, fiery ambition deep within the recesses of my soul.

Salma Padukone-Mitter: I wrote much of this book while I was expecting you. I cannot thank you enough for being a gentle, serene tenant on the inside and for inspiring me to be the best version of myself every single day since you emerged. I can't wait to see how
your
story unfolds.

“[Padukone] writes with grace and wit.”
—
Booklist
on
Where Earth Meets Water

If you loved
The Faces of Strangers
by Pia Padukone, then you won't want to miss her poignant and breathtaking debut—a story of grief in the wake of tragedy, strength in the face of adversity and the redemptive power of love:

Where Earth Meets Water

“Smart and insightful. A worthy addition to the burgeoning field of new Indian literature.”
—
New York Times
bestselling author Gary Shteyngart

Available now!

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