“Maya?”
“No…”
Of course he’d ask about Bane if Sejal had brought her up first. “My coworker, Bhanu.”
He gave a lopsided smile—the effects of the stroke—and my heart ached for him. “The woman you’re always mentioning.”
“I’ve maybe mentioned her once or twice.”
“Beta, you always bring her up when we ask about work. You talk more about her annoying you or showing off her brilliance than you ever talked about Sejal.”
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe that; my memory wasn’t that terrible. Yet Papa went on to tell me, in detail, all the times I’d mentioned Bane. And damn. How had this woman infiltrated my life without me even realizing it? I just wished she’d return my calls.
Papa shifted in bed, grunting as he twisted this way and that.
“What do you need help with?” I shot to my feet, pressing the buttons on his bed to raise his head.
“I want to sit in the chair. This bed is giving me bedsores.”
I moved the blankets aside, helped him swerve his legs over the edge of the bed, stood with feet shoulder-width apart, bent down, and lifted him by the waist, resettling him onto the recliner. A simple turn and he was in place.
I adjusted his posture with pillows and draped several blankets over his lap and socked feet. “Are you cold? I can turn down the temperature or get warm blankets.”
“No, no…now sit. And tell me how this woman you can’t stop talking about ended up on your boat.”
“It’s not much of a story,” I grumbled, making his bed so that he didn’t return to lumps and wrinkles.
“Ah. But you see, the way your face always lights up when you talk about her makes me think otherwise. Even when you’re complaining about her, your eyes have a certain life to them. I never saw this when you were dating Sejal.”
I sat down, dumbfounded.
“I know I’ve taught you to always keep calm, but she’s had a way of breaking through to you, this Bhanu. I like this better. You seem happier, alive.”
“We’re just coworkers.” Apparently.
Papa smirked. “Is that so? Well, a woman who can light up your face like that should be more. Don’t you think?”
“Where is this coming from?”
“Being sick, having another stroke, reminds you that life is short, fleeting. We kept pushing you back to Sejal, but there’s obviously some bad things that happened. You can talk to me about it, you know? Anything you want to say. I want to hear.”
My father, a stoic man who showed love by feeding us and bragging about us to every uncle in the vicinity, had seldom encouraged me to speak about my feelings.
“I don’t want to burden you, Papa. You should rest, not worry about me.”
“You think you’re a burden? You think your suffering and dreams are burdens to tell me?”
I didn’t respond.
“This is my doing. I know. So let me start first, beta.”
And for the rest of the night, my father told me how scared he was of getting sicker, of being a burden to anyone, of all the hopes he had for us. And when his eyes misted, mine did, too.
So I told him about Sejal, the true, raw reasons why we broke up and why we’d never make it work, how it felt to have her in their lives when it seemed they wanted her over me, and how I felt when they spoke so intimately with her.
I told Papa about Bane, too, and the fake dating that led to real feelings. For once in my entire life, I spoke openly with my father and vice versa, and damn, it was the best thing in the world. Sharing tears and fears, dreams and hopes, not just for me or for him, but for our entire family.
I eventually helped him back into bed. Since Papa wouldn’t be discharged for a few more days, and I didn’t want my sisters’ lives to be disrupted, I stayed with him all day and again all night at the hospital, going to my parents’ house to shower. Despite telling my sisters not to get off track, there they were, cooking and cleaning and doing laundry for our mom so she could stay all day at the hospital, too.
Between taking care of Papa, being there for all of his testing and medical discussions, grocery shopping, running errands, catching up with work to ensure product launch, there was literally no time for anything else.
I’d dismissed Sejal’s antics and the PM position.
But I hadn’t forgotten Bane. Was she busy? Back to real life without any further thought of me? Ignoring my calls to give me a hint?
Perhaps.
Thirty-seven Bhanu
I’d returned home late Monday night and, on Tuesday, dove straight into work to take my mind off Sunny. He’d called several times on Sunday, but there wasn’t much else to say. He called a couple of times and texted on Monday. Today, he had stopped. Maybe he just wanted to make sure I was clear on where we stood.
I chastised myself every time I thought a notification was from him. Spoiler alert: Most were from my mom wanting to know when I’d bring him around.
Don’t become moss.
I hadn’t seen Sunny’s face in a virtual box yet, nor was he present at any of the meetings, but I knew he was working because of movement in Jira and Asana.
Attempting to unhinge the tentacles of anxiety, I focused on important things. Like career movement. I wanted to become PM because it was the logical next step, and to prove that I wasn’t stagnant in life. But maybe this wasn’t it. It seemed that a person should feel less anxious, less unsure, when facing a big decision like this.
