“Give her every ounce of my love,” she said.
Avery stroked the woman’s braided head and bumped her lips against her temple. She turned to grab clothes from the chair beside the bed and padded softly out of the room, closing the door before turning on the light in the living room and kitchen. She dressed quickly, leaving her pajamas in a crumpled pile, then splashed water on her face from the kitchen tap. Beside the sink was a large pink Smeg fridge. Before leaving, she picked up a gold wedding band from the counter and slid it on.
—
A hundred and twenty blocks south in Tribeca, Lucky was attempting to check out. The lobby she was standing in could have belonged in a midlevel hotel, except for the fact the young man behind the front desk was refusing to let her leave.
“But it’s after curfew,” he repeated again.
“I know.” She flashed him a smile. “But I think this constitutes extenuating circumstances.”
The man, who was still in his early twenties, cast around nervously. His hair was in a floppy bun, and he was wearing, unironically Lucky presumed, a T-shirt with the D.A.R.E. logo on it.
“I don’t think I’m authorized to do that,” he said. “I, like, just started here.”
Lucky leaned across the desk and flicked her eyes up at him. Her long hair, recently dyed a deep crimson, fell forward around her shoulders.
“But, see, this is kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” she said, twirling her finger in front of her on the desk. “You wouldn’t want to be the reason I missed it, would you?”
The man blushed and looked down at his lap.
“I don’t know, man…”
“Please?” she purred. “You’d be my hero.”
He glanced up at her face, a little more lined than it was in her twenties, but still irresistible, still lovely, then blushed some more.
“Look, I didn’t see you, okay?” he said.
Lucky clapped her hands in delight from her side of the desk, then turned on her heel.
“You’re a legend!” she called over her shoulder.
Clearly delighted, he called something after her, but she was already propelling herself through the revolving door.
—
In the taxi heading downtown, Avery scrolled through her emails without reading the words, then checked her app of international clocks. It was nine-thirty in the morning in Delhi. Perfect. She called Chiti, who answered on the second ring.
“Is it happening?” asked Chiti.
“I’m heading to the hospital,” said Avery.
“Oh goodness! How are you feeling?”
“Nervous!”
“That’s normal, but it will all be okay. Bonnie’s an ox.”
“I thought after she retired, I’d never have to visit her in the hospital again.”
“That’s your sister, full of surprises. And Pavel?”
“He started speaking Russian halfway through calling me, but the gist of it was to come now.”
Chiti hummed down the phone.
“It’s good you’re there,” she said.
Avery nodded.
“How’s Azad?” she asked.
She could not believe he was eight years old now. It had been a decade since Avery and Chiti divorced; Chiti had conceived him using a donor the year after Avery returned to New York. In Hindi, Azad means free and independent.
“He and Ganishka are still thick as thieves. She’s teaching him to use her old Bolex camera as we speak. He doesn’t want us to go home next week. How’s Fatima?”
“Tired from touring, but the book’s doing well.”
“I got tickets for her reading in London, by the way.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
Avery smiled.
“Look, I’m almost at the hospital, I just wanted to let you know.”
