Chapter 13 — The Real Conversation

AanyaHe called at nine PM.She answered.There was a long pause before either of them spoke — the pause of two people on either end of a phone line who understood that the next thing said was going to be the beginning of something that could not be unmade."Aanya," he said."I know," she said. "She told you.""Yes."She had been sitting at her kitchen table for two hours since Priya's call, in the specific stillness of someone waiting for the thing they knew was coming. She had rehearsed versions of this conversation and discarded them all because the rehearsed versions assumed she knew what he would say and she didn't."I wasn't going to tell you," she said. "I need you to understand why.""I know why," he said. "I think I understand it.""Are you angry?"A pause. "I don't know what I am. I've been sitting with it for two hours and I keep — landing somewhere and then moving. I was angry for about fifteen minutes. And then I—" He stopped. "I kept thinking about you on the wall this morning. What you said about being free. You said that knowing this.""Yes.""That cost you something.""Yes," she said. "It did.""Why, Aanya? Even if you weren't going to tell me — why let me walk away thinking you were fine? Why carry it completely alone?"She looked at the kitchen table. "Because the moment I told you — even without the details — you would have known it was connected to us. And then you would have wanted to—""To do the right thing," he said."Yes. And your version of the right thing would have cost you Priya. Or cost her something she didn't deserve to lose. And I—" She stopped. "I decided your right thing was yours to decide. Not mine to force."He was quiet."That was an extraordinary thing to do," he said. "And also—""Also wrong," she said. "I know. Priya said. She's right.""She's usually right," he said.Aanya heard something in his voice when he said this. The specific warmth — the room-getting-warmer quality, directed somewhere else now, directed at the person on the other side of his life. She heard it and she held it and it hurt and it was also, exactly, what she had wanted for him."I don't know what you want from this conversation," she said. "I don't know what the right thing is. I only know what I decided and why I decided it and that I'm willing to revisit it now that it's not—now that it's not mine alone."He was quiet for a moment."I want to be present," he said. "For this child. In whatever way makes sense. I don't — I'm not asking you to change your life or your decisions. I'm not asking for more than you can give. But I want to know this person." He paused. "Is that—""Yes," she said. She felt something release in her chest. Four months of weight shifting. Not gone — redistributed. "Yes. That's what I want too. Eventually. When we know what that looks like.""Okay," he said."Okay," she said.A quiet pause. The different kind."Are you all right?" he said.She thought about this honestly. She thought about Devika. About the guesthouse bed. About Priya's voice: you will be."I'm going to be," she said."I'm going to make sure of that," he said. "I know I don't have the right to—I know it's complicated. But I'm going to make sure of that."She looked at the kitchen. The ordinary objects of her life. The things that would be her life going forward — different, harder, fuller than she had imagined."Kabir," she said."Yes.""Take care of her," she said. "Please. Whatever happens, whatever you both decide — she's — she's the kind of person the world needs more of. Take care of her."He was quiet for a moment."I will," he said.