That’s what Crystal shouts as we walk in, and a whoop goes through the crowd. There are nearly a hundred guests in the big yoga studio, spilling into the hallways, scattered throughout the Center. I recognize various yoga students, teachers, even the owners of the studio, who wear strange tunics everywhere they go. They’re the ones who gave Mom the job in the first place.
A murmur goes through the crowd as people recognize Mom. They surround her and congratulate her. Mom is silent the whole time.
Mom scans the crowd, ignoring the people who are greeting her. She keeps moving until she finds the guru.
They stare at each other.
The crowd senses this and quiets down. People smile and step out of the way so they can get to one another.
Mom does not.
She stays where she is, her eyes locked on him. The guru glances at me, then back at Mom.
“You broke my heart,” Mom says.
There’s a gasp in the room.
“I saw you,” Mom says. “At Sally’s house.”
Sally stands there shocked. People look at her.
The guru clears his throat. “I was there. Yes.”
“It wasn’t the first time, was it?” Mom says.
“No,” he says.
Mom starts to cry.
People in the room look at the ground.
“But you told me you loved me,” Mom says through sniffles.
“I do,” the guru says.
“You have an interesting way of showing it.”
“Do we need to do this now?” the guru says. He motions to the people in the room.
“What better time?” Mom says. “Let’s get it out in the open.”
In a strange way, I’m proud of her. She’s confronting him in front of everyone. Maybe I was wrong about Mom. Maybe she knows what she’s doing more than I think she does.
“Very well,” the guru says with a sigh. “You’re asking if I love you, and I do. We are bonded together through time. You are my special flower.”
“But you want a bouquet,” Mom says.
“It’s one of the ways we communicate love in our community. I share my physical self with my followers. I’m sorry if I misled you.”
“What if I want to share myself with other men?”
“I would understand that.”
“Oh my God,” Mom says. She squeezes her head between her hands. “This is not—this is not the kind of relationship I want.”
The guru comes closer to my mother.
“This doesn’t change what you and I have,” he says.
He reaches for her, but she twists away.
“No,” Mom says.
“Please, Rebekah—”
“I won’t do it. Not like this. I’ve had too many terrible relationships like this,” Mom says, and she starts crying again.
I’m suddenly hopeful. Mom is breaking up with the guru. She’s going to finish this once and for all, then she’ll grab Sweet Caroline and me and bring us home.
She’ll be heartbroken. But we’ll be a family again. At least the assemblance of one.
“I can share you in many ways,” Mom says to the guru. “But not like this.”
“I see,” the guru says. “You have—different customs here. This can be discussed.”
“It can?” Mom says, softening.
“No, Mom!” I shout.
“Stay out of this, Sanskrit,” she says.
Sweet Caroline grabs my arm.
“You should have told me,” Mom says to the guru. “I shouldn’t have had to find out from my son.”
He bows his head in front of Mom.
She takes a step towards him.
He says something to her, so quietly that I can’t hear it.
She’s inches from him now, her face by his face, the two of them whispering to each other.
I want to scream again, run to Mom, and shake her until she wakes up.
But I can’t move. I can only watch them drift towards each other slowly, so slowly, speaking the whole time, until at last their bodies are touching.
Then they reach out and wrap their arms around each other.
It reminds me of the moment they met, a fierce embrace that all but absorbs my mother into the guru’s robes.