She couldn’t get away from Elodie fast enough.
Your mother was the one who was robbed? I don’t think so.
Gemma rushed to Lexington and jumped on the subway to Park Slope. There weren’t any seats and she grabbed on to a metal pole. It was forty-five minutes to Sanjay’s—too much time to relive the childhood memory that was crashing in on her: She was at the Electric Rose party with her parents. Elodie said something to her, something like, “Did you know a thief can hide in plain sight?”
At the time, it had been confusing. Upsetting. She thought her aunt was maybe talking about the diamond ring, the fact that her mother got it. But no: She’d been talking about her father.
How was it possible that the most disturbing gossip item of all happened to be true?
And why did it hurt so badly? It didn’t mean her parents loved each other any less. Really, it didn’t mean anything at all. Except she realized now how much she had believed, her entire life, that her parents were perfect. They had a perfect love story, they were a perfect couple, and the life she was destined for should have been perfect. The boating accident was the single twist in the story—one so big, it was all she could handle.
By the time she reached Sanjay’s brownstone, sweating from the walk and the heat, the impulsivity of the visit hit her. She stood at the base of the steps, looking up and mustering the energy to turn around and walk back to the Barclays Center for the train. And then the front door opened and his sister Daksha walked out lugging her cello case.
“Oh, hey. I was just . . . do you need help with that?”
Daksha shook her head no and proceeded down the steps. When she reached the street she set the instrument down and looked at Gemma.
“You’re his ex, right?” she said.
Gemma nodded. “Yeah. Um, is he home? And is he . . . alone?”
“He’s home,” she said. “You should know, you really broke his heart.”
Great.
Gemma climbed the stairs and pressed the intercom buzzer.
“Sanjay, it’s me. Gemma.”
“Gemma?”
“I need to talk. Can I come in?” A beat passed, an excruciating twenty seconds or so during which she contemplated the six-block walk back to the train. But then the buzzer sounded.
She walked through the door leading into a vestibule, and Sanjay opened the interior door. He wore gray NYSD sweatpants and a black T-shirt. His hair was damp and curling slightly around his jaw. A lock of it fell into his face.
“Come in,” he said, closing the door behind her. “Prishna’s already asleep. She’s got crazy hours, so we need to keep it down.”
She followed him up the stairs to his bedroom. It was sparsely furnished, with a queen-sized bed, and a wooden desk and office chair from Housing Works they’d found together one weekend when they were a couple. Photography books were stacked in one corner, light boxes and cameras on a side table. It looked the same as the last time she’d been inside, seven months ago, except for a series of photographs from Provincetown propped up on his dresser.
“So, you really found a new muse in P’town,” she said.
“I’m putting together a grant proposal. My parents keep harping on me that I need to work ‘in the real world.’ I think they were hoping that NYSD would help me get photography out of my system.”
“What do they expect you to do instead?”
He shook his head. “Don’t deflect, Gemma. You didn’t come here to talk about my career. What’s going on? The meeting with the auction woman didn’t go well?” He pulled out the desk chair for her and then perched on the edge of his bed. She pressed her palm to her forehead, not knowing where to start.
“My mother’s ring is gone. Destroyed. My aunt broke it up into pieces years ago and sold it off bit by bit.”
Sanjay’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I know how much that meant to you.”
She looked up at him, feeling a sob deep in her chest but pushing it down.
“When I confronted her about it, she told me that she had a . . . thing with my father. Before my parents got together.”
“A thing?”
“They were dating, and that’s how my mother met him.”
His brow furrowed. “Is that true?”
She pressed her fingers to her temples. “I don’t know why she would make it up. To hurt me? That’s just . . . it seems a bit much even for Elodie.”
“How could it be a secret all this time?”
“It wasn’t. That’s the worst part. There were gossip items. But so many untrue things have been written about my mother and her sisters over the years, I just never took any of it seriously. And now it’s like . . . the entire fairy-tale origin story of my parents is turned upside down. My mother, I mean, if she ‘stole’ her sister’s boyfriend?” No wonder Gemma had been cast out; it was because of her mother’s sin.
“She was just a person, Gem. These things happen,” Sanjay said.
She looked up sharply. “These things happen? You can’t forgive me for something far lesser that I did, but this? This is fine?”
“Let’s not go there,” he said. But something about the way his jaw shifted told her she’d struck a nerve.
“I’m totally lost.” She felt her eyes tear up. “The past is a mess, and my future’s a mess. The whole idea of competing with Pavlin & Co . . . it’s a joke. I have no idea what to do. I can’t beat them, and I can’t join them.”
“You’re not lost. You’re selling out online. You were just profiled in The New York Times.”
“I can’t even afford to buy materials to fulfill the orders coming in. The publicity that seemed so great is actually hurting me because it came too early. I really don’t know what I’m going to do now.” Gemma felt tears in her eyes again and didn’t bother fighting them off.
Sanjay walked over, bending down to hug her. She felt herself relax, as if she were unspooling in his arms. When he pulled away, it felt too soon. He rested back on his heels so they were eye level.
All this with her family, on top of losing him. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“My aunt Celeste believes there’s a Pavlin curse—that we’re doomed in love.”
“Oh, come on. You don’t believe that, do you? We make our own luck . . . out of our choices,” he said pointedly.
“Well, clearly the women in my family make bad choices.” She tried not to think of Connor. Or the way she kissed Noam at the party.
“I’m not going to argue with that.” His eyes locked onto hers and her chest constricted.
“I love you, Sanjay,” she breathed.
He leaned forward so slowly it was like she was imagining it. And then his lips brushed against hers. She reached out to hold his face, feeling the hint of stubble along his jaw. She kissed him harder, and he reached up, winding his hand through her hair. She inched off the chair, sliding down so they were both on the floor, chest to chest, holding each other tight.
“I can’t,” he said pulling back.
“Why?” she said, catching her breath. She knew why: Monica.
For a moment, neither of them said anything,
“Gemma, if you don’t know what to do next, go back to Provincetown. Keep working on your business. Live cheaply at your aunt’s. Finish what you started.”
She blinked, holding back the words: That’s what I was just trying to do.