In addition to the usual bowls of dal, cauliflower with potatoes and peas, rice, and plate of chapatis, the teachers passed a platter of chicken, murmuring comments of delighted surprise.
“Wonder what the special occasion is,” Melanie said.
Chris shared a look with Tisha, who nodded. “Ms. Vanya sent us to the market to get a chicken, at Mrs. Gupta’s insistence. She had to speak with a teacher today and doesn’t want the teacher to feel unappreciated. She knows the teacher means no harm.”
Olivia flushed and dropped her gaze to her empty plate, but not before noticing every eye in the room shift to her no doubt bright crimson face. Even with Chris and Tisha keeping the perpetrator anonymous, everyone in the room knew exactly who had rocked the boat and required a dressing down. Just like Scott used to tell her, Smart people stay in their own lane. Why did she keep causing trouble?
Tisha stabbed a leg from the platter. “I’m sure whoever it was acted out of kindness. And I for one am thrilled to see some chicken on the table.”
“Me too,” Delilah said, forking a breast. “It’s not southern fried, but I’ll take it.”
The platter stalled at Olivia and Chris nudged her.
“Don’t let that go ’round a second time,” Melanie said. “I guarantee we won’t leave leftovers. We’re holding back to be polite and give everyone a chance for firsts.”
Olivia took a piece and passed to Chris, who, she noted, had waited for all the women to take food before he put anything on his plate. Interesting. Scott used to insist on being served first. Apparently not every guy did that.
She rested her fork on the edge of her plate, still unwilling to make eye contact. Everyone else managed to navigate India fine. What was wrong with her? Why was she alone incapable of adjusting and following guidelines? Did she want to be sent home, exiled prior to the end of her agreed-upon term? Some of the other teachers had even extended their stays. Leave it to her to manage to get fired from a voluntary position.
For a moment, only forks and knives clattering against plates disrupted the silence. Did everyone always chew so loudly?
Chris cleared his throat. “I just hope whoever Mrs. Gupta spoke with understands they’re not alone. We all got a talking-to at some point.”
She glanced at him, afraid to hope that could be true, afraid he only said it to make her feel better.
“Yep,” Tisha said. “This isn’t the easiest place to adjust to. Some of us didn’t adopt local dress as quickly as others did and our morality for baring our arms and wearing jeans like a man was called into question.”
“Some of us tired of the men in the community talking down to us like we’re morons,” Delilah drawled in her deep South twang, “and overreacted when we reached the boiling point.”
Aubra swallowed and seemed to struggle with herself. “Some of us loathed giving up our independence and being forced to let a man chaperone us everywhere and refused to comply until ‘the talk.’”
Admitting as much must have been tough for her, especially now that she’d dated and been dumped by the man she was forced to depend on. Olivia’s heart softened toward Aubra. That wasn’t an easy situation.
“Especially since I’m the most qualified driver here, considering I’m the only person who learnt to drive on the right side of the road,” Aubra said.
Everyone burst into laughter. Olivia couldn’t help but join in.
“You mean the left side!” Chris teased back.
“You Americans always insist you’re right.” Aubra rolled her eyes.
“We did invent cars,” Chris reminded her. “We get to make the rules for driving. You Brits insisted on changing them up.”
Olivia could no longer tell if they were only playing or if perhaps the exes were now swiping at each other.
Melanie lifted her water glass. “What we’re getting at is that we actually consider this meal a celebration of someone’s huge and generous heart.”
The others lifted glasses and clinked them together as Olivia blinked back tears pricking at her eyes.
“You guys,” she said, swiping at a tear that escaped and ran down her cheek.
“We mean it,” Tisha whispered. “So eat.”
Her diet hadn’t included meat since she’d left New Delhi, where she’d discovered tandoori chicken and loved it so much she’d eaten it repeatedly over several days. This dish was a curry of some sort, but equally delicious. She was surprised how quickly she’d adapted to a vegetarian diet here at the school. In fact, as she chewed the chicken, as delicious as it was, the texture felt foreign in her mouth, the meat greasy and heavy. How strange to change so quickly.
“We saw Meena at the market when we got the chicken,” Tisha said, her voice serious. “I spoke to her a little, before her mother pulled her away from me. Her family definitely forced an abortion. She didn’t get to have her baby.”
Olivia nearly choked on her mouthful of food.
The lights went out. Everyone groaned.
“And the electricity is down again,” Aubra said.
“Shoot. I have more tutoring to do tonight,” Olivia said. “I wonder how long this will last.”
Ms. Vanya scurried from the kitchen with matches and lit candles on the table. She picked up a candle and gestured for the girls to leave, clearly ready to accompany them to their building for the night.
“Looks like another girls’ night,” Melanie said, her bright tone indicating she was ready for it.
“We haven’t even finished eating,” Chris lamented.
Olivia saw the disappointment in his face, even by the soft candlelight. She imagined him once again relegated to his room, alone and lonely while they all chatted and spent the dark evening together. “Can’t we stay here for now? It’s so early. And then Chris would have some company this time.”
Ms. Vanya looked confused.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to stay,” Olivia reassured her. “We can walk ourselves back later.”
The older woman turned a skeptical eye on Chris.
He held up his hands as if in surrender. “Hey. I won’t break the rules. No boys in the girls’ rooms.”
Ms. Vanya nodded and returned to the kitchen, taking empty serving dishes with her.
The conversation returned to Meena. Olivia, still horrified, couldn’t let it go. “How could her family do that to her?”
“She didn’t marry the man her parents chose for her and they didn’t approve of her choice. Without their approval, she had no dowry and no one to pay for her wedding.” Aubra shook her head.
“Her parents hoped the man they arranged for her to marry would still accept her, but word got out about the pregnancy. It’s impossible to keep things like that a secret in a small community like this,” Tisha said. “Her reputation is ruined and now she has no future.”
“Can’t she and her boyfriend get married now?” Olivia asked. “What do you mean, no future?”
“She won’t be allowed to teach with her shattered reputation,” Delilah said. “She was pregnant out of wedlock, and no one will forget it.”
“She also defied her parents,” Melanie said. “They won’t forget that either.”
“Then she was forced to have an abortion for nothing?” Olivia asked. “I can’t believe this.”
“She couldn’t have supported a child anyway,” Tisha said. “How could she with no job? She managed to finish school but who will hire her? No one around here. And with no money and no husband and no support from her father, it’s not like she can move somewhere else.”
Olivia couldn’t accept that. “But it should have been her decision. Not forced on her.”
“Things aren’t the same here,” Melanie said. “You know that.”
“Forced abortions are not unusual in India,” Tisha said. “Haven’t you read about it? Women carrying females are sometimes forced to abort pregnancies by in-laws eager for male grandchildren. Sex selection is very real here, even if outlawed.”
She shook her head and pushed away her plate, appetite gone. “How could anyone do that?”
She withdrew into herself, thoughts of forced abortions and babies who didn’t get a chance at life overwhelming her. She pushed away memories that struggled to surface, memories she didn’t want to think about, didn’t want to share, didn’t want to remember. Closing her eyes, she gritted her teeth, pushing against the door in her mind where she locked away the painful memories and the emotional turmoil that accompanied them.
Tisha rested a hand on her arm. “You okay?”
Opening her eyes, she focused on the candle flame. The gentle and genuine concern in Tisha’s voice weakened her defenses and the memories pushed back. Her resolve slipped. Somehow, she’d thought she could simply put it behind her and move on, start over, pretend it never happened. She’d even run all the way to India, trying to forget. But she couldn’t escape. Nothing blotted the indelible pain from her heart. “I . . . I lost a baby.”
Soft murmurs of sympathy rounded the table. She thought she sensed Chris tense beside her.
Tisha squeezed her arm. “I knew something was wrong. I thought maybe your ex-husband hurt you.”
“Scott? No. He blustered and yelled and demanded his way, but he never hurt me. But then, I don’t know, he just sort of crumpled after . . .”
“What happened? Would you like to tell us?”
A bead of melted wax dripped down the side of the candle, leaving a trail and hardening into a teardrop.
“She . . . had a birth defect. Something wrong with her heart. The doctors detected it when I had an ultrasound and warned me she might not survive. They . . . urged me to consider abortion, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to give her a chance.” Her voice caught in her throat, guilt and grief choking her.
“I’m so sorry,” Melanie whispered. “I can imagine what a difficult decision that was to make.”
“Scott and I fought about it. He thought an abortion would be the merciful choice. He couldn’t stand the idea of a newborn going through surgeries and coping with all the stress and pain, unable to understand what was happening and why.” She drew a deep, shaky breath, trying to take control of the emotions threatening to take over her. If the dam broke, she feared she would break too, and never be the same again. “I was so sure she would make it. I turned our guest room into a nursery. I never once doubted I would bring my baby girl home.”
She lost the fight and deteriorated into tears.
All the women rushed to her side, closing in on her in a massive group hug.
“It’s okay,” Tisha assured her. “Losing a child is a huge source of grief.”
“I’m so sorry,” she managed through gulps of air.
“Why are you apologizing?” Tisha asked.
“I didn’t mean to share. I ruined dinner crying and blubbering.”
“You have every right to cry about this.”
“Don’t apologize!” Delilah said.
Now that she had shared, the words tumbled out. She couldn’t stop them. “I made the wrong decision. They rushed her off to surgery, but she didn’t make it. Poor, poor little thing. I put her through that for nothing. They brought her to me after, so I could hold her and say goodbye.”
Tisha stroked her hair. “Oh, sweetie, this was a decision with no right or wrong answer.”
“Every outcome was shit,” Delilah agreed.
“The doctors warned me,” she sobbed. “I didn’t listen. Scott kept saying he’d told me so. He wouldn’t even hold her.”
“What an asshole,” Chris said.
She’d never heard such a harsh edge to his voice.
Chris remained in his seat, fists clenched, voice rough. “He should have held you, cried with you, mourned with you. Everything you went through, fighting to give your baby life, and he turned his back on you? Don’t you spend another minute thinking you made the wrong choice.”
His words shocked her. They were so contrary to the beliefs she’d clung to for nearly a year now, she couldn’t accept them. Scott was . . . wrong? That thought didn’t compute.
“You wouldn’t have felt any better if you’d opted to have an abortion,” Melanie told her. “You’d feel guilty that you didn’t give your baby a chance at life.”
How could she know? Olivia wanted to believe her, but Melanie probably just wanted to make her feel better. “That’s nice of you, but—”
“No, I mean it. I know. I got pregnant a few years ago. While I was in college. Married professor asked me out to lunch, one thing led to another . . . yeah. I agonized over what to do. My parents were disgusted with me, told me they raised me better than that. Professor tried to deny it was his, threatened me if I told his wife or caused problems for him. If I caused problems for him! I decided I’d keep the baby. I didn’t know how I was going to take care of it, but I was damned sure going to try. Next thing I knew, the baby was diagnosed with some condition, doctor told me he would be stillborn.”
Seriously? She’d come all this way to India and managed to meet up with someone else who’d faced a similar predicament to her own? “Really? You too?”
“Except they told me the baby had no chance. None. Absolutely no chance of survival. I decided to take the abortion route rather than carry for nine months and struggle through labor for nothing. But abortions are illegal in my state, so I had to drive to another to find a clinic. Once I got there, I got yelled at by a crowd of protestors, all of them calling me a baby killer.” Melanie’s voice wavered. Olivia grabbed her hand, fresh tears stinging her eyes.
“Some guy on a ladder yelled through a bullhorn at me not to kill my baby, to trust God’s plan and turn it over to God. I wanted to yell back at him that God killed my baby.” Tears pooled in Melanie’s eyes. “But now all I can think is that maybe, just maybe . . . what if some miracle could have saved him? Every year I wonder about that. I knew his due date. And every year I think about how old he’d be now, what he’d be like . . . I was so upset when I found out I was pregnant, but I didn’t want my baby to die. If you’d had an abortion, I promise you’d feel guilty for not giving the baby a chance.”
All the women cried with Melanie now. Olivia hadn’t thought about it that way but could see Melanie’s side. And it cracked open a glimmer of light. Maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t made a terrible mistake?
“Both of you had to make terrible, painful choices, and you made the best choices you could,” Tisha said. “Women always feel guilty. Stay home with kids, feel guilty for not having a job. Choose to work and take kids to daycare, feel guilty for not staying home. Whatever we do, the other option looks more appealing—because we can idealize it in our minds while we deal with the reality of the choice we made.”
She’d never considered that perhaps she would have been equally unhappy had she sought an abortion instead of believing wholeheartedly that her baby would survive the heart defect. She’d painted the guest room in vivid primary colors, selected a crib, decorated with a jungle motif, complete with giraffes, zebras, elephants, and lions, all smiling and eager to welcome her baby girl into the world. Holding the poor helpless thing, the tiny lifeless body, a piece of her had died too. Returning home to the nursery she’d lovingly prepared, staring into the empty crib that would never hold her sleeping child, all the animals smiling up at her, she’d felt like such a fool.
She’d turned to Scott, desperate for comfort, for forgiveness, but he’d turned away. He blamed her, convinced she deserved the pain she’d wrought on them. If only she’d listened to him. Maybe her marriage wouldn’t have fallen apart.
But perhaps she would be equally tormented now, every day still wondering what if, if only. The storm of emotions she fought so hard to prevent broke over her. Her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath. Tears poured from her eyes. She couldn’t live like this. This was exactly why she didn’t discuss what had happened, why she never shared. Why she tried so hard not to even think about it.
“What did you name her?” Aubra asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Olivia blinked, fighting to shove the emotional mess back inside the closet and slam the door closed for good. She couldn’t allow it to so much as crack open. Ever. She took a deep breath. “I didn’t name her. Scott and I decided to wait, to see what she looked like.”
“You must have had a favorite. Something you were considering.”
She did have a name quietly picked out that she never shared with anyone—not her mother and not Scott. She’d been waiting to tell them once the baby was out of surgery and recovering. Once the doctors had assured her the little one had defied all odds, that she’d been correct to hope and believe and fight for her baby. She’d imagined it over and over, triumphantly telling them she’d known all along and had a name ready—imagined snuggling the baby and whispering her name to her.
She shook her head emphatically. “No. Everything happened so fast. She was simply called ‘baby girl’.”
“Oh, girl, you have to name her.”
“What’s her birthday?” Melanie asked.
Fighting the impending panic attack, she managed to answer. “October twenty-eighth.”
“That’s during Diwali this year,” Chris said.
“I know.” Should she tell them how worthless she’d be that day? How could she even face it?
“We have to celebrate her birthday,” Tisha said. “We can get some pink balloons and—”
“No, I appreciate the thought, but no. Thank you.”
“But it’s her birthday.”
“It’s also the day she died.” Her voice cracked. She couldn’t talk about this. Couldn’t think about it. Wished she could erase it from her memory. She jumped to her feet. “I’m tired. I’m going to my room.”