How long had Nayana been staring at the dust ball in the corner? She looked away only to find there were others. She’d been struggling all week to work, though what she wanted most was to pass the time before her appointment with Dr. Shah tomorrow. She might as well have spent it cleaning for all the progress she made on the book. She stood and collected the dust balls, then shook out the rug and fetched the broom and dustpan. She did the same in the hallway, in their bedroom, in Ramesh’s nook. She moved the coffee table. The kitchen chairs. The waste bins. It had not been a particularly good morning. She was almost used to the nausea and heartburn, but she’d been faint as well. Now she was all energy. She shook and swept until she had gone through the whole house, and everywhere she looked the dancing motes slowly fell right back into place. She removed the mop from its bucket, then filled it with hot water and ammonia. She gagged on the harsh sting of steamy chemicals, then added dish soap to mask the scent. While the dust settled, she went into the bathroom and scrubbed the sink, the bathtub, and the toilet. Everywhere she looked, she saw dirt. She felt trapped. In her flat, in London, in her marriage. But mostly in her body.
She was always tired. And after all these years, she had discovered that even Ramesh’s patience had limits. She’d worn him down, and he’d all but agreed to let her go to India. She’d called the airline and found a flight. She’d almost purchased the ticket. But her doctor had ordered an ultrasound, and, with India in the balance, the uncertainty was driving Nayana to distraction. She’d been taking it out on poor Ramesh, hot then cold, wanting his help, then biting his head off for coming too close. She was mopping the hallway when she heard the front door open. He was home early, and she couldn’t even be sure if she was relieved or annoyed, if she wanted to be held or tell him to turn around and go.
“It’s wet,” she called, keeping her eyes on the tile. She cleaned one thing only to find grime and grit clinging to another. How had they stood it so long? “This place was filthy.”
Ramesh didn’t say a word. He was taking his socks off at the door with one hand when she looked up. In the other, he held a bottle of wine. He appeared hurt, as though she had been accusing him of dirtying the place by himself. Or maybe he was frightened by her appearance. She leaned the mop against the wall and collected her hair into a neater, tighter bun, then wiped the sheen of sweat from her face.
“It’s from Beth,” he said, holding the bottle up. “A thank you for watching Felix. There’s a card.”
“It’s all yours,” she said with a weak smile. “You earned every drop.” Then, hoping to put him more at ease, she added, “Sorry I’m such a poor housekeeper.”
He set the wine down and retrieved the mop.
“Jaanu, what are you doing? You should be resting.”
“I can’t just sit around all day.”
He took the mop and bucket into the kitchen and left her standing in the hall. She must have looked like a madwoman. She was buzzing from her cleaning spree, as though she’d drunk a pot of coffee by herself. He didn’t look at her as he passed by in the hallway again, pulling his tie loose on the way to their bedroom. If he was going to pout, she was going to close herself in her office. She stopped the door from slamming, then nearly collapsed in her seat. A few minutes passed, and he knocked and opened the door. She might have fallen asleep like that, with her head on her desk. He had once again set his frustration aside and was trying to care for her. Would she like a bath drawn? No. Maybe some tea? No. He was at a loss. What could he do to make her comfortable? Happy? Nothing. Wounded, he left the way he had come. There, she thought. Now everyone I love is disappointed in me.
She’d been making herself sick all week, trying to serve a twofold purpose with one visit: the purpose Ramesh knew about—the ultrasound, which her doctor assured her would have been routine regardless of her intended travels—and the one he didn’t know about, the paternity test, for which Nayana planned to sequester a few strands of his hair from his side of the bed.
She was sick of herself, and now she got up to check on him. He had retreated to his chair, as she knew he would. She would do something nice for him. Rub his shoulders. Cook something extravagant. She had to keep in mind that he was just trying to care for her. He would find a way to blame himself if anything happened. She told him she’d invited her sister-in-law to accompany her to her doctor’s appointment, thinking it would ease Ramesh’s concern as well as ensure he would not insist upon coming. She knew Tahira would sit politely outside in the waiting room rather than join her in the examining room, as Ramesh surely would have.
“So we’ll tell them?” he said.
“Of course, dear,” she said, to appease him. Her preference was not to tell anyone in London for a while yet. She simply wanted to be on a plane, leaving. Ramesh could have the pleasure and pride in telling them after she’d gone. Or they could call and make the announcement together if he wouldn’t wait. Anything to avoid feeling like a brood mare paraded around for her mother-in-law’s benefit. She retrieved the bottle of wine and placed it on the table in front of him. Ramesh would be missing having the flat downstairs to escape to. Had he kept something to drink at Beth’s for those visits?
“Why don’t you open up Beth’s wine and pour yourself a glass? I’ll be back in a few minutes, and we’ll have something nice for dinner.”
Fifteen minutes later, smoked salmon, lemon, and parsley in hand, Nayana returned from the store to find Ramesh snoozing before an unopened bottle. She put it on the dining table, along with the candles, and went to the kitchen, resisting the urge to fall asleep beside him. She began cooking before she knew what she was making. She ended up with several sides and no main course: peppers seared black, steamed asparagus, smoked salmon with the lemon and parsley as a garnish. He awoke when she turned off the light and was impressed by the candles she’d lit. She poured him a glass of wine. The smell of the alcohol turned her stomach, and she suddenly wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat the salmon at all. She was sweating again, and her back ached. She sat down and called him to join her. He leaned across the table to kiss her cheek before taking a seat. He lingered a moment, whispering his thanks in her ear. She told herself she was just tired. There was nothing to worry about and no need to worry Ramesh. He served himself, and they spoke about his work. He seemed not to remember when she repeated a question she’d asked just the day before, about Raj’s progress. He was silent for a moment, then said he’d mentioned to his boss the need to schedule a trip to India. The hesitant way he spoke made her think he hadn’t planned on telling her.
“Just in case you get the all-clear, I wanted to plant the seed. It’s as I expected—mid-February at the earliest.”
“That’s wonderful. It’s only a few weeks away, and I’ll have Adi to care for me until you arrive.”
“I wish you’d wait.” He shook his head at the pepper dangling from his pinched fingers, then ate it in one bite. “Mum will think it’s foolish, of course. And a waste of money.”
“What she’ll think is that I’m trying to steal her son and take him back to India without her.” He smiled because he knew she was right. “She thinks I’ve sullied her golden firstborn boy.”
“Am I sullied, my love?” She was relieved to see him acting playful again. “I think I have the perfect solution, actually.”
He raised a mischievous eyebrow. Nayana shot him a skeptical glance as she rose from the table to get some water. She was suddenly parched, but standing had made the room spin and go dark. She put a hand on Ramesh to steady herself, but he just thought she was being sweet and squeezed it.
“Let’s ask Mum to organize a baby shower for when we’re back. She will be so pleased to plan the party that she won’t be thinking about your trip at all or about the fact that I’ll be joining you.”
Her balance was back, but she remained at his side. He was right: his mother would be thrilled to have Nayana out of the way while making all the arrangements. Ramesh was too generous, assuming his mother would relish the opportunity to plan this for him and Nayana. She would be planning it for herself. Her friends, her menu, her grandchild! Nayana reached for the chair now. Ramesh’s voice came through as though under water. The room was spinning again.
“Naya? What’s wrong? You’ve gone pale.” She pulled the chair toward her.
“It’s a brilliant idea, Ram,” she said, and, trying to wave his concern away, she released her hold on him. Then he stood up, or maybe it was that she fell down.
Nayana felt she’d been reduced to a pair of eyes, eyes that rejected the light cast by the bedside lamp, light that failed to illuminate the familiar molding of her bedroom ceiling. How and when had she gotten there? And why couldn’t she feel the collective entirety of her body? She tried to shift her head toward the light, but there was a disconnect between thinking the movement and the movement itself. Only her eyes were free to employ their limited range. There was a shadow just beyond her peripheral vision, someone walking there. She closed her eyes for a long second and felt her tear ducts at work, quenching the dryness. If only they could quench her terrible thirst. A steady buzz gave way to the muffled sounds of a voice. Ramesh. And then she remembered. When she opened her eyes again, her body had returned to her. And the room sounded louder than it had any right to. It was cold, too, but she was damp with perspiration. She wanted to know what Ramesh had been saying to her.
“What was that?” she asked.
But he hadn’t been speaking to her. He was on the phone, repeating their address, with such urgency. She tried to push herself up, but she couldn’t move through the pain, which sat on her midsection like a weight. She looked down and saw it in the dim light, a small, terrible stain, a black hole collapsing.
“Ram?”
“Nearly three months.” He was still speaking on the phone. “I don’t know. We were at dinner. She fainted. There’s some blood.”
His voice cracked. She closed her eyes again. He soon came to her with a damp towel, no longer on the phone. He pressed it against her forehead and whispered to her as the water trickled down to her temples.
“You’re bleeding just a little, Naya. The ambulance is coming.” He stroked her damp hair clumsily with his free hand. “It’s going to be all right. You’re going to be fine. We’ll be fine, jaanu.”
But his lips were pale, his eyes frightened, and his brow damp with fresh sweat. He began mumbling not to her but to himself, to the room, looking for some kind of answer there. Or just looking away from Nayana.
“Ram?” she said again, though there was no question.
She felt the tears falling. They were for him. She was awake, lucid. So this is my punishment, she thought. She seized his wrist and pulled him close.
“I’m sorry, jaaneman. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s going to be okay,” he said. He held her face in his hands and repeated the promise, though neither of them believed it. At last she could no longer hide from him. She felt completely exposed, and what a weight lifted.
“I’m sorry,” she said once again.