Come onnnnn, Margo.” Pieter’s fingers drummed on the dashboard. “Are you sure she had the right time?”
Sarah checked the text message. “Yes, she said ‘Pick me up at 6:15.’”
They leaned against respective car doors, as if a “third rail” ran between them, eyes fixed on the entry to Margo’s apartment building, waiting for her to join them and puncture the oppressive pressure cooker atmosphere.
He beeped the horn. “Always late. Why am I surprised?”
“I thought you said she was like a Jack-in-the-box—always ready to pop up.”
“Ah, but Jack does not pop up immediately. You have to crank and crank and crank.” He demonstrated the motion, holding up his left fist and cranking with his right hand. “The timing is always the same. At the ‘pop’ part of the song, he jumps up.”
“No. It’s not always the same point in the song. The pop doesn’t go with the music. It’s the balance of forces. You crank and crank, and spring inside gets tighter and tighter the force overcomes the latch on the lid. That’s when Jack explodes out of the box.”
“I feel sorry for Jack.”
“Always getting stuffed back into the box.” He sniffed, rapped his knuckles on the steering wheel a couple of times. “You’re flying home tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
“So, you have a few days to recover from jet lag before Christmas.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“This is torture.” He started drumming on the dashboard again. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not angry with you.”
“Then why do you keep avoiding me?”
“It’s just hard to be around you.” Sarah stared out through the window, wishing she could be almost anywhere in the world than here, in a car with the living indictment of her failing fidelity. She was supposed to be pining away for David.
“I’m sorry to make you feel bad.”
She did not respond.
“I just said I was sorry. I was being polite. You should also be polite.” He honked the horn again. “Come on, Margo!” Then he started doing the cranking pantomime with his hand again.
“You look like you’re fishing.”
The door burst open and Margo dashed toward them, babbling about a big laceration in the emergency room, the hot water heater, and a few other excuses. Pieter got out of the car and opened the door for her. “Just shut up and get in.”
PIETER PRAISED THE food. “Rasheed, you are lucky to be married to such a master chef!”
Ameera smiled meekly. It was her first time to entertain in their new home. The table was adorned with a beautiful silk cloth and fresh flowers, and the smell of curry spices filled the air. The meal was bountiful: crispy samosas and pakoras to start, multiple main dishes, and perfect garlic naan.
Rasheed had just returned from supervising construction in Kandu. “Your house is looking good, Sarah. I introduced a new design feature: transoms. Much better ventilation. The men in the village thought it was a wonderful idea.” The men had been less impressed with Rasheed’s insistence on level surfaces and right-angle corners.
Sarah said, “It’s so generous of you to help with construction.”
“Nonsense. It’s a very good cause and important to Ameera.”
“I can hardly wait to see my house.”
Margo waved her fork. “Then you should have gone with Susie on her site visit.”
“I didn’t want to bias the process. When I took her to the airport, she seemed to be pleased with how things went.”
“Pleased” was an understatement. Susie had bubbled with enthusiasm, charmed by the children of the village. And charmed by Pieter too, it seemed. She praised his work at the clinic and little thoughtful things he had done. Sarah got sick and tired of hearing Pieter this and Pieter that.
Pieter raised his glass. “A toast to Susie. She is a dynamo, and she knows what she’s doing. Her Swahili is great, and she picked up the Kisambaa language very quickly. The village elders took to her immediately.”
Sarah tried not to speculate on whatever might have gone on between Susie and Pieter. It was none of her business. And why should she care anyway?
Margo touched Ameera’s arm. “Aren’t you hungry? You cooked all this great food, but you’ve hardly eaten anything at all.”
Ameera smiled faintly. “I’m not so hungry tonight.”
Rasheed squeezed his wife’s hand. “I think she had to taste too much while she was cooking.” He whispered something to her, and she rose from the table and started clearing the dishes. Sarah and Margo got up to help.
In the kitchen, Ameera confessed that she had bought the Naan from a restaurant. “Don’t tell Rasheed.”
Margo snorted. “Why would I tell him? And why should he object? You worked so hard to prepare this wonderful meal. You look exhausted.”
“Excuse me. I need to go to the restroom.”
Sarah and Margo exchanged worried glances, and Sarah said, “I’ll have a private word with her.” Standing outside the bathroom door, she could hear the unmistakable sound of retching.
When Ameera finally emerged, Sarah observed, “You’re pregnant.”
“We weren’t going to tell anyone for a while. Just in case something goes wrong.”
The men were in the kitchen, helping Margo wash dishes. Pieter called out, “Congratulations!”
“Rasheed, did you tell him?”
“No, he just guessed it.”
“It was no guess. After all, I am a doctor.”
PIETER ANNOUNCED THAT he would take Sarah home first. “She has to travel tomorrow.”
Margo objected. “Don’t be silly! My place is on the way. If you drop her off first, it will gain her at most, what, about five minutes?” She hugged Sarah before getting out of the car. “Have a great trip home.”
He put the car in gear and drove on. “I did my best to spare you the agony of being alone with me again.”
“Thanks. It’s the thought that counts.”
They were silent until the car pulled up to her house.
He spoke first. “I wish you a pleasant holiday.”
“Thank you.”
“Aren’t you going to wish me a pleasant holiday?”
“Of course. And thanks for driving me tonight.”
As she started to get out, Pieter reached across and pulled the door shut. “This is not a good working relationship.” He shut off the engine and killed the headlights. “In fact, this is a shitty situation.”
The cat sat on the doorstep, waiting for tuna.
“I’ve apologized, over and over,” he said. “I can’t take back what happened.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s just … I never thought I would cheat on David.”
“Oh.” He scratched his head thoughtfully. “But technically, I think you’re okay. I mean, we didn’t actually—”
“But I wanted … I mean …” She balled her hands into fists. “I started it. I got you going and then I—” she chopped the air with her hand. “I cut you off.”
Pieter clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Don’t worry. My manhood is intact.” Then he frowned. “Look, it’s your body. You can say no whenever you want. If any asshole ever tries to make you think otherwise, tell him to go fuck himself. Okay?”
She nodded but doubted she would ever use that exact language.
“Don’t feel guilty, Sarah. You’re a good person. These things happen. Someone just carried us off.”
“You mean, we got carried away.”
He nodded gravely, “Exactly. And it wasn’t really like cheating. I don’t think that finger thing counts as—”
“Oh-hoh, yes it does! That was definitely—"
“So, you liked it? I thought you did.” He grinned.
“Hmph.” She folded her arms.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You were trying to be funny. You think it’s charming.”
“I know it’s not charming. Sometimes … things just pop out of my mouth. Look, we’re working on something great. Let’s please just focus on that. I’ll try not to say dumb things.”
“I’ll try not to be so thin skinned.”
“So … are we good now?”
“Yeah, we’re good. I’m glad we talked. I’d better go. The cat’s getting impatient.”
He patted her on the shoulder. Twice.
She opened the car door. “Have a Merry Christmas.”
“Who will feed your cat while you’re gone?”
“He’ll be fine. Turns out, the neighbors are feeding him, too. He’s been double dipping.”
“Like you.”
“Pieter!”
“Sorry.”
Spike rubbed against her legs as she entered the house. She watched from the kitchen window as the car backed out of her driveway. Then her phone pinged. Text from Pieter: “C U next year.”