“Ranjana, what should I say?”
“I agree with Teddy,” Ranjana said. “That’s what every author loves to hear. I’m sure it means something to her every time someone says it.”
The man ahead of them, a wiry guy wearing thick glasses, looked back at them and blinked, then turned around.
“You guys are no fun,” Cheryl said.
Ranjana had a feeling that Cheryl’s interaction with Sondhi was going to be even more dramatic than the interaction with the woman who had lost her child.
Cheryl handed a conference volunteer the copy of The Forsaken that she had bought in the lobby. People had been instructed to write whatever they wanted on a tiny slip of paper, which was vetted by the volunteer and passed onto Sondhi. Ranjana scanned Cheryl’s paper, which read, “To Cheryl: Love your work!” Why couldn’t Cheryl demonstrate this kind of wit more regularly?
The volunteer laughed as Cheryl handed her the paper. “Good one.”
“I try,” Cheryl said.
The volunteer handed the paper over. “That’s funny,” Sondhi said, looking up at Cheryl and then bending over to inscribe the title page.
“I lost a child, too,” Cheryl said.
Ranjana almost dropped her book.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Sondhi said. She stopped writing and looked up at Cheryl attentively.
“Cancer,” Cheryl said.
“That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s the reason why I’ve always appreciated when people are totally honest. When my son was sick, the doctors would tiptoe around his problems because they were so afraid to hurt him—or to hurt me and my husband. But I told them, ‘Just give it to me straight. I’m a big girl.’ So what I’m going to tell you is that I’ve never read a lick of your work. But I will. I will. Thanks for signing my book.”
“Take care. I’m sorry for your loss. I appreciate your candor.”
In light of this conversation, Ranjana could hardly focus during her own interaction with Sondhi and ended up just asking for an autograph. She managed to say “I love your work very much” before shuffling away. Harit looked as if he were in pain as he had his book signed; he didn’t say a word. Even Teddy was so taken aback that all he could muster was “You’re even more beautiful in person” before he joined the rest of them.
“I had no idea that you lost your son,” Teddy said, gently taking Cheryl’s elbow in his hand.
“Ha-ha. Oh, that? I was just kidding.”
“What?” Ranjana swung violently around.
“You were kidding?” Teddy said. Harit looked as if he were going to collapse.
Cheryl’s face went still. She pursed her lips. “No, I wasn’t kidding. It’s true.”
“I … don’t understand,” Ranjana said.
Cheryl sighed. “It’s true, OK? I’m just playing with you. It was just nice to be taken seriously by someone. Too bad it had to be a stranger.” She turned around and walked into the lobby.
“THIS IS ALL I NEED TONIGHT,” Teddy said, holding up a martini so dirty that you couldn’t even see through it. “I’ve had enough of these people. It’s like they want to be writers without any of the alcoholism.”
Harit had sobered up after a nap in his room, and here, in the hotel bar, despite Teddy’s complaints, he ordered a Diet Coke with no booze in it. Although they had eaten at the banquet earlier, they were both pulling cheesy shingles from a tall hut of nachos. At nearby tables, other attendees were huddled over signed Pushpa Sondhi books and similarly slimy snacks.
“You’re awful quiet tonight,” Teddy said. “Even for you.” The large olives in his glass huddled, freezing in the cold.
Harit wanted to be with Ranjanaji, but Cheryl, who had reverted after the signing to her usual, laid-back self, insisted that she and Ranjana have a “girls’ night out.” Ranjanaji looked less than pleased with this suggestion, which made Harit’s evening with Teddy at least somewhat tolerable. If she had seemed happy, Harit would have just assumed that she had no desire to spend time with him.
He was ashamed of his drunken behavior at the banquet. He had sensed Ranjana’s judgment of him as if she were his mother. There was a restraint in her watchfulness that wasn’t outright disapproval but that was cutting, regardless. Her sweetness made you feel as if you were missing a chance to honor it. More important, he still had not found the opportunity to tell Ranjana about his recent breakthrough with his mother, how he had even confessed to a possible lifestyle that left women behind romantically altogether. So now he felt the extra weight of having to tell his new friend about everything all at once, and this sunk him back down into a pit of worry from which he had hoped to emerge.
“Hello? You OK?”
Harit thought for a second before responding, chewing a nacho and waiting for it to slide down. “I’m not sure why I came here,” he said. “I should have known that I wouldn’t have a nice time.”
Harit expected to see Teddy curl his lips, that habit he had of gathering his anxiety in one place lest it affect the rest of his body, but Teddy lifted his martini and took a slow sip. He set his drink down and leaned forward on the table, his upper arms straining against the striped sheen of his dress shirt.
“What would it take for you to have a nice time?”
Teddy’s face reminded Harit of how Cheryl had been right after the signing—serious and angry. Harit looked into his Diet Coke and thought of how nice it would be to lie on one of the smooth, cool cubes, bubbles popping around him like determined jellyfish.
“I worry that you don’t even know how to be happy,” Teddy said. “You don’t even let yourself have a good time. Ever. I always have to drag it out of you.”
“You’re the one having a martini, Teddy. That’s what you do when you’re feeling unhappy.” Harit didn’t know how he was finding the strength to be combative without the aid of alcohol.
“I’m not feeling unhappy right now, actually. But you’re like this even when we’re at the store. You’re always wallowing in your grief.”
People always used this word wallow. For a long time, Harit thought they were saying “swallowing in your grief,” which was, in fact, a fitting way to describe a martini.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Harit could feel his neck heating up.
Teddy leaned even closer. “Come on. Look at all of the things that you have to be happy about these days.”
The heat rose into Harit’s face and came out of his mouth in a puff. “You’re crazy. ‘All of the things’? I have many things to be happy about? You’re so insensitive.”