25
SOPHIE
2019
That evening, Sophie is getting ready for her shift at Taj Palace when she hears Cecile’s voice outside her door, telling her there is a phone call for her. Sophie already knows it is Vaishali Foi and braces herself for the verbal diarrhea she is about to hear.
“Have you lost your mind?” her foi says before Sophie can even manage a quick hello.
“Foi, please. I will only be gone a short time. A week or two at the most.”
“Do you know what position this puts us in with Kiran’s family? Hah? The wedding is just around the corner. What are we supposed to do about that?”
Sophie closes her eyes and nods even though her foi can’t see her. “I’m sorry, Foi. It is hard to explain how it feels to learn your mummy might be alive after you grew up thinking she was dead.” Her anger rises as she says the words, knowing Vaishali Foi was part of the conspiracy.
“We did that to protect you. Would you rather have been told that woman left you and Rajiv? That she left and never looked back. What can a woman like that offer you now?”
Her words sting because Sophie knows she is right. “I don’t know. That’s what I’m here to find out. Maybe you’re right and the answer will be nothing, but I have to know.”
“Beta, be reasonable. If word gets out about a failed engagement, we will not be able to help you find another. This family has had far too much scandal as it is, thanks to Nita.” Her foi’s disdain is plain on her tongue.
“It will be okay. If I don’t marry, then I will manage.”
“Don’t joke about such things. Rajiv taught you nothing about survival. You must find a suitable husband.”
Irritation and shame rise in Sophie’s throat. Irritation that Vaishali Foi can’t understand that this is bigger than finding a husband. Shame over knowing that her foi is right. Sophie hasn’t learned to take care of herself in all the ways that are necessary to live a complete life. Her short time in Paris is showing her how few life skills she had when she was outside of her Ahmedabadi comfort zone.
“Foi, don’t worry. Whether I marry or not, I will not be a nuisance to you.”
“What has gotten into you, hah? You were never like this before. You were not raised to behave this way. We stepped in and cared for you like our own daughter after this mummy you so desperately need left. And this is how you repay us?”
Sophie sees Cecile return to the reception area and lowers her voice. “I’m sorry, and I hope you can see this is not about how much I love you and Sharmila Foi. I must go now. There are others waiting to use this telephone line,” she lies. She never does that, but she does not even flinch at the karmic repercussions this time.
Sophie is emotionally drained as she hangs up the phone because she knows much of what her foi said is true. Sophie understands that regardless of what Nita’s life in Paris is like now, the reality is that she left Sophie just as much as she left Rajiv. Sophie has spent her entire life believing that her mummy would have been with her if she could, but now she must face the fact that Nita chose not to be with her when she had tuberculosis as a child, or began her menstrual cycle and Rajiv didn’t know how to handle it, or went to college, or had to agree to an arranged marriage because her beloved papa had died. Nita could have been there for those milestones but opted not to be a part of them. She had opted not to be a part of Sophie’s life. But Sophie still needs to understand why. She needs to know what she did to drive her away. She needs to know if the love she’d felt from her before she left was real. In a matter of weeks, everything Sophie thought she knew about her life had been turned on its head, and she is now drowning and searching for a sliver of rope in the vast ocean to help her find her way back home.
Cecile files her nails and tries to look inconspicuous, as if she hadn’t noticed Sophie’s glum demeanor. After a few moments, she makes eye contact with Sophie.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
Sophie nods, because it is the habitual response to such a question and not because it reflects any truth.
“I should leave for work,” she says.
Cecile’s eyes light up. “Speaking of jobs, I remembered earlier today that your aunt had one after she worked here.”
Sophie perks up. “What do you mean?”
“She had a job as a waitress. At this bistro in the second. I walked by and saw her there once. We made eye contact but didn’t speak. She looked pretty beat down, if I remember correctly. Actually, looked a bit like you do right now.” She says the last part with a laugh as if she still cannot believe the resemblance between the two women.
“Do you remember the name?”
Cecile’s brow creases as she concentrates. “It’s that place on Rue Bachaumont. It’s a bit of a walk from Bourse station.” She taps her knuckles on the reception desk while she continues to think of the name. “What’s it called? What’s it called? Paris can be such a small city sometimes, but then these things become so hard to remember.” She snaps her fingers together. “Bistro Laurent! That’s it! Mince, in my old age these things are getting tougher and tougher to recall.” She smooths her hair back as if she had performed the physical exertion of running a race to arrive at that answer.
“Thanks for the tip!” Sophie beams at Cecile.
Her heart lifts. She has a lead! She desperately needed one, especially after the call with her foi. Her soul is reinvigorated upon hearing of a place she can check. She wants to go there immediately but looks at her watch and knows she will be insultingly late to Taj Palace if she does that, and she cannot disrespect Naresh Uncle in that way. She does a quick search at the communal computer and sees that the bistro should be open until eleven. If she hurries after her shift ends, then she should be able to make it just before close.
26
NITA
1999
As they got deeper into the winter months, Mathieu had not been selling as many pieces of his art as he normally did and became increasingly frustrated about money. Nita worried that he resented having asked her to live with him. She had moved from one life of obligation with Rajiv to another one with Mathieu. She tried to pitch in with money when she could, but she earned very little from her modeling sessions and still had not found a steady job. She knew that she was another person consuming food, and using utilities, and sharing cigarettes and drugs, and all those things added up.
He was painting less and spending more time getting high. He had started bringing home unidentifiable pills, saying the hashish and ecstasy weren’t giving him enough focus and he needed something stronger. He would pop a little white pill and then crash out on the couch or bed, sometimes for days on end, moving only to use the toilet or pour another glass of wine. Occasionally, one of the pills gave him a voracious sexual appetite, and he would enter and release into Nita until she was raw and bruised. The romantic Parisian she thought she had moved in with was becoming a distant memory, and they’d only lived together for six weeks.
They no longer went on leisurely walks, holding hands and looking lovingly into each other’s eyes. He no longer removed his sunglasses before staring at her because he did not want any barriers to their eye contact. They no longer asked each other questions about childhood and likes and dislikes, trying to learn every intimate memory of their partner. They were no longer partners at all. When they walked, Mathieu had taken to walking ahead of her, forcing her to rush to try to keep up with him as if she were a servant following her master. There were many times at which she wondered if he had genuinely forgotten she was there as she trailed behind him, but she never asked because she feared the answer was that he had.