Vibrant years, indeed. A gift for having lived well, or at least for having lived successfully.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Bindu was the first to speak.
Aly made a sound of agreement. “I can see why you like it so much here.”
Bindu threw her a sideways glance without stopping. “I loved living with you, you know that, right?”
“I do.”
“My moving here . . . it had nothing to do with that fight we had.”
The fight where Aly had said something about Bindu’s leaving teacups around as a statement, and Bindu had said, Why do you have to overcomplicate everything. My son is right about that.
Aly had been completely thrown. Hitting below the belt was not Bindu’s style.
Thanks, Ma! Good to know you agree with your son’s criticisms. Not surprising that you do. Aly had no idea where that had come from.
What is that supposed to mean?
It’s not that complicated. Actually, it’s only complicated if you don’t want to see the truth. Another thing Ashish learned from you.
Bindu had gasped, and Aly had quickly apologized. They’d both backed away from the fight, a shared panic making them fearful of losing a relationship that had been a strength to them both. But then Bindu had gone to the open house.
They’d never brought the fight up again.
Until now.
Maybe it was time.
“I know,” Aly said. “Cullie’s right, your moving here had to do with FOMO.”
They grinned with their joint love for their girl, who always saw things so clearly. The way she’d broken out of her comfort zone without changing herself made Aly so damn proud.
“More like FOHMO,” Bindu said. “Fear of Having Missed Out.” She looked sad, defeated in a very un-Bindu way. “The past tense is so very final, isn’t it?”
Aly squeezed her hand. How did one respond to that?
Bindu didn’t seem to need a response. “I lied about the money I inherited. There was no rich aunt. It was Oscar.”
That explained so much.
“The money brought everything back. Until I came here, I had never allowed myself to acknowledge my sense of not having lived my life. It wasn’t like I wasn’t happy with our life together. Everything about that was, is, beautiful. This”—she threw a glance at the manicured landscape—“this is just experiencing something new. Having some fun. But the real life I love is with you lot.”
“We know that.”
“But it’s not that simple. What I said earlier: that I chose to give up acting to have a family. It wasn’t technically a choice. Oscar. The film. It’s too many ugly memories.” She hesitated, an unusual anger in her eyes. “Painful.”
“But also some beautiful ones, right?” If the pictures from that film were anything to go by. Bindu was mesmerizing in them. Different and yet the same. All her spirit concentrated into those moments. A million things trapped in what she told the camera.
“You know how I keep talking about living on my own terms? As a young person, it came easily to me. Then it became something I said all the time, but I knew deep down that I’d lost the chance to actually do it. After the open house, I felt like I had to do something. While I still had the time.” The fact that Bindu hadn’t responded to Aly’s comment about the beauty of the film was telling.
They were having parallel conversations. Bindu seemed determined to keep it that way.
“Is that what you’re doing now, by not watching the film? Living on your own terms?” Aly tried to nudge the distance between the conversations closed.
Bindu sped up. “Choosing to let the past go. That is living on my own terms.”
“Okay.”
“Can we skip the passive-aggressive okays today, Alisha. I don’t think I have the stomach for them.” There she was, her ma, back again.
“Fine. Then here is the nonpassive-aggressive version. I know that argument wasn’t why you moved here. But we hit a truth that day. About where Ashish learned that ignoring the truth can make it go away.”
She waited to see if Bindu would stop her, but Bindu watched her, listening. When people displayed wonder and envy over the relationship Aly and Bindu shared, this had always been the answer. They listened to each other. From the very start, they had listened for each other’s feelings and needs, two women hungry for that. It was the key she wished she could hand all her friends who were stuck in tussles with family members.
Then she thought about her own mother. It wasn’t that simple. It took two hands to clap, as Karen Menezes loved to say. And in that, Aly and Bindu had been more fortunate than most.
Light from lampposts danced off the water. Silence danced between them. “You blame me for your divorce,” Bindu said finally. A statement. A deflection.
“Not even a little bit.” Aly blamed herself and Ashish. But Bindu had a role, just like Aly’s parents did. Because our parents’ marriage is our foundational map for relationships. We either follow it or we don’t, but it’s there. Always. “Ash didn’t think he had the choice to follow his dream either. And it made him angry. And his anger is what finally tore our marriage apart.”
“Good thing I don’t have a marriage anymore then.”
“But you have a life. Maybe it’s time to stop being angry at those who took away your chance to live it the way you wanted to. Maybe it’s not too late to stop showing them up and really live on your terms, now that you can.”
Bindu pressed a hand to her mouth. Then she pulled it away and kept walking. Finally, this silence too seemed to bloat and pop. “What if I can’t?”
“There’s only one way to find out. I fought for the segment and didn’t get it. But I don’t regret a moment of it.” Then there was Cullie. “Cullie got Shloka back.”
“And she never doubted that she would. That she deserved it. She doesn’t make herself smaller.” Realization dawned in Bindu’s eyes. “You did that. You modeled that for her. And I didn’t. I thought Karen was the one who didn’t, but I didn’t either. All I wanted was to treat the two of you the way I wished my mother had treated me.”
Aly took Bindu’s hand. “You did so much more than that. We modeled strength for Cullie. Together. She saw you support me in my goals, in my ambition. Even when my own marriage made that an ugly word. She saw you being comfortable in your skin. Even when it was hard.”
A single tear slipped down Bindu’s cheek, and Aly laughed through her own tears. Her mother-in-law even cried gracefully.
“You don’t understand. The film, it’s . . . there’s . . .” Bindu swallowed as she met Aly’s eyes. “There’s a sex scene. A nude one.”
Aly’s hands went to her face. “Ma!” she said and then burst into laughter. Of course Bindu had done a nude scene in a movie in nineteen-frickin’-seventy-four. Of course she’d had a hot affair with the director that changed his life.
“It’s not funny,” Bindu said, but she smiled. “It was integral to the story, not gratuitous. It’s the most beautiful story.” Fierce pride was back in her voice.
“I’m sure it’s beautiful, Ma. How can it not be?” Aly squeezed Bindu’s arm. “You have another chance. To think about your terms and reclaim them. To reclaim who you were when you were seventeen. A girl who believed in what she wanted, a girl who was glorious in how much she loved herself. It’s there in those pictures. I’m sure it’s in that scene and in all the others. Let’s do it, Ma. Let’s actually live on our own terms.”