“I’m worried about the big reveal,” Zara said as they walked into the gallery. “What if no one likes his new collection?” Her father’s paintings were mostly abstract images, loud and angry and fierce with color. They jarred her insides and made her brain hurt. She preferred the calm of landscapes and gentle colors—an escape from the chaos of her life, an anchor in the stormy sea.
“Then he’ll learn not to paint things like that for next time.” Parvati finished her soda and tossed the can in the bin.
“Zara. Darling.” Indra descended on them, all toned arms and twiglike legs, her dark hair twisted in a perfect chignon that made her look older than her thirty-two years. She wore an elegant, sleeveless, long black dress and a single strand of pearls. “Your father will be thrilled you came.”
“I couldn’t miss it for the world.” She air-kissed Indra while Parvati snickered beside her.
“Why all the sheets?” Parvati asked Indra after Zara had introduced them.
“We’re going for a feeling of total immersion, as if you jumped off a cliff into the ocean. The fear. The thrill. The take-your-breath-away moment when you are surrounded, absorbed, fearful, enraptured, and enthralled.” Hand against her forehead as if shading her eyes from bright sunshine, Indra turned from side to side with quick, jerky movements. “You are falling, sinking, enveloped. You look around. Searching. Questing for the surface. But the images are everywhere. Enfolding.” She extended her toned arms above her head. “You reach . . .” She kicked back, her dress moving to the side to expose a slim foot and a jewel-encrusted Manolo Blahnik stiletto. “Kick. Swim to the light.” Her arms moved in a mock breaststroke. “Your eyes clear. You are buoyant, supported, loved. And now you understand.”
“That makes absolutely no sense,” Parvati muttered under her breath.
Zara jabbed her with an elbow. She was used to Indra’s enthusiastic interpretations. “You want it to be a surprise,” she translated for Parvati.
“Exactly, darling.” Indra pressed her hands together, red-painted nails gleaming in the light. “I’ll go let your dad know you’re here.”
“This is who you picked for Jay?” Parvati shook her head, watching her go. “Babe, you’re losing your touch.”
“I haven’t seen her for a while. I forgot how excited she gets when there’s a show. But she’s got a master’s in art, good connections, and I’ve never once seen her with a hair out of place.” She looked around the bustling gallery for Jay. After their slightly awkward conversation at the restaurant, she wasn’t sure if he would show up tonight.
“I wonder what she’d be like in a hospital gown,” Parvati mused. “You’d be surprised how a person’s true nature is revealed once you strip away all the trimmings.”
“Not really interested in imagining anyone in a hospital gown, Parv.”
“Really?” Parvati’s voice rose in pitch. “That’s the first thing I think about when I meet someone new. What’s underneath? What are they trying to hide? How much ass is going to show through the crack that can’t be closed?”
“My two favorite girls.” Zara’s father came up behind them and wrapped his arms around their shoulders. He had always been the most affectionate in their little family of four. “I can’t believe how many people are here.” He released them to say hello to a couple nearby.
“You’re just such a perfect daughter,” Parvati whispered in her ear. She was the black sheep of her academic family, disappointing her parents because she’d become a doctor instead of getting a Ph.D.
“Just don’t tell him I invited everyone. I’ve never seen him this excited.” Her father’s shows were usually low-key affairs attended by family, critics, and a few of his loyal supporters. Although he sold enough to pay the bills, his work had never attracted the kind of attention Zara thought it deserved.
“I want to introduce you to the partners from my new law firm,” Zara said when her father rejoined them. She had been pleasantly surprised when they’d expressed an interest in coming to the show.
After a brief chat with Tony and Lewis, they worked their way around the room chatting with all the guests while Parvati waited at the makeshift bar for drinks. It warmed her heart to see her dad so happy. She could never forget how utterly devastated she’d been the day her mother asked him to leave. Even now she still felt a niggle of fear that someone would tear him out of her life again. They were a family; then they weren’t. Within days of his departure, every trace of her father had been removed from the house. His paintings stripped off the walls, cooking pots emptied from the cupboards, clothes ripped from their hangers. His outdoor studio disappeared one afternoon while she was at school, to be replaced by a garden box that never saw a single seed.