Her princess

Chapter 4

On Sunday morning, Mum asked what time Anika was coming, and I nearly dropped the bowl I was holding.

“Why?”

“Because I invited her yesterday. You were standing right here.”

“Yesterday was a long time ago.”

“It was Saturday, Mira.”

Nabin looked up from his breakfast. “Time passes differently for the elderly.”

I flicked a drop of water at him. He moved his plate out of range without looking concerned.

Mum stirred the dal. “Ask whether she'll eat with us. I bought enough vegetables before you canceled the other lunch.”

“You didn't need to buy anything for that.”

“I thought I might take something.”

The ordinary disappointment in her voice made me feel worse than a lecture would have. Rohan's mother had probably bought things too. Somewhere, there might be a plate set aside because of a decision I had made in a café.

“I can take the extra food to Anika's,” I said.

“I'm feeding people, not disposing of evidence. Invite her.”

I dried my hands and picked up my phone.

Tea somewhere? I typed.

Then I deleted it. Mum's invitation shouldn't be hidden inside something that sounded like a date.

Mum still expects you for lunch. Would you rather meet outside afterwards?

Anika replied while Nabin was trying to persuade Mum that an egg qualified as a vegetable because chickens ate grain.

Lunch sounds good. Afterwards we can go for a walk.

I stared at the message until the screen dimmed.

“Why are you smiling at that?” Nabin asked.

“I'm appreciating literacy.”

“Try appreciating the dishes.”

Dad came in carrying yesterday's newspaper. He looked at the table, the food, and my expression, then chose to comment on the newspaper.

“Somebody has taken the crossword page.”

Nabin pointed at me.

“I didn't touch it,” I said.

“You look like somebody concealing a crossword.”

Mum put a spoon down firmly. “Both of you, enough.”

I went upstairs to change. Then I changed again because the first shirt looked as though I had changed specifically for Anika. The second looked as though I was attending a job interview. Finally, I put on the first shirt and hoped nobody would ask to see my reasoning.

My room still smelled faintly of the hair oil Mum had insisted I use on Thursday. The photograph on my desk stood exactly where I had left it. Looking at it didn't produce a revelation this time. It only made me miss the ease of being able to lean against Anika without examining what it meant.

At twelve, she knocked on our front door.

Nabin opened it before I reached the stairs.

“Welcome,” he said. “There has been a cancellation. You are today's replacement daughter.”

“Excellent. Does the position pay?”

“Only in leftovers.”

“I accept.”

She handed him a bag of oranges and came in. Her eyes found mine as I reached the bottom step. Neither of us smiled immediately. Then she glanced at my shirt.

“Nice color.”

I had spent twenty minutes worrying about the color. Of course she noticed it in two seconds.

“It's a shirt,” I said.

“An impressive observation.”

Mum appeared from the kitchen and took the oranges before Nabin could conduct an inspection. She hugged Anika, asked whether she was sleeping properly, and began listing foods on the stove.

“You've become thin,” she said.

“She's exactly the same,” I said.

Mum waved me away. “Let me speak.”

Anika had eaten at our house for years. She knew which drawer held the spoons and how to avoid the chair with the loose leg. Dad asked about the exhibition, and she described a painting of a grandmother that had caused diplomatic difficulties. Nabin asked whether she could teach him to draw.

“You used to be able to draw,” I said.

“I used to have hopes.”

“Bring a sketchbook next time,” Anika told him. “We'll assess the damage.”

I watched her reach for the rice bowl. She had left her thumb ring at home. Without it, her hand looked strangely unprotected.

“Mira,” Mum said. “Pass the achar.”

I passed the water jug.

Nabin examined it. “A daring recipe.”

Anika lowered her face over her plate, but I could see her laughing.

Halfway through lunch, Dad asked whether Rohan was working that day.

Mum looked at him.

“What?” he said.

“They broke up,” Nabin supplied.

I stared at him. He stopped chewing.

“You told Mum yesterday. I have ears.”

Dad turned toward me. “Oh.”

“He couldn't hear that from me?” I asked Nabin.

“Sorry.” He looked genuinely sorry, which removed the pleasure of being angry.

Dad put down his spoon. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I said automatically.

Mum reached for the dal and changed the subject. I loved her for it and resented needing rescue. Beside me, Anika quietly moved her glass so I had more room on the table.

After lunch, I helped Mum clear the dishes while Anika listened to Dad describe a problem with the gate hinge. He always became fond of people who seemed interested in repairing things.

“You can take some food with you,” Mum told her when we were ready to leave.

“Thank you, Aunty.”

“And next time, stay longer. Mira's always in a hurry.”

Anika looked at me. “I know.”

Outside, the afternoon was warm enough to turn yesterday's rain into a smell rising from the pavement. We walked past a shop displaying plastic buckets and a little boy trying to lead a dog that had other plans.

I waited until our house was out of sight.

“I'm sorry about lunch.”

“Why?”

“It wasn't exactly what I meant when I asked to see you.”

“I guessed you weren't asking me to inspect your father's hinge.”

I laughed, then looked down at my shoes.

“Your family was kind to me,” she said.

“They're always kind to you.”

“I know.”

That answer held more than I wanted to examine. We walked another few steps before she spoke again.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought we could get tea.”

“Good. We have only consumed two liters each.”

“Somewhere nobody knows us.”

She glanced at me. I heard the sentence as she must have heard it.

“I mean somewhere quiet,” I added. “I want to be able to talk.”

“Then say somewhere quiet.”

“Somewhere quiet.”

Her expression softened. “All right.”

We found a small café with a narrow garden behind it. The tables were uneven, and a cat slept on the chair nearest the door. I chose the far corner, then worried she would think I was hiding us again.

Anika sat opposite me and put her bag down.

“You can stop looking as though you're selecting a witness protection location.”

“I haven't done this before.”

“Sat in a café?”

“Sat in one with you like this.”

She looked at me properly then, the teasing leaving her face.

“What does like this mean?”

I clasped my hands beneath the table.

“Yesterday I asked whether you'd ever wanted me to want more than friendship.”

“I remember.”

“You said yes.”

“I remember that too.”

A waiter approached. I ordered milk tea without cardamom. Anika asked for lemon tea. When he left, I stared at the empty place where his order pad had been.

“Do you still?” I asked.

Anika drew a breath.

“Yes.”

For a moment, I couldn't think of anything to say. She watched me with a small, uncertain smile.

“You look surprised.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because you're you.”

“And you're an abandoned umbrella?”

“No. I just never thought you might look at me that way.”

“You rarely asked how I looked at anything.”

The remark was gentle, but it found its mark.

“I know,” I said.

“I don't mean you were a bad friend. You just had an explanation for us already.”

“So did you.”

She looked toward the garden wall.

“Yes. Mine was that you had a boyfriend and I should stop imagining things.”

“When did it start?”

She turned back. “I'm not sure. It wasn't a single moment.”

“I used to tell you about boys.”

“You did.”

“That must have been awful.”

“Sometimes. Other times, they were so obviously unsuitable that I didn't worry.”

I laughed, then stopped. “You should have told me.”

“Mira.”

“I know. I wasn't listening.”

“You were allowed not to want me. I wasn't entitled to an answer you weren't ready to give.”

The waiter brought our tea. The cat opened one eye, assessed our usefulness, and went back to sleep.

Anika held her cup between both hands.

“What changed?” she asked.

I tried to give her an honest answer instead of an impressive one.

“I don't think the feeling changed. I think I ran out of explanations for it.”

She nodded slowly.

“And Rohan?”

“It was wrong to keep dating him while I was trying to make myself feel something else.”

“Did you tell him about me?”

“I told him there was someone. I didn't name you.”

“Thank you.”

I had wondered whether she would be disappointed. Her gratitude made me understand that my confession involved her privacy too.

“I don't know what happens now,” I said.

“We can decide a little at a time.”

“Does that mean this is a date?”

She smiled. “Would you like it to be?”

“Yes.”

“Then it's a date.”

The word settled between the cups. I looked at her mouth, then quickly at the garden wall. She noticed. Of course she noticed.

“Ask me something,” she said.

“I've been asking you things for half an hour.”

“Something that isn't about whether I like you.”

I thought for a moment. “What made you choose the studio?”

She leaned back, surprised.

“Do you want the sensible answer?”

“I want yours.”

She told me about the art teacher who had let her stay in a classroom during lunch when she first changed schools. About making things with her hands while the other children found friends. About being good at something before she was good at talking to people.

I had known she liked children. I hadn't known this.

“You never told me,” I said.

“You never asked.”

This time it didn't sound like a complaint. It sounded like somewhere we could begin.

We stayed until the cat decided to sit beneath Anika's chair. The conversation moved from work to the time she had cut her own hair, then to the librarian who used to confiscate my snacks. I relaxed enough to forget, for a few minutes, that I was supposed to behave differently.

When we left, I reached for her hand.

She looked down, then up at me.

“You don't have to prove anything,” she said.

“I know.”

A man coming toward us slowed to let us pass. My fingers loosened before I could stop them.

Anika felt it. I saw the smallest change in her face.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

She didn't punish me by pulling away. She didn't pretend she hadn't noticed either.

“We'll talk about that,” she said.

I nodded, and kept my hand in hers.