Free If Today Be Sweet by Thrity Umrigar Page A

cheek. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I was all ready to leave when Grace decided she had to talk to me just then.”
    Susan smiled. “It’s okay. I figured you were running on Bombay time.”
    Was that a slam? Sorab gave his wife a closer look. These days, it was impossible to know what Susan was really thinking. That old closeness, where he could read Susan’s thoughts and complete her sentences for her, seemed elusive now. And suddenly he felt the loss of that intimacy acutely, as strongly as he still felt the loss of his father, eight months after Rustom’s death.
    â€œOh, for Christ’s sake, Sorab. It was a joke . I told you it was okay. Stop being so damn sensitive.”
    This was not the way he had envisioned this evening going. The whole point of the dinner with Susan had been to spend some alone time together, away from his mother’s benign but obtrusive presence. But two minutes into it, and already he was on the defensive,feeling much the same way as he did at home these days. Shit, he thought. Might as well have stayed home and saved myself fifty bucks. Cheaper to be miserable at home. He remembered his earlier encounter with Grace Butler and had the same feeling of the conversation galloping away from him. How did women do this? he wondered. How did they make a man feel guilty about taking a much-deserved vacation? How did they make a man who was about to shell out good money for dinner feel like a piece of shit for arriving five minutes late? He looked around for a waiter, unwilling to let Susan see how much her words had upset him.
    â€œHon,” Susan said, cupping his hand in hers. “Listen, I’m…”
    But just then the waiter, a new guy whom Sorab didn’t recognize, came over to take their drink order. “Margarita, on the rocks,” Sorab said. “With salt.”
    â€œMake that two,” Susan added. Her hand still covered Sorab’s.
    She turned to him as soon as the waiter left. “Listen, let’s just start again, okay? I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”
    He made a conscious effort to shake off the gloom that hovered around him. “Okay.” He smiled. “So picture me entering the restaurant, okay? And here’s me bending down to kiss you. And I’m saying, ‘Sorry, hon. Traffic was a bitch this evening.’”
    â€œAnd I say, ‘God, Sorab, you look drop-dead gorgeous tonight. Say, how about if we skip dinner and you know, um?’”
    â€œYour place or mine?” he said, happy to play along.
    Susan’s eyes were green and golden in this light. “I’m afraid it will have to be my place. Your place has a little boy and his elderly grandmother and a goldfish.”
    His voice was husky. “And what will we do at your place?”
    Susan licked her lips. “Anything you want. Anything. Satisfaction guaranteed.”
    Despite Susan’s playfully exaggerated slutty impression, Sorabfelt a slight stirring in his groin. “Darling,” he said. “I’m beginning to think that skipping dinner is a great idea.”
    They were laughing as the waiter set down their drinks and took their meal order.
    â€œBoy, this place knows how to make margaritas.” Susan sighed. She took a long, hard gulp. “You know, I kinda wish I did have a place of my own—just a getaway place when Cookie and—and everything else—gets too much to handle.”
    He had heard what she hadn’t said. “Mamma was being difficult today?” he asked quietly, dreading the answer.
    â€œNo, not really. I mean, she was gone shopping most of the day with Eva Metzembaum. Turns out they went to the farmers’ market. God knows why. She came home loaded with fruits and vegetables. As luck would have it, I went grocery shopping after work today. So now we have bushels of tangerines and about five hundred pounds of okra at home.”
    Despite Susan’s valiant