Free The Hindi-Bindi Club by Monica Pradhan Page A

to blow my nose and George to guzzle some water.
    “You okay?” he asks.
    I nod, and we retrace our steps. Impressive for a former asthmatic, I always think.
    When I was ten, on our one and only family trip to India, I developed childhood asthma. At first, we assumed it was the pollution, but when we came home, the symptoms didn’t go away. For years, I woke up gasping for breath in the dead of night. Worse, I was relegated to last-pick in gym class. Luckily, I grew out of it and kissed my last inhaler good-bye in college.
    “You’re coming, right?” I say to George. “Both of you?”
    “Hell, yeah. We wouldn’t miss your big night.”
    “Thanks. It means a lot to me. I still can’t believe any of this is really happening.
My
work appreciated, exhibited
solo
at a kick-ass gallery, sold for real money.”
    “Kudos at last.”
    “That wasn’t my motivation, but I did secretly dream of it. And now that my dream’s come true…” I know what I’m supposed to say. “Now that it’s reality…” I turn my gaze to the ocean.
    “What?” George asks.
    I shrug. “What you said. I’m excited and nervous. But enough about me. I get to hog the spotlight tonight.” I smile. “Tell me, how are your parenting classes—?”
    “No. Don’t change the subject. And for God’s sake,
don’t
give me that fake cocktail party smile.”
    I smack his arm with the back of my hand. “Have I told you recently how much you annoy me?”
    “Uh-huh. Gonna ’fess up or what?”
    “Why do you know me so well? We haven’t known each other
that
long.” It’s only been a year since Bryan and I sold our mini-mansion in Pacific Heights and bought the two-bedroom condo.
    “Occupational hazard.”
    I smile, for real this time. “Wish I had a counselor like you when I was in high school.” Luckily, I had great parents. Whom I miss terribly, especially during the holidays. I don’t know how my mom managed to leave her entire family and move halfway around the world, while I rue being separated by a continent.
    “Is it Bryan?” George asks.
    “No. Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.” I pace my words with my breathing, another skill that took some time to master. “He’s supported me every step of the way. This is his victory as much as mine. But I feel so guilty. I can’t enjoy it with a clear conscience. How can I be happy when he’s so miserable? I mean, he’s happy for
me,
but
he’s
not happy. It breaks my heart. Every day, I have the luxury of pursuing my passion, while my husband schleps off to a job he hates.”
    “Job still sucks, huh?”
    “Big time, and it’s not just the pay cut…. It was never
just
about making money for him. He can’t stand not utilizing his full potential. He’s an entrepreneur, a visionary.”
    “A leader, not a follower.”
    “Exactly. He’s still grieving—maybe he’s
always
going to grieve—for the company and the employees and the shareholders. It was his baby, and a huge part of him died with it. He knows he needs to move on, but he can’t. He needs another dream, and until he finds it…” We turn a corner. My voice breaks. “He’s so lost…And I can’t help him. I can’t reach him. Nothing I do or say makes any difference.”
    I want to cry but not there. My nose will run even more, and I don’t have enough tissues on me. And where’s my fucking runner’s high, anyway? It usually kicks in halfway across the bridge, but lately it’s eluded me. No matter how far I run or how hard I drive my body, I can’t break through the magic barrier. This is the reason I run, for nature’s miracle pill.
Where is it?
    “You said it, babe,” George says beside me. “He’s grieving. Grief takes time. Keep applying that balm, but quit expecting overnight results. And the last thing you want to do is crawl into Bryan’s pit of despair with him. That won’t help anyone.”
    “I know it,” I say. “I know. It’s just…hard.”
    “Well, there
is
something you could do. Doesn’t