Two weeks after we came back from Oregon, Zach had reason to visit me at the house I shared with my husband. It was, to say the least, very awkward. The discomfort we both felt backed up my idea that he was as interested in me as I was in him. Of course, I couldn't fathom why he would be; I was still flattered and slightly scared by his feelings.
Bijendra was leaving, again, for Kathmandu and wanted to have a send-off party that would allow him to say goodbye to the US and his friends. I arranged it all, of course, in between scheduling appointments for Zach and answering his emails, cleaning his office and running his errands. We were going to start with dinner, just Bijendra, me and some of his Nepali friends. Later in the evening more people were expected--college friends and neighbors, a few people I knew. It was BJ who insisted I invite Zach.
I thought the invitation, uncomfortable though it was, was harmless, since I doubted that Zach would accept. He liked to be the center of attention and to be on his own turf--at a party thrown at our house by my husband he'd be neither.
I let myself into the office while he was critiquing poetry from his graduate students. He looked up at me, only a little annoyed at the intrusion. I leaned in the doorway, indolent.
"Yes, Katy? Have you come to hand in your homework?"
I snorted. "No, Professor, I have not. I have come to invite you to dinner."
He went back to his pile of papers. "When? Tonight?"
"No, Saturday. At my house. Bijendra's throwing himself a going-away party before he leaves for home again. He... um, I... we thought you might like to come. I think he wants to meet you. I figured you'd be working." I prepared to close the door and walk away.
"Sure--what time?"
What? "Oh, um, I guess we'll eat around five-thirty. It's all vegetarian, just so you know--the rest of the guests are Hindus."
"What about your house?"
"It's a townhouse--in Mountain Brook. It's only ten minutes from your place--I can email you directions."
He looked back up at me. "Are there stairs?'
"Oh. Um, yeah, but just to the bedrooms. You'll be fine. If you want to come, I can pick you up. He does the cooking, anyway--I have to entertain and I'd love an excuse to run out."
Zach nodded. "Then you can pick me up at five. But I'm not speaking to you unless you have a poem for me."
"Fine," I moaned as I closed the door.
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There were three days between Zach accepting my invitation and the day of the party. I spent them largely on my hands and knees scrubbing the house until it had a polished glow in every room. BJ laughed at me.
"You act like your mother-in-law is on the way," he said, shaking his head and smoking his Camel. "They've all seen a messy house before; we're both busy--people understand."
For some reason it mattered to me that the house was in perfect order when Zach saw it. Not that his was ever presentable unless I made it that way, or that I had any reason to think he'd even notice. If Zach were going to be there, the bookshelves must be dusted, the grout must be bleached. It was kind of unhealthy, really.
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Saturday at five o'clock I pulled up in front of Zach's building to find him waiting for me outside. The June sunshine made his hair glossy and he was hiding his eyes behind a pair of dark glasses; he looked good. I got out of the car to open the door for him and I smiled a little too big.
"What?" he asked suspiciously.
"You look nice."
"Nice, huh? Good. I always wanted to look nice. Hey--where's my poem? Don't try and distract me with your faerie magic--I know what's up."
"Zach..."
He stopped wheeling forward and put his hands on his knees. "I told you."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Zach. Here." I threw him a folded up piece of typing paper. "Don't you dare read it in front it me. I hate you for making me write it."
He laughed at me all the way to my house for that tantrum. I imagine he knew I was lying through my teeth--hatred was the last thing I felt for him after writing again for the first time in several years. It had taken me over a week to write it, and that was with several hours a day devoted to it, carrying around scraps of paper in my pockets with notes scribbled on them. I had, though, wanted to strangle him when he gave his class their assignment. Until he sat there and told his students to write about "someone you don't know who's had an influence on your life--you can write from any period in your life, so maybe you know someone now you didn't when you were sixteen..." I hadn't realized how much he enjoyed tormenting me. Once I knew, of course, I had to make it worth his time.
"So, who's in attendance this afternoon?" He asked as I turned onto my street.
"Us, BJ. Um, his best friend Ashish, who's an accountant, and his wife, Sarita. Roshan, another doctor--he's an ophthalmologist. And Kali, she's a painter--he's known her since they were like six. I think she brought some paintings for him to take home with him, I'd like you to see them."
"Are these people your friends, too?"
I nodded automatically. "Yeah."
"That's handy."
"Well, I mean, I met them through him. And, they have some, loyalties to each other. I like them all, we get along well. I love Kali. I'm not sure I'd keep them as friends if Bijendra and I split up, if that's what you mean. The boys check on me whenever BJ goes home- it's kind of sweet. They're really wonderful people."
"Why is it," he asked with great sincerity in his voice, "that his wife and his house are here, and yet he still refers to Nepal as his home?"
It had never occurred to me. I shrugged. "It's his homeland, I guess. I don't know. I never thought about it."
"You should ask him."
I pulled into my driveway as the conversation started to get uncomfortable. While I walked around to take Zach's wheelchair from the backseat I tried to dispel his last comment as was unable to. He'd hit on a buried concern of mine, without my even broaching the subject. I was more nervous after the car ride than I had been before. But, as he pulled himself into his wheelchair he looked up at me and smiled, thanking me for inviting him. I almost felt better as I followed him up the front walk and into my living room.
We all had dinner in the living room. The townhouse had a large dining room that I'd furnished with an antique table that sat eight--but their tradition was to eat sitting on the floor, so we did. It was comfortable and I was used to it. Zach seemed amused.
"If we weren't here, they'd eat with their fingers," I said as I snuggled against the front of the couch. From my seat on the Oriental rug, I had to look up at Zach. It was a nice change, but it was strange. The way it should be, in a perfect world, I thought. Suddenly I wondered how tall he would be if he were standing.
"They won't do it with Americans around," I continued, clearing my throat. "They think it's rude--which I don't understand, 'cause they're going to speak to each other in Nepali all night long, regardless."
"You understand it, though. Don't you? I was under the impression you were tri-lingual--I'll have to adjust your pay-scale if you're not."
"I understand a little. It's really, really hard." I made a face. "I can talk to small children in Nepali. With adults I can just get by. You wouldn't believe how fast they speak."
Kali, who'd come to sit beside me, laughed loudly. "Mousi, you're just too slow! You'll learn." She looked over at Zach and smiled. "She's very good with Nepali--for an American. She's more hard on herself than she should be."
"She called me mouse," I said to Zach. "Mousi is a female mouse. I've got a very distinguished nickname."
Zach laughed. Bijendra came out of the kitchen and sat down across from me and Zach, smiling at us both.
"It's nice to finally meet you," BJ said for the second time that day. "Katy, you know, she talks about you all the time. I needed to see this person my wife likes so much, to know who you were. You understand?"
What my husband was saying, as Zach knew, was that he had been worried about my fidelity. The amount of time I spent with Zach compounded with my blatant admiration for him had, on occasion, given rise to outbursts of jealousy. I'd mentioned to BJ that Zach was disabled; but, now, seeing it for himself, all his worries had been laid to rest. Whether or not it was traditionally considered appropriate for a wife to behave as I did no longer mattered--we had special rules since we were dealing with a cripple. That was the message Bijendra was sending with his welcoming demeanor and overly hospitable smiles.
"Oh, of course. Of course." Zach returned Bijendra's steady, penetrating gaze. BJ was smiling and polite, but there was venom in his words that was intended to back Zach into a corner. Zach only smiled and nodded. "I'm sure any husband would wonder who his wife spent so much time with. I just couldn't get by without Katy; I'm glad you understand her career choice."
I felt guilty for causing the situation and felt my face get red. Looking up at Bijendra, I said, "Who all are we expecting?" because it was all I could think of to distract him.
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After dinner the other guests started to arrive. It didn't take very long for our house to get crowded, although there were five rooms downstairs. Some people spilled out into the back yard. Bijendra the good host moved constantly from cluster of people to cluster of people. When someone in the yard pulled out a guitar, however, it was clear his attention was solely there. On his way from the living room to back door he came up behind me when I was leaning against a wall talking to Zach.
BJ put his arm around me, pulled me against him and kissed me. I pulled back, saying he had spilled my beer. I didn't want him to touch me in front of Zach.
He just laughed, then looked down at Zach. "She can't bother with me when she has someone to talk about poetry with. Alright, Piari. Have fun."
Embarrassed and aware that I had no valid reason to be so, I looked at Zach and said, "He's not so affectionate, usually. It's just when he's leaving."
Zach shrugged, sat there silent for a moment and then said, "I don't blame him. Of course, I wouldn't leave the country, either, if I were him."
Do you mean you wouldn't leave me? "They need him there, those people, and his father. I can take care of myself."
At that moment I was again saved by coincidence, when my friend Jen came slinking into the room with a sheepish grin, asking "is that him?" She had also had her day in the ranks of the wannabe writer and was thrilled to be in the same room as Zach DiMarro. She kept him busy until the end of the night, around midnight, when it was time for me to take him home. Jen fluttered around him, giggling and grinning and quoting Hemingway while I took leave of my husband.
"You're coming back?" Bijendra asked. He was playing cards at the dining room table with Ashish, Kali and our next-door neighbors. I felt his arm snake out to grab me as I walked by.
"Why wouldn't I?" I asked.
"You know how you get when he's working," he said, smiling condescendingly. "Don't forget you have guests here. You should be here."
"Whatever. I'll be back." I tried to walk off but he pulled at me.
"What's that attitude, Katy?"
"You're the one who leaves and doesn't show up again for months."
"I have a job to do."
"So do I, Bijendra," I hissed as I yanked my body out of his reach. "I'll be back later."
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Zach was mostly quiet on the ride back to his apartment. A few blocks before we got there he asked me what I'd been talking with BJ about just before we left. I wondered if he was always so perceptive or if it just came out when it was inconvenient.
"He was giving me a curfew, I guess," I said. "Apparently I have some behavioral problems."
"He doesn't think what we do is important. A lot of scientists are that way."
I laughed. "What do I do? I do your laundry, answer your phone. You could get anyone to do my job."
Then he touched me for the first time since we'd come back from Oregon, reaching out a hand to touch my shoulder. "Katy, that's not true. Even if it were, I wouldn't want anyone else. You've become very important to my work."
That made me smile. "Thank you. Anyway, I'm sorry if that whole party was a horrible drag..."
"Are you kidding? It was amazing--your friends are wonderful people, like you said. I had a good time. Kali's going to do my next book cover, I think; it was a fortuitous evening."
"I'm sorry about Bijendra." I hadn't meant to say it, but I felt it so strongly I couldn't help it. "He's..."
"What?" his voice was bitter and soft. "It doesn't matter, Katy--what he thinks about me, it has no affect on the way I live my life. I'm just glad... it'll be easier for you now, since he feels better about us being together so much. It's fine."
I turned into his parking lot and put the car in park. With my hands free and a few drinks still fizzing around in my head, I decided to return the physical contact with a hand on his forearm.
"He doesn't mean to be condescending, you know? It's just... well, like you--he's brilliant at what he does, he's a great man. It makes him forget other things."
I knew immediately that "like you" was not a good thing for me to say. Zach's face darkened and he opened the car door.
"Thank you for dinner, Katy," he said as he pushed the door open and removed his seat belt. "Can you get my wheelchair, please?"
"Zach, I didn't... I mean..."
"I've got work to do, Katy. The chair, please?"
I got back into the driver's seat as he transferred. Before he wheeled away he looked in at me and said, "Go back to your party. You should be there. I'll see you Tuesday."
"But..."
He shook his head. "I don't need you Monday." He slammed the passenger's side door closed. "Tuesday afternoon, okay?"
I just nodded as he wheeled away.
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Sunday afternoon, as BJ packed the last of his things in preparation for his long trip, I checked my email to find one from Zach. In the subject line of the email was the title of my poem and I was immediately petrified. As I clicked "open" my hands were shaking and I felt light-headed.
"Katy:
First stanza could be longer--set up the rest of the poem a little better.
The imagery is good--I'd like to see more alliteration. Work on that. Send me a revision in a few days.
Overall I think you did a very good job. If you wrote every day, this would be top-notch... you're out of practice. You need to write; it's good but it can be much better.
PS, how lucky does someone have to be to be your subject? Your words are frequently beautiful, I think it would be an honor to inspire them.
I'll see you Tuesday.
Zach D.