Where the Lotus Flowers Grow (28 page)

“You sure you’ll be all right?”

“I will be great.” Entire clouds came out of my mouth. I wanted to swallow them back.

The crowds jostled past me. I picked up my pace, but I wasn’t keeping up. Someone bumped me and then gave me a dirty look as if I was to blame for the incident. I forged straight ahead, pretending none of these things penetrated me. I tried to be as strong as the concrete and brick surrounding me.

I wasn’t sure if I saw the sign or smelled the hot caffeine first, but I found the shop with no trouble. I crossed the street, following the cues of the crowd as they rushed forth when the signal changed. It was such a small feat, but I looked at it as an accomplishment of sorts. The café was crowded. If a few more people came in, the line would spill out to the street. I was so busy staring at all the brilliant displays with the foiled packages we weaved around, I missed the growing gap between me and the front of the line.

“Heelllooo,” an impatient man grumbled.

I hurried forward. “Chai, please.”

“Size?” The clerk asked without looking up.

“The largest one.”

He told me the price. I raised an eyebrow, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. I could eat, and eat well, for an entire week on the price he quoted.

He repeated it louder, making it clear I’d heard correctly. I fumbled through my purse, cursing myself. I only had rupees. Why had I not exchanged my money? The clerk drummed his fingers against the counter. I heard the disapproving sighs rise from the line behind me. My fingers wrapped around the thin piece of plastic. I pulled it out with a false sense of triumph.

“Will you take this? Credit?”

He didn’t answer, except to give me a frustrated stare. He pointed to a machine instead. When I looked back at him in confusion, he pointed again. “Swipe it.”

“Swipe?”

He snatched the card from me and ran it through the tiny gap in the machine. Something chimed.

“Declined,” he announced, almost gleefully. A chorus of synchronized groans followed.

“Are you sure?” It was attached to my bank in India. I had over three-hundred thousand rupees, which equated to a few thousand dollars. Liam wanted to take care of me, but I was happy I had some money. My bank was international. I hadn’t thought there would be any problem. I’d used the card once in India, and it worked. A sinking fear gripped me. What if my money had been stolen? I hadn’t changed my address. What if they shut off my account when my mail was returned unopened? I was in a country with no money. What little shreds of independence I had slipped away.

“Look lady, if you don’t have another way to pay, I need you to move along.”

“You don’t have to be so rude,” a man said, stepping forward. “Put this on my bill. I’ll also take a café renversé and a beignet.”

I tilted my head at the man who had stepped forward. He was tall with dark hair and tanned skin. He wore a plaid scarf and smelled expensive.

“Thank you, but I can’t accept.”

“Too late,” he said, gliding his card along the gap.

He gestured me forward to the area where machines sputtered and cups clinked. “I believe this is yours.” He put a circular piece of cardboard around my tall decorative paper cup.

“I’ll pay you back.”

He laughed. “You’re new here.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“Oh yeah, you might as well have a sign flashing H1-B.”

“H1-B?”

“Your visa status.”

“I’m here on a visitor visa actually.”

“I see. Don’t worry. Many of us were new here once. You’re Indian?”

“Yes.” I held out my hand. “Mary Costa.”

“Chetan Singh. Everyone calls me Chet.”

I took in his brown skin and dark hair. “You’re Indian, too.”

His smile flashed brightly, a row of blindingly brilliant white teeth. “From Toronto actually, but I am of Indian descent. So my
nani
keeps reminding me.”

“Canada, right?”

“Right.” He looked down at his watch and back at me. “I have a few minutes. Let’s sit.”

I looked out at the cold street, involuntarily shivering at the prospect of walking outside again. “Okay.”

We found a booth by the window. I gripped my coffee with both hands, thankful for its warmth against my trembling fingers. I looked at his plate with the sugar-covered rectangle. He slid it forward and handed me a fork.

“Oh no, I couldn’t.”

He stood and fetched another fork for himself. “I shouldn’t have the whole thing, anyway. Do me a favor and share it with me.”

My stomach rumbled, and it smelled divine. I cut into a corner. The sweetened fried dough melted inside my mouth. “Does this magic have a name?”

He grinned. “I know, right? It’s called a beignet.”

He must have sensed his answer puzzled me. “A fancy French doughnut.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t know what a doughnut is, do you?”

“Afraid not.”

“Think
gulab jamon
with powdered sugar.”

Now
that
I knew.

“I see the resemblance, but it’s more like a distant cousin, no?”

“I suppose.” His face turned wistful. “What I wouldn’t give for fresh gulab jamon soaked in sweet syrup.”

“You don’t get that here? I thought you could get anything in New York.”

“The Indian restaurants serve it, but it’s from a can. My
nani
makes it from scratch. Once you’ve had it like that, anything pales in comparison.”

“Yeah, I would agree.”

“So Miss Visitor Visa, you here with your family?”

“No.” He waited for me to add to the sentence. “I met a man,” I blurted out.

“I met a man,” he repeated, his grin widening. “Are there four more dangerous words in all the English language?”

“I don’t think so.” The disappearance of my money and independence shrank as I talked about Liam.

“This man let you leave without any money today?”

“No, that’s my own fault. I hadn’t planned to go out. He definitely would not approve. I’ll be fine as soon as I figure out what’s going on with my bank account.”

“Tell me about this man.”

My mouth curved into a smile. “He’s an artist. Well, he’s really a businessman, but an artist, too. We are as opposite as two people could be, or at least it seems so on the surface. In fact, we’re very similar. I recognized a part of me in him. I think he did the same.”

“And you came here to tell him this?”

“Oh no, he asked me to come here. We met while he was doing business in India. He’s leaving the choice to me.”

“Choice?”

“To figure out if I can find my place here. I have ninety days…well, a little less than that now.”

“So you’re kind of a ticking bomb? You’re giving yourself ninety days to figure out if you belong together.”

“Actually, Liam is giving me time to decide if I want to have this life with him here. The U.S. government is giving us ninety days.” Truthfully, we’d had many expiration dates. We’d surpassed them all. I promised myself we would pass this one as well. “I love him. You would think that’s enough, right?” I wasn’t sure if I was asking myself or Chet. Or why I was even having such a deep conversation with a stranger. I guess once you started letting people into your life, all the walls chipped and cracked, making the entire façade easier to expose. That and Chet was easy to talk to. And I was really desperate for someone to talk to.

“Honey, I’d sure love to say yes. Things are never so easy though, are they?”

“No.” I had been tense since we arrived yesterday. My muscles relaxed slowly, grateful for someone else who understood.

“That’s a very long exhale for such a diminutive girl.”

“I’ve been holding it in for a while now. I’m not exactly worldly, but I know I have to work on some things for myself. I’ve kind of been hiding away for a while. I’m not even sure who I am. Before I can make him any promises about our future, I want to make sure I can live in the present. He makes me happy, but I have to make sure I can make myself happy, too. Does that make sense?” I didn’t want to think of Liam as the man who saved me. I wanted to think of him as the man who cherished me.

“Absolutely.” He lifted his coffee toward me in a mock toast. “What an interesting dilemma for you.”

“Indeed.”

I looked down at our empty plate. I rifled thought my purse. “Chet, can you do me a favor?”

“Loaded question but shoot anyway.”

I pulled out my card. “Can you help me find this bank? I believe they have a branch here.”

“Yeah, they do.” His expression turned disapproving. “Mary, don’t hold out your plastic for anyone to snatch. I’m gonna teach you a few things, and that’s your first lesson. Now, as for the bank, it’s a bit of a walk but we can take the subway. It’s not far from my office.”

I tried to match Chet’s confident strides as we left the café. We walked down a staircase and emerged inside a tunnel. Chet bought me tokens.

“What is this?”

“There’s no such thing as a free ride, darling.”

I held the odd coin in my hand and deposited it into the receptacle. He used a card he explained was a metro card. We walked into the open doors of the long underground train. I looked around at the signs, shocked to be traveling below the ground.

He took a silver case from his jacket. He wrote on the small square inside before handing me the card and a crisp twenty-dollar bill. “This is my business card. I’ve listed my personal number on the back. Call me if you need anything. Even if it’s just to chat or vent.” He instructed me about a few more things, like holding my purse over my shoulder and across my body. Also, to stand up before my stop so I could get out.

“Thank you for your kindness. I’ll be sure to pay you back once I get my situation straightened out.”

“Don’t bother, honey. I’m serious. Just consider yourself one friend richer today.”

“I am lucky.” I heard the call of many conversations, some heavily accented and others in foreign languages. “Are there any native New Yorkers?”

He laughed. “You bet there are. When you meet one, they’ll be sure to broadcast it.” The car started slowing down. “This is where I leave you, Mary Costa. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be just fine.”

“I have no doubt you will.”

He held his hand out to me. I shook it, almost wanting to hug him. Then he gave me a quick peck on the check before standing up and heading toward the exit.

“Chet?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You never told me why you moved here from Toronto. What brought you to New York?”

He tightened his scarf and did a flourishing bow. “I met a man.”

I sat like a loon, smiling widely as the doors closed behind him.

What a crazy wonderful world.

Mary

The queue at the bank was long. But unlike the café, I prepared myself and had my documents ready when it was my turn at the window. I discovered my account was intact but frozen since I never bothered to tell them I was leaving the country. The lady switched it back on and issued me a new card. All good news.

Bad news. I was lost. I searched for the subway tunnel, but I couldn’t find the mysterious staircase. I had cash now, but no idea where I lived. No doubt, this would earn me an award for the worst immigrant ever. To make matters worse, I didn’t know Liam’s phone number, nor did I have a phone in which to contact him. I considered taking a cab to Chet’s office, but that seemed silly. How had I managed to get lost on my first day here?

Finally, I located a payphone. In the large phonebook, I searched for Liam’s number, but there was no listing. I managed to find the corporate headquarters for the Wilshire Corporation, though. I entered a ridiculous amount of change and dialed the number.

“Liam Montgomery, please,” I said to the girl who answered. She transferred me several times. I held so long, I memorized the pattern of music playing on the other line. At one point, the mechanical voice of the phone demanded more money. I prayed someone would answer before I ran out of change.

A woman finally came on the line. “He’s in meetings. I can take a message.”

I didn’t want to leave him a message. After all, what sense did that make since he couldn’t contact me back?

“It’s all right.” I hung up. I looked down at the address. It said 58th Street, and I was on 52nd, so it wasn’t that far. I hailed my first cab in the new world. I gave the man the address with a fake bravado as if I did this all the time.

When I reached my destination, I leaned my head back to take in the tall skyscraper of a building. The lobby with its huge ceiling and marble floors made me feel like a miniature version of myself. People passed in and out of the revolving doors. I was tentative, almost being swept through rather than pushing. Pointed heels clicked on the fancy floors, while my shoes created a dull shuffle, followed by an embarrassing squeak or two.

“Liam Montgomery, please,” I said to the security guard.

He looked at me suspiciously. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Who are you?”

“Mary Costa.”

“Wait there,” he instructed, pointing to a sofa. I took a seat. There were magazines. I leafed through their glossy pages and skimmed a few articles.

An hour later, a woman with shiny blond hair done in a tight knot approached me. “I understand you’re here to see Mr. Montgomery.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I just received the message. I’m one of his assistants. I’m afraid he doesn’t see people without an appointment. He’s a very important man. If you tell me what this is about, I can try to schedule something and get back to you.”

“I’m his girlfriend, actually.”

She crossed her arms as her heel tapped against the marble. “You are?”

“I am.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

Yes, why didn’t I?

“I am saying so. Can you tell him I’m here?”

“I’m afraid he left about twenty minutes ago. I’m sure you’ll catch him at home.”

I dropped the magazine. I didn’t want to admit I had no idea where home was. I looked at the huge ornate clock behind her. “It’s only three. He said he’d be here until six.”

“Perhaps he had a date.”