“I’m sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t meant to go this far. But I’m willing to pay for it.”
Still fighting to keep the tears away, she looked up at him. “Pay?” What the dickens was he talking about? Hope flickered briefly. Pay for their wedding…perhaps?
“The abortion,” he murmured.
She stared at him, her speech frozen for the moment.
“I know a fellow in town who can do it discreetly. I’ll pay for the procedure.”
“Abortion?” She blinked.
His eyes narrowed on her. “What else?”
She shook her head. “I thought you’d…that we’d…” She had come to him with a mere speck of optimism, thinking maybe, just maybe there was an ounce of decency in him, enough to make him consider marriage—if not for her, then for the child they’d made together. But he was clearly too self-centered for that.
“Bloody hell!” His face registered utter disbelief. “You actually thought we were going to get married or something?”
Or something. She glanced at him with clear contempt. “Most people who get caught up in such situations…get married.”
“In the movies, you mean?”
“In real life. A child needs…parents.”
He closed his eyes for a second and looked up at the ceiling, as if summoning divine help. “Look, I’m trying to do my best here.”
“If this is your best, what’s your worst?”
His voice gentled. “I have responsibilities, Vinita. I wish I could do more, but I just can’t…marry you.”
“So you don’t give a damn about our child?”
“I told you I can’t do anything about it.” He raked his fingers through his hair and let out a deep breath. “Why can’t you take my simple suggestion? People do it all the time these days. Why do you have to be so serious about everything?”
“Because I happen to be a serious person, Som. I could ask you a similar question. How can you take something as vital as creating a life so lightly?” Taking the easy way out was probably commonplace to him. She wondered how many girls he had impregnated, and how many babies he’d helped abort by paying for it.
He made a helpless gesture with his hands wide open. “I have responsibilities,” he repeated.
“Yeah, like your rich cousin from Bijapur,” she tossed back, the sarcasm burning her tongue.
He went still. “What do you know about that?”
She wasn’t about to give him an answer. It was clear he wasn’t going to lift a finger to legitimize her child. Their child. She owed him nothing. To him the baby was a mere inconvenience to be crushed and discarded like one of his cigarette butts.
So what was she going to do?
Suddenly both panic and despair resurfaced. She had one last chance to make him see reason. She couldn’t afford to be self-righteous or derisive. She hated begging, but there was little else she could do.
“Please, Som,” she pleaded, softening her stance.
“I can’t, Vinita.”
“I won’t hold you to the marriage. You can get a divorce immediately after the baby comes.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“After the baby’s born, you’re free to go,” she reasoned. “I’ll disappear from your life forever. You’ll never have to see me or your child again. I’ll ask for nothing from you.”
He shook his head. “You’re so damn intelligent, but you have no clue how the real world works, do you?”
She remained silent. There was truth in what he said. She could do complex mathematical calculations in her mind and memorize complicated formulae, but she was a simpleton when it came to the practical world.
With that realization came the worst sense of defeat—and desperate loneliness. She was going to have to face this alone. She had used up her last chance to reason with Som. And she’d failed.
She gazed outside the window for long minutes while Som maintained his silence behind her. The damn rain just wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop shivering. The cold seemed to have invaded her bones. She longed for a single ray of sunshine. She needed the warmth, the comfort of the sun—for someone, anyone, to tell her this, too, would pass, that things would turn out all right in the end.
Finally she turned around, picked up her umbrella, and slung her handbag over her shoulder. “I guess I’d better get out of here.”
“Here’s some money to help you out,” Som said, pulling out some large-denomination bills from his pocket and holding them out to her. When she didn’t take them, he took her hand and pressed the cash into it. “I honestly wish it hadn’t ended like this, Vinita. I’m sorry.”
Sorry indeed. “God help you when all your sins begin to catch up with you.” She placed the bills on the teapoy. “Save your money for your next lover, Mr. Kori.”
Then she opened the door and walked out into the rain.
Som shifted to the window and watched Vinita unfurl her umbrella and take measured steps down the narrow walk leading toward the footpath. She was always so careful, so meticulous—with everything. Her back looked rigid and her long braid swung from side to side. Her high-heeled chappals made a determined click-click on the wet concrete.
She didn’t look as though she was carrying a child. She looked as slender as she always did. But he believed her about the pregnancy. She was too bloody honest to lie about anything.
She continued to walk away steadily, and didn’t look back. Not once.
He should have known she’d never take his money. Why was he surprised? She wasn’t like those other girls. She had those stupid principles, and she lived by them. How many times had she tried to convince him to change his ways, to give up smoking and excessive amounts of coffee, to apply himself to his studies instead of concentrating entirely on cricket? Even after he’d shrugged off her advice, she’d repeated it—many times.
Damn! Why hadn’t he recognized that stubborn trait in her earlier? He could have saved himself a lot of trouble. And her. Come to think of it, she would have been a better match for his idealistic friend Raju than himself.
What was she going to do now? he wondered, the first rumblings of fear beginning to scratch at him. He could only hope she’d come to her senses and get that abortion. She was a sensible girl, analytical to the point of being annoying.
But what if she didn’t get that abortion? What if she decided to go to his father with her accusations? That would be the end of Som. Although marrying Vinita was out of the question—his father would rather have his son dead than see him marry a Marathi girl—it would still mean facing Appa’s wrath.
Besides, Som didn’t love Vinita. He had to admit he had come to respect her. But love? He didn’t believe in it. Silly emotions like that were reserved for women.
She’d reached the footpath now. He noticed her hailing a rickshaw and climbing in. The vehicle sputtered down the street and disappeared in seconds.
Turning around, he walked to the sofa and sat down. What was he to do?
He’d never had to face this kind of dilemma before. All the girls he’d been involved with were practical, and protected themselves one way or the other. In spite of that, two of his lovers had become pregnant.
But it had been easy enough to fix the problem. As girls from orthodox families, they had more to lose than he, so they were grateful for his help and discretion. And it had ended there. Always.
So why