EIGHTEEN

I leaned heavily into my mother as she guided me back to the manor.

“Reva,” Keely said as she spotted us coming in. “So glad you could join...” She looked at me. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine,” Mom told her. She guided me toward the stairs. “We’ll be back down in a minute.”

“I’ll have some tea sent up, Reva,” Keely called up to us.

“Thank you,” Mom said. “Thank you.”

We reached the second floor, and I led her to my room.

“Such a pretty place,” she said as she sat down on my bed with me.

Weeping, I looked around and nodded. “It is such a lovely room, isn’t it.”

She pulled me into her arms, holding me tight. “Now, tell me what has you in such a state.”

I couldn’t speak. I simply cried, weeping like a hadn’t in such a long time.

“My beautiful and intelligent little girl,” she said, raking her long fingernails through my tangled hair. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve held you like this.”

I pulled away to look at her, surprised to see tears in her eyes.

“When I was nine years old,” I said, remembering quite clearly that last time.

Her nod was filled with regret. Her lips pinched into a hard and self-reproaching line and her nostrils tightened momentarily.

“Yes,” she let out in a weak croak. She swallowed loud and hard. “The year your father passed away.”

I nodded as the pain of that loss struck me once again.

“You suddenly closed up after that,” she said.

I nodded again.

“Before that, you would tell me everything.” She chuckled, almost to herself. “You would tell me all about your day in school, right down to what you’d eaten for lunch and what certain classmates had worn to school that day. You would tell me about the boy who’d pulled your hair, or the girl who’d stolen your pink pen. Then, on that fateful day, nothing. You simply clammed up.”

Releasing me, she stood. She walked around the room looking idly at my things that laid about. She briefly picked up my hairbrush then set it back down. With her finger, she traced the title of the dogeared script that lay on my dresser. She ran her hand over the jacket I’d left on the back of my chair.

“In med school,” she said softly, “studying to be a doctor, I didn’t plan on becoming a widow. I didn’t plan on becoming a single mother.”

“I know.”

“Things became so hectic. After your father died, I lost myself in my work.” She picked up the lavender sweater I’d worn the night before and had left hanging on the bedpost. Hugging it to her and smelling it, she looked at me. “I saw you as a very solitary child. I thought you enjoyed being by yourself, enjoyed your own company. You kept to yourself... so private and closed off. I guess it was all too convenient for me to think it was how you wanted things to be.”

“I did manage pretty well on my own.”

“Yes,” she said with a vague nod. “You managed ... quite well, I might add. You had your books and your movies and your music and...” She came around the bed to sit beside me once again. “I wish I’d been there more for you.”

I reached out for her hand. “You’re partially right, Mom. A part of me did want to be alone. A part of me escaped into the world of books, films and music.”

“But...”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe there was a time or two when I wished you’d get home early; a time or two when I was disappointed when you were called to the hospital for an emergency. But I understood.” I squeezed her hand. “I admired you. The older I got, the more I admired your strength. I came to realize how difficult it all was for you. After all, you’d lost your husband. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

She ran her fingers over my cheek.

“The important thing,” I went on, “is that you were there for me when I really needed you.”

“Was I?” She looked away, not wanting an answer. “You know, when you started going to college, then attended grad school, I noticed how... well, how minimal your social life was. You never brought friends home, never brought a boy home... you never even talked about friends or potential boyfriends.”

“I was a very serious student,” I said in my defense.

“Indeed, you were. But that didn’t keep me from growing concerned.” She turned to me. “The single life isn’t always easy. I still miss your father terribly, and while I know I’m a strong and independent woman, I also know the benefits of having a good and strong man at my side. And that’s what I wanted for you; a good man.”

“That’s why you fixed me up.”

She nodded.

“I knew that many of my friends from back in India had children of their own; children around the same age as you. When I learned that Naya and her son Desi Barnaby now lived here in England, and you were coming to work on this project...” She raised her free hand to the heavens and smiled as she squeezed my hand. “I thought; this is meant to be.”

“I appreciate the effort you put in to making that arrangement,” I said as tears streamed down my face. “Things were complicated from the beginning. I did try to meet with him, but he didn’t show up...and then...” My voice trailed off.

“Tell me honestly,” Mom said. “Were you excited at the prospect of meeting him? Did you trust your mother’s intuition?”

I chuckled lightly. “I have to admit that I had my doubts at first. But when I saw him... so handsome, so charming, so... the dream boyfriend I always wanted. Yes. Yes, I was excited and happy to meet him.”

“And now? Is he the one you’re crying over? Did things not work out between you?”

“Oh, Mom,” I said as a fresh wave of tears poured down my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I really am so sorry. I know how important this is to you, and I know how much you like him and approve of him and... your friend set this up and... Oh. How can I tell you this?”

“Tell your mother the truth, Ayra. Just tell me.”

I looked into her eyes. “Mom, he’s just not the kind of guy I originally thought he was.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand. For years you’ve spoken about this Mr. Darcy character, and I always assumed you wanted to meet someone like him. What did I get wrong?”

“He may play Mr. Darcy, but he really isn’t like him at all.” In fact, the more I thought about it, the more he resembled the dastardly Wickham.

Mom blushed and leaned back. “You’re going to think I’m just an old woman who doesn’t know much about much, but... Well, when his mother, Jaya, told me that his name sounded like Darcy...” She laughed at herself. “Doshi. It does sound like Darcy, don’t you think?”

“Doshi?” My tears suddenly stopped flowing as I frowned and looked at her. “Mom, what are you talking about?”

“The boy you met. Jaya’s son.”

“Jaya? Mom, Doshi is Jai’s middle name, not Barnaby’s.”

“That’s right. Yes. Jai is Jaya’s son. You remember Jaya, don’t you?”

“Mom, you told me I was meeting Naya’s son Barnaby.”

“Well, yes. Her son, too.” She let out a light laugh. “You know, there are plenty of Aunties in India. Many of my friends have attractive sons that I could have set you up with. I just picked these two because they both live in England, since you seem to talk about wanting to visit England all the time, how you love England, how England is where Jane Austen lived.”

“I do believe there has been a bit of confusion here,” I said.

“Honey. Jai’s mom was pleased with the idea of you meeting him. But we both decided it was up to you kids to decide if you wanted to meet up or not. On the other hand, Naya was rather insistent that you meet her son Barnaby.”

“She was?”

“He’s constantly surrounded by women, beautiful and available women; a bunch of models and actresses. That’s not what Naya wants for her boy. She knew that you were a good girl from back home. She knew that I raised you to have values and was certain you two would hit it off.”

“Mom,” I said, smiling for the first time since seeing her. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

She cocked her head to the side. “What?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re saying that you wanted to set me up with Jai.”

“Right.”

“Jai. Jai Doshi. He’s my Mr. Darcy. Oh, Mom. You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.”