Page 125 of One Indian Girl
‘Yes,’ I said vaguely. ‘Sunday, so just thought will fix up the house.’
‘I love your dress, by the way,’ Kusum said.
God, she is actually a nice person.She had praised my simple white lace dress, even though she probably wore a designer Prada or Gucci outfit herself. She was not a bitch. And that just made me feel worse.
‘It’s just Zara,’ I said.
‘Well, you have the figure for it,’ she said. She seemed fit too. I looked at her face. She was pretty, fair and had high cheekbones. I would kill to look like her at forty. I noticed she had a small bust. My boobs were better.Okay, why on earth am I comparing my body to hers? Is that all we women are? I am a vice president at Goldman Sachs. Why doesn’t that make me feel as smug as knowing I have bigger boobs than Neel’s wife? And why am I comparing myself to her at all?
‘Th...thanks,’ I stammered, remembering she had given me a compliment.
‘You have lunch plans?’ she said.
‘Er, actually, I normally don’t eat lunch,’ I said, making up nonsense as I spoke.
‘We are just heading to the food court outside IKEA. Feel free to join us,’ Kusum said.
I looked at Neel.Can the great partner at Goldman Sachs use his brain to get me out of this?
‘Yeah, join us. Because it would be great if you can join us,’ he rambled on, ‘but not if you don’t want to.’
I glared at him.What do you mean, ‘not if you don’t want to’?
‘Have a salad. It’s not good to skip meals,’ Kusum said.
‘Oh okay,’ I said in meek submission.
‘I understand you must be on a diet. Trust me, I go through the same,’ Kusum said and smiled at me.
So now what? Were we bonding together? Wife and mistress? Fuck, did I just call myself mistress? I am not a mistress. I am a vice president, for God’s sake.
I followed Neel’s family out of IKEA and to the food court in a daze. I saw taxis out on the road. I had the urge to jump into one and scoot away or maybe just jump under one of them and die.
‘Mom, I want French fries with my noodles,’ Siya said.
‘No, I will get you some veggies instead,’ Kusum said. Siya made a face. Kusum glared at her daughter. Siya got the message and began to eat her lunch. Aryan had home food. Neel ordered a chicken wrap, Kusum a quinoa salad. I went for fried rice, though I ate it like a little bird, one grain at a time.
‘Liking Hong Kong?’ Kusum said.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Compact, convenient. Work is good.’
‘Made some friends?’ she said.
‘Well, work people, mostly,’ I said.
‘That’s Goldman for you. They make you work so much, you don’t have a life outside.’
‘That’s not true,’ Neel said. ‘I come home on time.’
‘You are a partner. These poor associates and VPs have to do the grunt work.’
Neel shrugged.
‘You have to pay your dues,’ he said.
‘I couldn’t handle it. JP Morgan for eight years. I just quit.’
‘Oh, you were in banking?’ I said. Neel never told me that. Well, he never told meanythingabout her.
