Heartbreak Cake (13 page)

The women giggle and their facial expressions openly admit to the sins of the week, and some of them chatter about birthday cake and bottomless mimosas that were the saboteurs of their fitness.

With a press of the “play” button on the iPod, the room fills with the quick beats of reggaeton and everyone takes off into a choreographed routine, the sound of chiming coins following in their footsteps.

“Indira, follow along,” the instructor says encouragingly. “You have natural ability. Let your long legs lead you.”

Yes, mother.

Its 9 a.m. on Sunday as I shake my hips vigorously and easily transition into a quick cha cha along with the rest of the Zumba class, but what I really want is to go back to bed where I can nurse my wounded ego—and hangover—with the dignity of a woman over the age of thirty-five.

“Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle,” the class screams, and despite myself, I can’t help but get caught up in the frenzy of the music and enthusiasm. It really does feel like a dance party.

My mother catches me moving with much more panache than I started out with, and she winks at me proudly.

I am my mother’s daughter.

Shavani Patel became an aerobics instructor in the 80s during the Jane Fonda craze and right around the time she caught my father cheating on her with his cliché of a twenty-two-year-old teacher’s assistant. I firmly believe that teaching Jazzercise kept her sane when her marriage was falling apart. The youngest of three girls, she was set to follow in her sisters’ footsteps and get married, make samosas, and raise a gaggle of adorable kids. It’s what she was always told was her future, but inside she wanted more. She dreamed of being a single career girl like that woman she watched on
The Mary Tyler Moore Show
at her friend Utsa’s house.

So she did what no one expected her to do and asked her parents for their blessing to move to Los Angeles for a year. Just a year, she swore.

“You always say you don’t like coming to my classes, and then look at you,” my mother says after the class, wiping the sweat off her brow and taking a chug from her purple plastic water bottle that reads, “Peace, Love, Zumba.” She peers up at me from her Tinker Ball stature. “You are glowing. This is much better than how you looked when you got here. Did you eat? I didn’t even see you drink any water during the workout?”

“Mom, I’m fine. I just had so much fun in your class. I forgot how much energy you have.”

“All those years of working was worth it. Now I’m retired and do what I want.” She grabs her duffle bag and packs up her hip scarf, and we head to her baby blue convertible bug with a license plate that reads “zumbaluv,” a little gift she bought herself when she retired.

When she arrived in Los Angeles, she’d rented a tiny one-room apartment above a dance studio on the corner of Melrose Avenue and Fairfax. She wore heels and pencil skirts instead of
saris
and
salawar
suits to her job as a secretary at a nearby elementary school. She drank wine and smoked cigarettes with friends after work, and even though she was unbelievably homesick for Bombay, her sisters and her parents, she reveled in how American her life was now.

It was on a Friday night after coming home from work that she spotted a man inside the dance studio, holding a woman firmly in his arms, their faces just inches apart. They appeared to be dragging each other across the dance floor, and my mother was mesmerized by the sensuality of each step. She signed up for classes the next afternoon and fell in love with tango and the dance instructor, Ignacio Aguilar.

“Let’s go to Julienne’s,” my mother suggests, and I squeal happily.

“Ohh, ohhh, I am getting the chocolate chip waffles.” My stomach growls, and I rush over to my mom who unlocks the car door.

“Don’t forget the crème brulee French toast.” My mother waits for me to click my seatbelt on and only then does she pull away from the curb, while humming along to Billy Joel.

I lean my head against the car seat and close my eyes. Sometimes it feels good to be twelve again.

***

A chocolate chip waffle covered in strawberries and some downtime with my mom is helping me shake off the unsettling feeling I’ve had since yesterday’s party at Crystal Cove.

Dinner with Noah was surprisingly enjoyable, even though I spent a lot of the night catching Valentina scowling at me while Josh refused to meet my eyes.

“How’s work?” My mother drizzles honey over her unbuttered slices of wheat toast.

“Great, we’re busy with that big wedding coming up in a couple of weeks. The one I was telling you about? The Hemsley wedding.”

“I love her father’s movies. All those action adventures. Makes me want to go on a safari.” My mother’s eyes gleam. “Your brother tells me
The New York Times
is coming to write a story about you and Pedro.”

“Well, more about the shop and how we develop wedding ideas,” I explain, while taking a nervous sip of my coffee and shaking my foot under the table, suddenly very aware that my mother is interrogating me in that subtle way she has that’s never made it easy for me to hide things from her.

She takes a healthy bite from her veggie egg white omelet and gives me her most earnest, loving mom-face.

Oh lord.

“We are also going to be live on
Good Morning Los Angeles
on Wednesday. Not sure if I told you,” I say, curling a piece of hair around my finger as my mom gives me a sunny smile.

“That’s wonderful, Indira. I’m so proud of you! You are doing an amazing job. It’s just so hard to imagine that you are willing to risk it all for someone who kicked you out of your home in the middle of the night.

I look at my mom as she takes a bite from her organic chicken apple sausage, still smiling at me, and I wonder if I heard her wrong.

“Excuse me, Mom, I don’t think I heard what you said.”

“Indira, stop it. I know what’s going on with you and Josh. Did you honestly think you could keep that from me? I told you when you were fourteen, I know everything you are doing at all times.”

“Mom,” I sputter, “how did you find out?”

“Well, you’ve been acting different the last few months, but actually, your father called and told me.”

“What? I just want to disappear,” I groan and cover my face with my hands, not caring that my fork had whipped cream on it and now I’m wearing it in my hair.

Your father called me yesterday. He’s dating this young woman from Long Beach, who works for a show called
Beach TV
.”

“Ugh, Katherine Peeples?”

“That’s the one,” she says with a shake of her head. “She’s ten years younger than me, Mom. Doesn’t that make you mad?”

The man is a bona fide chick magnet and always has been.

Women love him. They love his wavy hair, how he calls wine
tinto
, rides a moped instead of driving a car, and no matter where he is, he’s the first one on the dance floor. Tango, specifically, but he can swing, foxtrot, rumba, cha cha, two step, do the hustle, and glide you around in a heated samba.

“Ignacio and I still talk, you know that. Especially when it comes to our children,” my mother says with a tug of loyalty toward my father. Something she’s always given him despite the fact he’s never earned it.

“He’s father of the year. Please, Mom, Dad’s biggest concern is who is going to keep him company for the month.”

“Indira, stop avoiding the subject. This is about you, not your father.” She pushes her plate away and looks flustered, which isn’t like her at all. “Your father,” she starts over, “called to tell me he was concerned because this friend of his said she heard you may be in trouble. Your business.”

“I’m handling it.”

“So this is true?” My mother looks crestfallen, and I know that I have disappointed her in so many ways. The shame I feel is palpable.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you. It has not been my finest decision, and all I can do now is try to fix it as best as I can.”

“How? Sounds like you’re just hoping all your troubles will go away if you ignore them. But do you have a plan?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m just trying to focus on my business right now, and hopefully things will blow over. What else can I do? Josh’s wife wants me to leave town, and I can’t do that. And now it looks like word has spread about our affair, and we are losing business. But I don’t think there’s anything I can do now. The domino effect has started, and I’m just hoping that in the end I’ll still be standing. And to be fair to myself, Josh and I were involved for four years. The affair was just this last year. It was a terrible idea, but it’s not like we didn’t have a past.”

Getting my mom to see my reasoning is important. She needs to know that this isn’t so black and white. It never was. There are so many layers to how I ended up here.

“We had a home together, Mom, a life.”

“I believe he kicked you out of his home in the middle of the night, once his wife showed up. Isn’t that how it worked out?” My mother’s soft Punjabi lilt sounds elegant despite the harshness of her words.

I have nothing more to say. I’m tired of having to do this day in and day out for the last week. And it’s even more exhausting to have to defend myself to my mother, the one person who always looked at me like I was perfect.

“I could use your support, Mom. I could lose everything because of an emotional decision I made. I hate that my personal life is just out there for everyone to gossip about. I feel so…judged, while Josh seems to be surviving this unscathed.”

“That’s always the case. Women, we have the harder time in life.” My mother waves at the server and beckons him over with a friendly smile.

“Ma’am?”

“Hi there, can we get some champagne with orange juice.”

“Mom, it’s not even noon yet.”

My mother winks at the server letting him know to get the champagne. “Listen
pyara
. You’ve always been private with your feelings. Since you were a little girl. I blame our own family controversies for making you think you couldn’t talk about your feelings. What you and Josh did? It’s not like you. But maybe we should celebrate the fact that you went out on a limb for love. Not the best person to risk it all for, but it’s a good start. Love is not for the weak. Just hold your head up high. And you will get through this, somehow.”

“I just wanted to be with him.”

“Love can be complicated sometimes.”

I know my mother is thinking about my dad. We don’t talk about it because she knows how angry I can get, but I know she still loves him. And if you ask my father, he swears he will always love Shavani Patel.

Which makes me think about my date last night with Noah.

He was the perfect first date. He was always by my side, he made me laugh, he asked me all the right questions, and he ended the night by taking me out to the beach with a blanket, a bottle of red wine, and a slice of chocolate cake. It was wonderful. And he was a gentleman and didn’t attempt an embarrassing make-out scene like some other guys would.

But there was a moment at the end of the evening when I was waiting for Noah. I stood by the edge of the balcony looking out into the ocean, and I let myself
feel
. Not think, and not rationalize, just feel. And there was only one person I wanted to see.

Scanning the room I looked for the mop of wavy hair until I found him. Josh. And when he turned around and caught me staring at him, he smiled as if he, too, had been waiting to see me.

The server comes by with our mimosas and sets them down in front of us, knocking me out of my reverie.

“Mom, trust me, I won’t waste another day on him.”

“Do me a favor. Call you father. He said he’s left you a dozen messages. I’m not sure if he’s just being his dramatic self, but if he’s not, go meet him for
cafecito.
Give him a break already.
”

“Alright, alright, but he better not try and parent me, especially when he’s dating Katherine Peeples. God, what a family of sinners we are.”

My mom picks up her glass and holds it midair. “Let’s toast.”

“What in the world are we celebrating?” I hold my glass up.

“Heartbreak, of course. What would life be without the ebb and flow of love?”

Taking in my mom’s sweet smile, she appears hopeful. And I realize after years of being her daughter, that she may be the smartest woman I’ve ever met. She never let life make her bitter or cynical, she just continues to celebrate all of its different chapters.

“To heartbreak, Mom. May we all be so lucky to have had it.”

Chapter 12