“Hi. I am Tara,” she said, shaking Alyona’s hand.
“My God, you are so tall and beautiful. Are you from India? Indian girls are very beautiful. But they are not tall. How come you are tall?”
Tara smiled politely. “Thank you.” She offered no explanation for being Indian and tall.
“I had a coworker who once brought biryani to work. So delicious! You cook biryani?”
“I’ve never cooked it so far, but my mother has a good recipe.” Tara’s smile broadened.
In the ten minutes that she spent in conversation with Alyona, Tara learned all the basic facts about her life. She was a Russian immigrant and worked as a hairdresser in the little salon called Eclips next to Bharat Bazaar. She had been married to an American, but they divorced last year. Viktor, who was seven years old, lived with her, but spent his vacations with his dad in Charlotte, North Carolina. Tara would see them more often, loitering in the breezeway and in the parking lot, now that Viktor was back from his summer vacation at his dad’s.
Tara was suffused with cheer that evening. Alyona had an easy, warm nature. It was strangely comforting to Tara that Alyona was a foreigner like her and spoke English with an accent. She made a mental note to ask Amma for her biryani recipe.
Tara’s apartment was often the setting for afternoon bonding sessions over hot cups of cardamom-flavored chai. Alyona talked. A lot. She had fair command over the English language, and words tumbled out of her mouth in accented glory. She talked about her former life in Russia, where she had been a lawyer; about her seven-year marriage to Andrew, whom she had met at the Ruby Tuesday in Charlotte where she was a waitress, and he the manager. Her marriage had fallen apart when Andrew left her for another girl he had met at the same restaurant. She spoke about her boss, a Russian woman named Lyudmila, who had taken Alyona under her wing after her divorce, providing her training and a job at her salon, and about the other girls, one an Indian Ismaili, who worked there.
Sanjay was obsessed with elections all fall, watching every presidential debate and every analysis on CNN, until even Tara, who didn’t know much about American politics, was hooked. But Alyona had no interest in who became president. Ironically, Alyona could vote, Sanjay could not. Alyona could also laugh, at the silliest of things. Sanjay did not.
A few times, Tara offered to babysit Viktor after he got back from his after-school program while Alyona ran errands, for which she was rewarded with a hug and a kiss, both from mother and son. Viktor was easy to babysit. He watched the cartoons on PBS or did his homework, while Tara sat next to him reading a magazine. Sometimes Alyona allowed him to bring his Gameboy over, and that usually meant Viktor would be lost to the world, engrossed in his Pokémon games.
Tara loved to hear little Viktor talk, and immersed her curiosity in gleaning whatever tidbits she could from him about life in America. He said, at school, he had chicken nuggets or hot dogs or mac ’n’ cheese with chocolate milk. Mommy also fixed the same kind of dinner every day. But Daddy cooked almost every evening. He baked chicken or fish, put together casseroles, cooked a pot roast or chili, and made fresh salads.
Viktor had a friend, Julian, at school, and sometimes Mommy planned with his mommy to have playdates and sleepovers. Julian lived in a home with a slide and swing in the backyard, and a playful German Shepherd called Max. Sometimes, Julian’s parents had family barbeque nights. They grilled hot dogs and cheeseburgers on an outdoor grill in the backyard, but they didn’t do that so much anymore because it was getting cold outside. Like a patchwork quilt, from Viktor’s accounts, Tara stitched together a fair idea of American life. To this she added the TV show accounts, until an American family birthed in her mind—an amalgamation of the Barone family, the Cosby family, and Julian’s family.
Thanksgiving brought colder climes to Atlanta. The clocks fell back, which meant the days got shorter, and darkness lingered. The trees shed their fall magnificence, and within no time, they became eerie contortions of bare arms that stretched out toward a bitter sky. The low temperatures made it increasingly difficult for Tara to step out. She didn’t have a coat or warm clothes, save for her one light jacket, but she was too embarrassed to ask Sanjay to buy her anything.
“You are stupid!” said Alyona bluntly when she saw Tara shiver, back hunched, arms crossed against her chest, after a short walk to the mailbox one afternoon. “You cook, cook, cook, buy so much grocery. Why you can’t ask for coat? You ask husband today, okay?”
Tara laughed to cover her embarrassment. She had hoped Sanjay would notice her need for a coat and offer to take her to the mall, but Alyona was right, she couldn’t wait any longer.
“Alyona said coats are on sale now,” she broached the subject after they had watched Everybody Loves Raymond that evening.
“What’s with Alyona this and Alyona that?” He sounded irritated. “Do you have to be friends with a hairdresser?”
It was the way he said hairdresser, in the flagrant manner his prejudices showed up. “I thought America is a classless society.” she said sharply.
“There is no such thing as a classless society, not even in communist countries.”
Tara bristled but said nothing after that. It suddenly seemed to her that she had married a Jekyll and Hyde character—the sensitive Sanjay emerged only under the sheets. Outside of it, she still had a cold man to deal with.
“Did you ask Sanjay for coat?” Alyona was on her case again the next afternoon. There was no getting away from her friend’s persistence.
“I didn’t have the chance.”
“You silly girl! Come, I will take you.”
Tara’s eyes widened in alarm. A few quarters, dimes and pennies sitting in a little glass jar were all she could lay her hands on.
“No, no. I will definitely ask him today,” she said.
“I will pay you for babysitting Viktor. You can buy coat.”
“Oh no, I can’t accept money for babysitting Viktor.”
“Yes, you will. Come on now.”
Because Alyona would not take no for an answer, Tara followed her to her Mini Cooper and wrung her hands and chewed on her fingernails during their drive to the thrift store in Decatur. She didn’t know what a thrift store was; she had never heard of one before. The price tags on the coats made her eyes bulge.
“Everything is so cheap!” she exclaimed.
“This is thrift store, silly. All used clothes here,” Alyona giggled.
“Oh! A second-hand store?”
“Yes, dear. Buy a coat, and some sweaters also. You will need them if you want to survive winter.”
The musty smell of mothballs and mildew seemed suddenly stronger, and the clothes on the hangers appeared very secondhand. Not that it mattered—not that she was in a position to let it matter.
Tara returned home with a bag stuffed with two turtleneck sweaters and a black cardigan. She wore her new black woolen coat, which was not a very good idea because it had made her hot and sweaty during their ride back home.
Sanjay was home early from work. She found him on the sofa, still in his office clothes, forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped together, and something about his expression told her she had tested his patience.
“You got home early today,” she remarked.