Kala gets up from the table and leaves Wolfgang to stare at the ceramic cup she left behind.
He stands abruptly, catches sight of her as she crosses the street. Kala looks around and raises her arm to hail a cab.
The same panicked instinct that drove him to chase her down 6 years ago rears it's unruly head. Wolfgang squeezes between the cafe fences, breaks into a sprint to cross the street against the light. He almost gets run over in his frantic effort to get to Kala. But as he edges between moving vehicles, he doesn't escape getting bumped by another car from the other direction, just as a taxi pulls up alongside her.
He's down on the street before he realizes it. Wolfgang blinks in surprise, his view of Kala obstructed by the taxi. All he can think is that he doesn't know where she lives anymore; he'll never find her again.
He gasps in pain as he sits up, the driver already out of her vehicle and frantically asking if he's ok. Someone is calling 911 on their cell. He presses a hand to his hip, winces as he tries to stand.
"You idiot."
And he looks up into her liquid brown eyes - anxious, angry but relieved - and thinks fuck the broken hip; it's worth it.
...
"That is not who I think it is, is it?"
Kala intercepts her sister before she flings open the curtain to check on her latest ER patient. Daya is staring open-mouthed at her chart, pointing at it accusingly. "It is," says Kala through gritted teeth.
"'Pedestrian accident'," Daya says, reading the intake note. "Unless you're the one that hit him, there's absolutely no reason for you to be near That Man."
Kala takes a deep breath. "I didn't hit him," she says thinly, "but he got hurt chasing after me."
"Of course he did," Daya grumbles. "So you felt compelled to accompany him in the ambulance. And now you're here." She is angry as she walks past Kala, flings open the curtain and quickly closes it behind her, before Kala can follow. "Sorry, Tai," she says from the other side, calling Kala by the Marathi word for "elder sister". "HIPAA rules."
Kala stares back at the white fabric, confounded more by that than any patient privacy laws. She can hear Daya ask questions in a low tone and Wolfgang mumble his response. Kala chews her lip and frowns. Daya is right. She really shouldn't stay; this was a bad idea.
She backs away from the curtain.
...
For their second date they agree to have dinner and see a play. Wolfgang suggests they meet early, go to the Art Institute for the afternoon. Kala has errands first but agrees to meet him on the steps to the entrance after 12. Somehow, neither think this is excessive, to spend so much time together on a second date.
Wolfgang is there before Kala arrives. He paces a little. He's in a gray linen shirt, sleeves rolled up, dark jeans, but he second-guesses his choice of clothes. Wolfgang doesn't bother with false modesty, but he broods that he doesn't look good enough for her.
He is uncharacteristically insecure. Kala enjoys his company, but she doesn't give a clue if she's as physically attracted to him as he is to her.
He leans against the base of one of the famous lions that flank the entrance to the museum. His eyes are hidden behind mirrored aviator glasses, scanning the streets for Kala.
He finally sees her as she steps off a bus across the street. She waits at the corner for the light to change, eyes crinkling into a shy smile when she spots him. Her dark hair is piled loosely on her head, exposing bare neck and shoulders; she wears a yellow linen sundress that reaches her ankles. When she crosses the street, her movements swirl the skirt around her legs, and Wolfgang's jaw goes a little slack. His imagination already has them wrapped around his hips. He takes off his sunglasses and smiles when she reaches him. He feels intoxicated by her answering smile.
They wander through almost every collection in almost every gallery and exchange opinions although Wolfgang openly admits he just likes what he likes. Kala gives an impish grin.
"Yes," she says. "Me too." Then: "Look," and she hurries down the corridor they'd been idly wandering in. He has to walk a little faster to catch up to her when she turns down a corner and into another room. He stands beside her as she stops in front of a very large painting.
Oil on canvas. Modern. Francis Bacon. Figure With Meat.
She stares at it intently, as if searching for answers in the long pale face centered between the halved carcass of a cow.
Wolfgang tilts his head quizzically. "Huh," he huffs, a laugh in his voice. "I thought for sure you like the Seurat best." He moves to stand a little behind her and bends so that he's roughly her height, his chin almost resting on her shoulder. "I'm afraid to ask what you find so intriguing about this painting," he says, genuinely curious.
She is very aware of him. Of his mouth by her ear, of his faintly minty breath, chasing along the bare column of her neck. It tickles the hoop earrings resting against a pulse point.
He has such a presence. He is overwhelming.
Kala smiles, shifts her body slightly to put some space between them. "What intrigues me? All sorts of things," she says. She wonders if she sounds slightly breathless; she doesn't dare to face him. "Maybe it's the colors. Or maybe it's the mood; it seems eerie, somber. And I don't pretend to understand the hanging meat. But I love this."
She can feel him watching her face rather than looking at the painting. She purses her mouth, licks lips that have suddenly gone dry and gives a self-conscious laugh. "I'm not sure what that says about me."
Wolfgang straightens himself, smiles lazily. "Just that you have eclectic taste," he says.
When they finish at the museum it's too early for their dinner reservation, so Wolfgang invites Kala to his place for iced coffee to pass the time. Kala looks at him suspiciously. Wolfgang gives a wounded look that makes her roll her eyes; he insists it's just coffee. She smiles at his nonsense, agrees to go. They decide to walk the one mile towards the south loop. They talk the entire way. About her job as a research chemist; about his frustrations working for his uncle. They share anecdotes, make each other laugh. At some point, he takes her hand. She doesn't object.
He lives in a building that was once, about a hundred years ago, a shoe factory. Now it's a trendy loft in a hip and expensive part of town, blocks from the lakefront.
"You have a nice place."
Wolfgang's condo is a corner unit with huge floor- to- ceiling windows giving plenty of natural light. It's exposed brick and oak beams, furnished minimally with mid-century modern pieces. It's beautiful, although a little spartan for Kala. (When she moves in, she will add color: orange and purple and reds in art on the walls and fresh flowers from the Farmer's Market. But until then, his place is blacks and grays.)
She sits on a bar stool and leans against the white marble countertop while he goes about the serious task of being a barista. Wolfgang grabs cups and spoons from cabinets and drawers and opens more cabinets and a pantry to grab everything else that he needs.
They talk about Kala's sister, Daya, whose crazy hours as a resident at a large hospital make Kala nervous; about Wolfgang's brother Felix, who's the only thing Wolfgang misses about Germany.
Wolfgang grinds beans and makes their coffee with a French press. Kala raises her eyebrows when he suggests topping the drinks with whipped cream but accepts anyway. It's delicious, and she tells him so, flicking her tongue to catch a bit of the cream at the side of her mouth, just as he reaches over with his thumb to swipe it away. He inadvertently touches the tip of her tongue. She merely smiles, doesn't comment at the flicker in his eyes she pretends not to see.
…...
Daya examines Wolfgang with the sort of detached concern one would expect from an emergency room physician.
He's in a hospital gown and underwear, shirt and pants already removed. His side is beginning to purple with a contusion that grows along his thigh and pelvis. Daya touches along the marks with careful firmness, manipulates his leg to check for motion: She asks him pointed questions and notes where he's in pain. She doesn't think that his hip is broken but tells him that she'll order an x ray; they need to be sure. "Hip fractures aren't anything to fool around with."
"Daya," he says.
Daya doesn't bother to look up from her computer pad. "Unless it's about your injury, I'm not interested."
"Daya -"
"Not interested." She finishes her entry, stands back on her heels to finally look at Wolfgang. "And Kala's not either," she says firmly, an edge to her voice. "We're not going to go through that again Wolfgang. She was a wreck after you left, and no way am I going to let you near her. I don't care if you throw yourself in front of a train." She takes a deep breath, looks hard at him before she becomes the ER physician again. "The nurse will be here shortly to take you in for your x ray." She leaves in a swish of hospital curtains.
Wolfgang stares after her, waits half-expecting Kala to appear. But she doesn't.
He lies on his back, looks up at the ceiling tiles with unseeing eyes. He doesn't want to wait for x rays. He's been in enough fights to tell that he's probably just bruised. He wants to leave.
He wonders how long he's been there, if Kala is still there too or has long since left. He shifts impatiently on the bed, feels a shooting pain rocket from his side and sighs in disappointment when the curtain opens and a nurse comes in. She tells him they'll be taking him in a moment but there's some delay, so she makes him more comfortable by propping him up a little with the pillows before disappearing again.
Wolfgang stares after her and waits, but Kala doesn't appear. He picks at the bed sheet, wishes he'd thought to ask for his phone although he's not supposed to be on it in the ER. He wonders why he's so frantic to see her again. He'd been fine all these years: If he thought of her at all - and perhaps he did, sometimes, when something reminds him, of her - little things t was with regret that they hadn't cleared things between them. They'd deserved that much.
Fuck.
The curtain swishes open and Kala walks in, frowning.
"Suesse," he murmurs softly. His voice cracks.
Kala winces, annoyed by the endearment.
…..
Their third date is salvaged from disaster.
It's over a week since they see each other: Schedules get in the way of meeting after work, although they talk a few times to make plans that get canceled at the last minute. They send each other messages throughout their days, pleased by these random communications that show mutual interest.
They have tickets to attend an outdoor concert Friday evening, but when it rains all morning, Kala gives a frustrated huff and calls Wolfgang during a work break to suggest alternate plans.
She is on the phone with him when her sister calls from the hospital. Their father is there, in the ER. He had a heart attack.
Kala doesn't have a car. Wolfgang isn't too far, so he insists on getting her from the lab and drives her to the hospital.
He is introduced to Kala's mother, Priya, in the waiting room. Kala's father is already being prepped for bypass surgery.
Kala looks pale; Wolfgang helps her to a seat. He sits awkwardly next to her while she speaks to her mother in Marathi. He's not sure if Kala even knows she's clutching his hand in a death grip.
He stays with her during the long wait, even though half an hour in, Kala tells him he should go, that he doesn't need to stay. She looks fragile, haunted. He tells her he'll wait a little longer.
He's there when Daya comes out to speak briefly to her sister and mother; she nods at Wolfgang, whom she recognizes from the second date. He gives them privacy, brings them some food from the cafeteria when he realizes no one has eaten in hours.
He's still there when the doctor finally comes to say the bypass went well and that Sanyam is in the recovery room. Priya almost collapses in relief.
Daya comes back out to escort her mother to see Sanyam. Their father is not coherent, so she tells Kala it's better to come back in the morning. Daya works a double shift and says she will keep an eye on their parents.
Wolfgang asks Kala if she wants to eat. It's a shock to see that it's only 7 in the evening. She shakes her head, silent. They're walking to the parking garage when he suggests just taking her home. She nods. Her hands feel icy in his.
Kala changes her mind as he drives north toward the apartment she shares with Daya. She asks tentatively if they can go to his place for a little bit. "Yeah, sure," he says, changing lanes to turn the car around. She turns her face and looks outside the window, her profile haloed by warm sunset hues that he will always associate with her. The rain stopped hours ago.
She's silent the entire ride back and as they walk into his apartment. He follows behind her, doesn't bother turning on more than the ambient lighting, aware that she is brittle and exhausted. She walks to the sofa, sits carefully on the edge as he sits beside her. He hesitates for a moment before he covers her clasped hands in his, feels the tremble in them, rubs his thumb over knuckles that have gone white. She leans a little into him and he puts a tentative arm around her.
He holds her as she begins to cry; heaving, wrecking sobs.
A/N: As always, thank you for reading:-) Reviews are much appreciated!