Chrissy Kolaya - Charmed Particles

“Do you think?” Abhijat asked, though he was certain he’d made a wise purchase, having first consulted numerous back issues of Consumer Reports at the public library before making his selection.

The day of the barbeque was as sunny and warm as Abhijat could have hoped.

“Your seventeenth anniversary,” Rose said. “This is certainly a novel way to celebrate such an occasion.”

“Is it?” Abhijat asked, his head turned a little to the side as though taking this in. “We have not, in previous years, marked the occasion.”

Sarala made her way around the patio with a tray of lemonade, handing out glasses to each of their guests.

Lily stood near her parents.

“So are you packed and ready to go?” Meena asked her.

“Not yet,” Lily answered, though she seemed to be looking off somewhere behind Meena’s head as she spoke. Since Meena’s confession, their interactions had yet to return to normal, though Meena hoped they would soon.

“And how has your campaign been going, Mrs. Winchester?” Carol asked.

“How kind of you to ask,” Rose said, smiling and turning toward Carol and Bob. “We’re all very hopeful.”

“I imagine this business with the collider has been quite a coup,” Bob said, hands in his pockets, rocking back a little on his heels.

Carol gave him a look, but he was prevented from further pursuing that line of thought by Abhijat’s voice, which rang out through the small group of guests. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?”

Their heads turned to regard their host, who stood in front of the sliding-glass doors. Abhijat took a note card from his back pocket and, peering down at it, realized he had forgotten his reading glasses. He patted the pockets of his trousers and shirt as though hoping to discover them hiding there, but, finding this search unfruitful, had turned toward Rose.

“Mrs. Winchester, if I may,” he asked, indicating the glasses she wore on a chain around her neck.

“You’re certainly welcome to try,” she said, handing the reading glasses to him, “but the prescription…” She trailed off.

“Thank you,” Abhijat said, taking them from her. “I am most grateful.” He held them up in front of his face and again looked down at the note card in his hand. “Yes. Now, you must all please excuse me for wearing ladies’ glasses.”

He cleared his throat and began in earnest.

“Thank you all for being here today for our celebration. Seventeen years ago, this beautiful woman, Sarala, was joined with me in marriage. That day made me the happiest of men.”

As he spoke, Sarala looked up at her husband, holding Rose Winchester’s glasses before his eyes as he peered at his note card.

“I have,” he continued, “I must confess to all of you, not always been the easiest of men to be married to.” Abhijat’s small audience began to laugh, a strange mixture of discomfort at the truth of his statement and warmth at the idea that he’d been aware enough to realize it. “No. It is true,” he insisted. “This,” he gestured at Sarala, “is indeed a very patient lady.

“As many of you know, I was gravely disappointed by the turn of the events regarding the super collider, and now the Lab itself.” He nodded along with his audience. “It was shocking indeed. I believed that the Lab getting the collider was the most important thing that could happen in my life, in my professional career. But I must tell you all that I was wrong. That, in fact, not getting the collider was the most important thing that could have happened.”

Sarala stared at her husband, surprised, and in that moment, it was as though the rest of the party receded into the background. As though he spoke only to her.

He continued. “And that is because it has caused me to take note, finally — after much too long, I am afraid — of all of the blessings of my life. A beautiful, talented daughter; a loving and loyal wife; and, it is to be hoped—” He held his hand out to the assembled guests stiffly, Sarala noted, as though this was a gesture he had included on the note card, along with the text. He continued, “—new friends.”

Across the patio, Abhijat’s eyes met Sarala’s, timidly, as though uncertain of the sentiment he might find there.

Later, after their guests had left, as they prepared for bed, Sarala asked Abhijat, “At the end of the party, when it was time to say goodbye to our guests, I couldn’t find you.”

“Yes. I was done socializing,” he explained.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“To my study to read,” he answered. “Are you—” He looked at her tentatively, trying to determine if he had done something wrong. “Displeased?”

Sarala took a breath. “No,” she said. She looked at him. He was different, yes — this she had noticed gradually over the last few months, a slow realization. But still, so many things would likely always be entirely the same. She took his hand in hers.

“Your speech,” she said, “it was lovely.”

THE WEEK BEFORE THE NEW SCHOOL YEAR BEGAN, ROSE AND Randolph helped Lily pack, deciding which things she’d need, which things could stay, and which things they could bring to her should she change her mind, should they need an excuse to visit. They were both full of pride at their bright daughter and thrilled for her to have such an opportunity, but all three recognized this as the end of their brief period together as a family.

Rose watched Lily carefully folding clothes, stacking favorite books, and thought of all the times she’d watched Lily and Randolph performing this same ritual in preparation for one of Randolph’s trips. Randolph sat in Lily’s reading chair in the corner of her room, offering commentary on how she might pack more efficiently, what she might consider leaving behind.

Rose smiled. It was bittersweet. They had, that summer, grown used to a new sort of life, the three of them all together like the most conventional of families, and now that was about to change again. She wondered what the house would feel like without Lily, just her and Randolph rattling around.

Lily hoped that Meena was right, that she’d do well at the Academy without her. For so long, she’d counted on having Meena at her side to help smooth the interactions with peers she sometimes found so genuinely baffling. But perhaps the students at the Academy would be different. Perhaps they’d be like her.

As she emptied the drawers of her desk, sifting through stacks of paper and old schoolwork, she found the report she and Meena had done years ago for Mrs. Webster: “Lady Florence Baker: The Journey from Slavery to Exploration.” She leafed through the not-insubstantial text tucked into a glossy report binder. On the cover was the map of their subject’s travels that Meena had drawn, a meandering line snaking from Cairo along the Nile, all the way to Lake Albert. Lily traced it with her finger. Perhaps the Academy would feel the way things used to feel between her and Meena. Familiar, comforting, like home.

Sarala had planned her conversation with Abhijat carefully. Cautiously, watching for just the right moment, having given Abhijat time to adjust first to the news of the collider, then to the news of the defunding, Sarala made her announcement.