The Charterhouse of Padma by Padma Viswanathan

Author:Padma Viswanathan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: David R. Godine, Publisher
Published: 2024-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

No, he didn’t.

Oh, yes, he did.

But he must have walked it back?

No, he doubled down! “I know you think you need this,” he said, “but I learned I don’t want to go through that ever again.”

This was why you should never think of your husband as your best friend: you needed things from him that you would never ask a friend, and you needed friends for when he let you down.

Throughout that winter, they fought. Not all the time, just off and on. First, they fought some more about the fellowship applications. How would they work it out, he asked, think about it: she would take the kids and he’d be left behind. He was probably right in theory, she said, but she wasn’t going to get a fellowship, she wasn’t good enough, that was obvious. She was so, he said, her time was coming. Whatever, she said, the real problem wasn’t whether she got it, it was that he was undermining her and that he couldn’t see how sexist the asymmetry was: he’d had his chance, why shouldn’t she have hers? Because he’d been through it, he said, he’d learned, why couldn’t she see that?

Meantime, his promotion was advancing through the paperwork maze at whose still center it would surely be approved, and then he’d only have to teach half-time. That’s what a Distinguished Professorship got you: the same salary for half as much teaching. On the remote chance that she did receive a fellowship, he could come along for at least half the year. But it was like he couldn’t accept or admit it was coming down the pike. Maybe because it didn’t fit with his self-image? Maybe because they’d still have to spend a semester apart? Either way, it didn’t budge his emotional calculations.

So they fought about this, off and on and off and on, and then, when it didn’t go anywhere, they fought about other things. She started fights because she was hung on the cross of the constant tidying and cleaning, food shopping and meal planning. He fought back because he repaired the broken door and the broken chair; he changed the air filters; he updated all of their software⁠—things she didn’t value or take account of. And he didn’t care if she cooked or cleaned and he never asked her to: he’d rather they live in a dirty house; he’d rather make himself a sandwich. And what about the kids? she’d say, what about hot meals?

Fuck hot meals, he’d say, I love your cooking, but I did fine without it before, so if you want hot meals, fine, but that’s on you. It’s you.

But. In between. Life.

Halloween: the adults went to the neighbors’ annual party as candidates in the Democratic primaries, with Saro as a handler and Nik a secret service agent. Nik, at fourteen, hulked convincingly over his Indian adults in a black suit; Saro, eleven, adopted an air of chic superiority that came a little too naturally.

Thanksgiving: they hosted, as always, a

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