He hadn't been. He'd wanted to be a journalist, it was true. He had loved working on the eight-page weekly paper, loved going with Mr. Nagle and the rest of the editorial staff to the offices of the local town paper once a week to do the layout. He remembered sitting in the library, thinking up story ideas, interviewing members of the faculty, and the famous people who sometimes came to Langford to speak at assemblies. Taking an active, reporter's interest in the life of the school had helped him to endure the fact that he hated it there. But he knew that journalism wasn't an option as a career, that his parents would never indulge such thinking. It was the one battle he hadn't had the courage to fight-his parents' expectation that he go to medical school, their assumption that he become a doctor like his father.
He'd had the aptitude for science and so he'd gone ahead with it, majoring in biology at Columbia and then starting medical school there. He lasted two years, mainly because he met Megan and fell in love with her. But the more he got to know her, the clearer it became that he lacked her dedication, her drive. One night in the middle of studying for a pharmacy exam, he'd gone out for a cup of coffee. He walked a few blocks to stretch his legs, and then a few more. He kept walking down Broadway, one hundred blocks from his dorm in Washington Heights to Lincoln Center, and then continuing all the way to Chinatown where, at daybreak, feeling close to delirious, he finally stopped. Fish and vegetables were being unloaded from trucks, life creeping back onto the streets. He entered a bakery, had hot tea and coconut bread, watched a group of Chinese women sitting at a round table at the back, sorting through a mountain of spinach. He took the train back uptown, slept through his exam. He began to cut one class, then another. A week went by, and in spite of his total passivity, he felt that he was accomplishing the greatest feat of his life. He dropped out, not telling his parents until the semester ended. He'd expected Megan to break up with him, but she'd respected his decision and remained. On a lark, after dropping out of med school, he applied to the journalism school at Columbia but was not accepted. Megan urged him to write anyway, to work freelance and put together some clips. But the job at the medical journal was easier, more predictable work. It demanded less of him, and Amit could no longer imagine doing anything else.
"I had you pegged as a newspaperman," Mr. Nagle said. "We won that wonderful award the year you graduated. Never managed to win it again. They still have the plaque up in the library."
A third person joined them, a man who was introduced to Amit as the newly appointed director of alumni affairs. He took an immediate interest in Amit, asking whether he planned to attend the next reunion, talking about plans for Langford's new gymnasium.
"Excuse me," Amit said when there was a pause in the conversation, "I need to find my wife." He realized that in the course of talking to Mr. Nagle he'd finished his drink and now had only the one for Megan. So he stood in the line again and got another spiked lemonade. He began to weave among the guests, going into the admissions building, looking for her. But she wasn't there, and he realized she'd probably gone out to look for him. It was getting dark, and the only lit-up area was the tent where they would all sit to dine. When he found Megan she was talking to Ted Schultz, her left hand still placed strategically over her skirt. The sight of Ted made Amit feel foolish all over again, for calling him by the wrong name.
"I got you this," Amit said, handing Megan the lemonade.
"Oh." She looked at the drink, shaking her head. There was a glass of champagne in her other hand. "I got this off a tray."
"I was just telling Megan about what it was like here when we were students," Ted said. "Before these ugly new buildings went up. Where did you live?"
"Ingalls my first year. And then Harkness." He felt unsure about the names, as if they, too, might be incorrect.
"Guess what," Megan said. "Our cell phone doesn't work up here. I tried to call the girls but there's no service."
"I'm sure there's a pay phone somewhere," Amit said. "I'll call them before their bedtime." He was tired of standing, longed for the opportunity to sit down and fill his stomach with something solid. A few elderly people were already under the tent, along with some mothers nursing their babies, and he wondered if it would be improper of him to take his seat as well. He waited for a gap in Ted and Megan's conversation, to suggest going to their table, but then he felt a tap on the back and turned to see Pam's parents. He proceeded to catch up with them, congratulating them, pulling out his wallet again and showing the pictures of the girls. "They look just like their mother," Mrs. Borden said in her usual forthright way.
When he turned back to Megan he saw that her champagne glass was empty. She had moved closer to Ted, and her hand was playing with her diamond earring, a habit of hers when she was nervous. Could it be that Megan was flirting with Ted? Instead of being jealous Amit felt oddly liberated, relieved of his responsibility to Megan, to show her a good time. His head was pounding. He needed a glass of water, needed to dilute the alcohol that had rushed too quickly into his brain. The evening had barely begun but it was as if he'd been drinking for hours. Then he saw that the hand by Megan's ear was the one that had been formerly concealing her skirt. Now that she'd had a few drinks herself she no longer cared, and Amit realized he was free of his duty to stand by her side.
At dinner they were seated at a table with three other couples. Two of them were friends of Ryan's from California, and after introductions were made they talked among themselves. The women were in their fifties, both dressed in silk jackets and with heavy pieces of silver jewelry, and Amit suspected they had something to do with television. The men were dark-haired and voluble and seemed to be very old friends. The other couple was engaged to be married. The woman, Felicia, was a friend of Pam's, and her fiance's name was Jared. Jared was an architect, with very fair wispy hair, who seemed to be faintly smiling at everyone and everything, until Amit realized it was the set expression of his face, his thin mouth permanently pulled back at the corners. Jared's current commission was a new wing in a hospital, and he and Megan immediately fell into conversation, Megan telling him all the things that needed to be improved, in her opinion, when it came to the design of hospitals.
As their wine and water glasses were filled and a salmon ter-rine was served, Felicia talked to Amit about her and Jared's wedding plans. She was a petite woman, her girlish figure encased in a high-necked beige sleeveless dress. Her features, though pleasant, seemed too small for her face, as if yet to fill it up properly, the distance between the bottom of her nose and her top lip distracting. She spoke in a tired way, each word weighted down. They were in the process of deciding on a venue, Felicia said, and weren't sure of the number of guests.
"This wedding is huge," she remarked. "How many people, would you guess?"
He looked around at the tables, counted eight bodies at each. "Around two hundred, I think." He drained his water glass and looked over at Megan, her animated face without a trace of discomfort.
"Where was your wedding?" Felicia asked.
"We eloped eight years ago. City Hall." It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time-instead of asking his parents to fly in from Lausanne, and Megan's parents to go to the expense, and figuring out how to make everybody happy. He was twenty-nine, Megan thirty-four. It had been exhilarating- the joy of getting married combined with the fact that it would all be in secret, without planning, without involvement from anyone else. His parents had not even met her. He was aware of what an insult it was to them. For all their liberal Western ways he knew they wanted him to marry a Bengali girl, raised and educated as he had been.