by Sonya Lalli
After our last appointment with a ribbon vendor, we drove back toward home. It was only late afternoon, and already it looked like dusk, night slowly falling over the icy roads. While Nani and Auntie Sarla were speaking in Hindi about the guest list, Shay leaned in toward me.
“Are we okay?” she whispered.
I concentrated on the road, carefully steered around a patch of ice. “Not really. I still haven’t put on my winter tires.”
“You know what I mean, Raina.”
From the side, I could see Shay still looking at me, and then she looked back at the road.
“Yeah, Shay. We’re fine.”
“How’s the dating—have you met anyone you liked?”
Mid-sentence, Auntie Sarla stopped talking, and her face appeared between us. “You live together—and you don’t know, Shaylee?”
Shay looked at me, and then back at Auntie Sarla. “Raina and I work different hours. Remember, Ma? I don’t see her a lot.”
She nodded, and then slid a stubby finger across the armrest. “Raina, do you ever clean your car?”
“Sarla,” I heard Nani say. “Don’t interfere. We’re going to have accident.”
Auntie Sarla’s face disappeared. “Well. Someone should interfere with that girl.”
“Ma,” said Shay. “Don’t start.”
“Speak to this child, Suvali. She will never get married this way.”
I pressed my foot hard against the brake pedal, wishing I could kick it.
“There is nothing to speak of, Sarla,” I heard Nani say after a moment. “Who Raina marries is Raina’s decision.”
“What marriage? There won’t be a marriage if she keeps on like this. Not like my Shaylee—”
“Ma, don’t bring me into this.”
“Raina is being selfish—”
“Sarla, enough!” Nani’s voice prickled my skin, and the car fell silent. “Do not lecture us like this. I will handle my own girl.” I turned back to face the front, slowly lifted my foot off the brake as the light turned green.
“I have confidence in whatever she decides,” said Nani.
I saw Nani glancing at me in the rearview mirror, and as I accelerated through the intersection, a wave of guilt tore through me.
I’d decided to create a mess, one that Nani and I might not be able to get out of easily.
MAY 20, 2015
“You’re getting old, love.”
Raina giggles, and rolls over to face him. “How sweet of you to remind me.”
It is still dark outside on the Clerkenwell Green, and the only light comes from the touch lamp on Dev’s nightstand. In its warm, buttery glow, Raina can vaguely see the outline of his body nestled next to hers, the profile of his nose and eyelashes as he moves his head on the pillow.
“You’re properly over the hill now.”
“Oh, shush.”
“Let me think,” he says, moving his face closer to hers. “When I turned twenty-six, I—”
“Bawled like a baby?”
“Got promoted.”
“Well then,” whispers Raina, as he kisses her nose. “Why don’t you promote me.”
They hit the snooze button three, four times—and on the fifth push, Dev declares he will forgo his morning routine at the gym. Raina kisses him, sleepily, and smiles. They both work long hours, but despite the demands on their time, their health—even, at times, their relationship—Raina has never been this happy. It is her birthday, the one-year anniversary with the man she loves—and she lives in London, a thriving, humming city that fiercely loves her back. She works in the very heart, the very center of the world, and sometimes, lying there in a dreamlike state, Dev curled around her, it’s hard to believe this is her life.
It is nothing like her nani’s; a limb of her husband’s journey into a new world, working hard with little respect for a community to which Raina never even felt she belonged. It is nothing like her mother’s, either: a life disjointed and misunderstood, carelessly formed at the fringe of others’.
For the first time, Raina is finding her own way. She is doing things on her own terms, without anyone telling her who and why, how and where; she is living a life that is completely her own.
With him, Raina feels like a different kind of Indian.
Together, they are modern Indians. Ones who don’t go to temple just to prove to others they believe in God, who can try a non-Indian cuisine—blander, with less spice—and enjoy it. Together, they command power and respect; dine, drink, and travel without worrying about money the way their families did. And, Raina often muses, they will raise their children differently, too. They will teach them that they don’t need to be a doctor to succeed in life; they will teach them to believe that they are good enough exactly as they are.
Raina and Dev are kissing and his hand is up her shirt when a phone buzzes on the bedside table. Dev removes his hand and reaches for it.
“Oh, it’s yours.”
Raina grabs it, and a moment later, frowns. “It’s Nani.”
“Go on, then.”
Raina takes a deep breath, and accepts the call. “Hi, Nani.”
“Haaaaappy bird-day,” she sings, almost screams, into the phone. She is loud, so loud that Raina uses her hand to cover Dev’s mouth, muffle the laughter. Raina has tried many times to teach her nani that cell phones these days are better than landlines; that she needn’t yell into the phone just because Raina is overseas.
“Are you having a happy bird-day?” Nani asks. “Did I wake?”
“No, no. I’m up. Just getting ready for work.”
“Aacha.”
Raina glances at the clock. It is past midnight in Toronto. “Why are you up so late?”
“Oh, just missing my Raina,” says Nani. “You are twenty-six, now, nah?”
Dev mouths “so old,” and Raina lightly pushes him away. He smiles and closes his eyes, rests on his back beside her.
“How is Dev?” Nani asks.
“Good.”
“He will have a nice birthday for you? If you were home, I’d make you your favorite—”
“Yes, Nani. I’ll see him at work, and then we’re having dinner with friends.”
“What are you eating?”
“Turkish, I think.”
“It is not Thanksgiving—”
Raina laughs. “No, Nani. Turkish—from Turkey, the country. Middle Eastern food. Like couscous?”
“Huh?”
“It’s kind of like rice.”
“Are you eating enough? Are you being healthy?”
“Yes, Nani.”
There is a pause—long, palpable—and Raina wonders if her nani is still there.
“I’d like to meet Dev,” she says finally.
Raina turns to look at him. His eyes are discernably closed, and Raina pokes him until he opens them.
“He wants to meet you, too.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.” Raina leans back in bed, stares at her toes poking out from the covers. “You know you can come visit anytime.”
“He can come here?”
Raina nods into the phone, and a moment later says, “Yeah. Maybe.”
She had asked Dev to come with her on her last trip home, but he said he was too busy with work. Lately, she has been thinking about asking again for him to come home and meet Nani and Shay, to see a glimpse of her old life, but she is afraid to bring it up; afraid he’ll say no again.
“Beta, it has been long time now. It is time for Dev to visit—”
“Nani, please, not today.”
“You are planning to marry him, and I don’t know if he’s nice boy. I don’t know his family—”
Nani continues, her voice growing louder, and Dev rolls over on his side.
“He cannot come and meet us? He
is Indian, nah? He does not understand how things should be—”
“Please, not now,” Raina says firmly. She looks over at Dev, and sees that he’s crawling out of bed. Without looking at her, in only his pajama shorts, he walks out of the bedroom.
“. . . Dev cannot at least call and tell me his intentions? His parents cannot call me—”
A panic boils up inside of Raina, the warmth beside her suddenly gone.
“—and you will stay in that country for him? You—”
This is what she fears: Dev walking away. Dev leaving her, taking everything—her whole life—away with him.
“Nani,” she says sweetly, placating. Her hand on her chest, she forces herself to calm down; forces out the words that her nani needs to hear—that, right now, Raina herself needs to say.
Dev and Raina will get married.
Dev and Raina are in love, and there is absolutely nothing to worry about.
After a few moments, she hangs up and sets her phone back on the nightstand. The bedroom door has closed behind him, and she can’t hear anything—just a garbage truck outside the window, beeping, rumbling back and forth along the Clerkenwell Green.
“Dev?”
She is cold, and pulls the blanket around her. Has he already hopped into the shower, started his day without her?
Is she—is her nani—scaring him away?
They are together, committed, in love—but marriage, a life in permanency, is still far away. Together, Raina and Dev decided they wouldn’t be Indian about their relationship: Their families wouldn’t be involved, and they would date and take their time. They would enjoy life, and only talk about the future in an abstract way that didn’t tie them down, didn’t tie them together.
They decided it together, didn’t they?
Raina sits up. She is about to get out of bed, when Dev pushes the door open. He stands in the doorway with a sleepy smile, and holds out two cups of tea.
Raina’s mind releases, her muscles thaw. He walks to the edge of the bed, and sets the tea on the nightstand.
She smiles at him. “Come back to bed.”
He drops to his knees on the mattress, and crawls over to her. “Anything you say, love.”
“Sorry about that,” Raina says after a moment.
He laughs. “I have a nani, too.”
His family lives only a forty-five-minute tube journey from the city. She thinks about asking when she’ll meet them, but decides against it.
Raina hears the metal gates opening from the shop across the road, and she glances at the clock. “Wait, what time is it?”
He groans, rolls more fully on top of her.
“What time is your meeting?”
He opens one eye, and then shuts it again.
“Honey, you really need to get up.” With half strength, she tries to shift him, but he is deadweight on top of her.
“Dev?”
Sleepily, he kisses her chest. “Five more minutes?” He rolls onto his other cheek. “I can’t make it through the day without this, Raina.”
TWELVE
No one said much on the drive back to the suburbs. We dropped off Shay and Auntie Sarla, and then I drove Nani home. She insisted I come inside for dinner and wouldn’t accept my excuse about work deadlines, my wet laundry still in the machine. After almost five minutes of bickering in the driveway, her voice crawling an octave higher with each breath, I turned off the ignition and agreed to come in.
Dread washed over me as I walked into the house. I knew what was coming, and I wasn’t ready to deal with it. I’d skirted around the truth before—small lies about my blind dates, and in high school, about missed curfews or why my hair smelled like cigarette smoke—but never like this. I followed her into the kitchen, and I sat down at the table as she washed her hands and started to dice an onion. Halfway through, she set down the knife and looked at me.
“Why have you not told Shaylee?”
“Nani . . .”
“I am proud of you, Raina. She will be too, nah?”
“Not now, okay?”
“And you won’t bring Zoey here for dinner? So I can get to know her properly?”
“I’ve told you a hundred times we’re not together. Zoey is just a friend.”
She wiped her hands on a dishrag. “You know, I read a blogger today. Do you know an Edith Windsor? She married a woman, and changed the American constitution.”
“That’s not exactly how it happened.”
“This Edith—very strange name for a woman, but—”
“I really appreciate you trying to support me, but I just don’t want”—I struggled for words—“I don’t need—”
“Yes.” Nani’s voice cracked. “You do need. I refuse to be one of those mothers who say it’s okay for everyone else to be gay, but not their own child.” She bit down on her lips, and looked away. She always looked away when she cried, even when I was young. Even when the worst had just happened.
I walked toward her, wrapped my arms around her, and gave her a hug, and she turned around and pressed against me. She was so tiny in my arms, frail yet plump, her head resting beneath my shoulders. After a few moments, she pulled away, and wiping her face with the backs of her hands, she looked up at me.
Why was I putting up this wall between us? She loved me. She supported me—even with something like this that was foreign to her. Why wouldn’t she approve of me getting back together with my ex-boyfriend?
Except I wasn’t with Dev. Not yet. And if I told her that two years later I was still waiting for him, what would she say? Would she look at me the way she looked at Mom?
The daughter who had a child at sixteen. The daughter who wanted nothing to do with her family, culture, or traditions. The daughter who seemingly lived with a new man every time she called home.
“What do you need, Raina, nah?” Nani brushed my face with her hand. “Tell me.”
“I . . .”
It was the first time we’d spoken alone and in person since that evening, and I couldn’t look at her. What the hell was I doing lying to her about something like this? I opened my mouth, keeping my eyes on the floor.
“I . . .”
Where did I even begin?
“You are seeming very tense.” Nani touched my chin, tilting it upward until we were face-to-face. “I have idea. I know what always makes you feel better . . .”
“Vodka?”
She tutted at me.
“Fine. Gin then.”
“Oh, beta.” She pointed up the stairs. “Do you still have running shoes here?”
I nodded, suddenly grateful for the escape.
“Then jao. I will have hot dal makhani waiting for you!”
* * *
I dug through my closet and found my old pair of bright pink sneakers and ratty sweatpants. Nani had chopped off the frays around the ankles, and my winter-themed socks peeked out. She stopped me at the door, and tucked one of Nana’s old newsboy caps on my head, a vomit brown fleece around my arms.
I stepped outside the door, immediately thankful for Nana’s coat, which, surprisingly, fit me perfectly. I slammed the door behind me and picked up speed as I hopped down the front steps. The air had chilled, and I took a sharp breath—concentrating on breathing in and out—while closing my eyes briefly as I hopped off the sidewalk, over a partially frozen puddle, and ran toward the park. I focused on my breath, on the feel of the road. Anything but Nani, but Dev, trying to will myself to once again feel light.
As I ran faster, my nose and mouth grew numb. I darted off the road and onto the dirt path toward the school, and the faster I ran, the lighter I felt. I ignored the sharp feeling in my lungs and pushed on. I started to sprint, the wind shrieking into my ears as I crossed onto the football field. It was close to dark, the streetlights faint behind the old brick of the school. My legs
were tired, but I pressed on, forcing myself to go faster, and faster, my fingers clenched as I swung my arms back and forth.
I ran the long way around the field, and on the final side of the square block, it struck me that it had been fifteen years since the first day I had walked through the doors of a school where so much of consequence seemed to have happened. It was where Shay and I had gone from being the offspring of two friends to being best friends ourselves. Where I’d thrown the winning basket in the city basketball championship. It was where Mom, crying and bloated in the nurse’s office, had found out she was pregnant.
I was less than fifty meters from the school, and again, I picked up speed. In the distance, I could see a lone silhouette shooting a basketball in the courts beside the parking lot. I drew closer. He looked too old to be a student, too tall, and I watched him arc the ball effortlessly through the hoop again and again. Even in the dark, I could almost see the creases on his face, the square of his jaw. I rubbed the sweat from my eyelids with the back of my hand, and just as he went up to take another shot, right when I passed him, our eyes met. He missed the shot, and the ball ricocheted loudly off the rim.
“Well,” he called out to me, his arms still poised in the air. “Look who it is.”
“Asher?” I panted, walking up to the fence. I barely recognized him without his beard. “What are you doing here?”
“Me?” The ball bounced back to him and he grabbed it. “What are you doing here?”
“This is”—I breathed—“my school.”
“This is my school.”
“What, you never graduated?”
He ducked the ball between his legs and caught it on the other side. “I teach here—thank you very much. The university let me re-enroll, so this year I’m going to finish up my teacher training.”
“I see. Well, I used to go here. My grandmother’s house is right over there,” I said, gesturing across the field.