Grown-Up Pose

by Sonya Lalli

  “I will—”

  “The key is under—”

  “Neil, I know. Please, don’t worry about anything else right now.”

  Was Ms. Dirty Messages holding his hand right now? Making sure he ate, slept, and showered? Gritting her teeth until his soon-to-be ex-wife got off the phone? Anu was struck with a pang of jealousy and then felt terrible about it. She had no right to be jealous, and overwhelmingly she had the urge to hang up the phone.

  “So you’ll tell me if you need anything? And keep me updated on how Mom’s doing?”

  He was silent, and she realized that once again she’d slipped up. That she’d called Priya “Mom.”

  “Give Kanika a big hug for me,” he said quietly before hanging up. “From me and Mom.”

  Five minutes later, Anu returned to the kitchen and found Kanika hunched over her greeting card. She sat up startled, smiling, and Anu noticed that she’d glued some of the popcorn they’d been eating—warm, buttery—onto its surface.

  “Was that Daddy on the phone?”

  “It was.” Anu pulled out the chair closest to her and sat down. Kanika sat forward on her seat.

  “Is Dadima going to die?”

  Anu didn’t have an answer for the question, although she was tempted to blurt out no to calm her own nerves rather than her daughter’s.

  The year before, Kanika had come home asking questions about death after her friend’s grandfather had passed away. The simple fact that something—anything—could happen and change everything, wreak havoc on the normal, and turn consistency to chaos had been just beyond her grasp at the time. Anu explained to her that death, that people sometimes leave and never return, was the reason she’d never met her other grandfather—Neil’s dad, whom she would have called Dada or Dadaji, if he were alive.

  At the time Kanika had been satisfied by the answer and distracted by the neighbor’s cat prowling on the back fence; she’d scampered to the window to watch it.

  It was different now, of course. Kanika was older, would be six in the spring, and it wasn’t just a nameless, anonymous human who was leaving the world—it was quite possibly her grandmother.

  Kanika’s eyes were wide as she looked up at Anu. They were searching her, even testing her, and Anu let the weight of it press her firmly into the chair.

  If Priya wasn’t sick, if Monica and Jenny hadn’t called, would she have come home? Would she have spent Christmas in a hostel? Would she have turned up at one of London’s four airports, pointed at the departures screen, and said that. She’d go there. She’d take that life?

  “Is she, Mommy?” Kanika whispered. “Is she going to die?”

  Reaching for Kanika’s hand, Anu tried to imagine what Lakshmi would have said to her in a moment like this.

  Lakshmi was never one for confrontation, for tension or discomfort. She never spoke of sex, safety, and relationships because she didn’t know how, and she never knew of Anu’s innermost thoughts and adolescent fears because she didn’t know what questions to ask.

  Like continents, the generation between them had drifted until they were miles apart, and the only way to cross was by a lie. Anu omitted all truths that Lakshmi wouldn’t approve of while her mother picked and chose what she wanted to see.

  Anu loved her mother, missed her more than she could express—but she didn’t want to be her. She wouldn’t ever put up a wall between herself and her daughter.

  “Do you remember that song in The Lion King?” Anu said, shuffling closer to Kanika. “About how dying is part of the circle of life?”

  The Disney reference semed to have disarmed Kanika, and her shoulders visibly relaxed.

  “Everybody will die one day, sweetie. But I don’t think it’s Dadima’s time. Not yet.”

  Was it the right thing to say? Was she too honest? She couldn’t tell. Kanika wasn’t giving anything away.

  “It’s not her time, Kanu, because there’s still so much for her to do, so much to see—”

  “Like my dance recital this summer?”

  Anu beamed, squeezed Kanika on the arm. “Like your dance recital. And what else?”

  “My birthday party?” Kanika climbed out of her chair and onto Anu’s lap. “She has to come to my birthday party.”

  “All your birthday parties, Kanu.” Anu wrapped her arm around her daughter. “She wants to see you grow up and go to your first school dance—”

  Kanika giggled.

  “—and she’ll tease you when you have your first kiss!”

  Kanika threw her head back, laughing, and one of her pigtails hit Anu on the mouth. “I will never kiss anybody but you and Daddy.” She paused, mulling this over. “And Nani and Nanaji and Dadima. And maybe Auntie Monica.”

  “What about Auntie Jenny?”

  “I guess Auntie Jenny. But I don’t like that shiny stuff on her cheeks.”

  Anu smiled, twirling the pigtail in her fingers. “Mark my words, Kanu. One day you’ll want to kiss somebody, and when that happens, we’re going to tease you”—she tickled Kanika’s ribs until she squealed—“so much!”

  Kanika tickled her back, and pretty soon they were chasing each other around the house and up and down the stairs. Later, side by side, they fell breathless on the living room floor. Her daughter’s chest rising and falling as she chattered at the empty room—about what, Anu had no idea—she watched her. Studied her. Fell in love with her beautiful, spirited daughter for the millionth-and-a-half time.

  This was her life. And now, for the first time, she could understand why she so desperately had wanted to be home: She couldn’t imagine a life anywhere else.

  chapter twenty-two

  LAKSHMI: I do not understand why you are not letting me come home to help. I can finish classes online. Beti, this is difficult time for you—many balls on your plate!

  KUNAL: Your mother has mixed metaphors. She means too many balls in the air OR too many things on your plate.

  ANUSHA: Mom, really, you don’t need to come home—I can manage!

  LAKSHMI: You must correct my English, dear husband, while I am sitting next to you in bed?

  How come I have to drink apple juice?” Kanika pouted. “I want what you’re having.”

  “You want some wine?” Jenny held out her glass. “Go ahead. Try it.”

  Kanika eyed it suspiciously, leaning in. Her face hovering just above the glass, she sniffed hard and then made a face that sent Anu, Jenny, and Monica into a fit of laughter.

  “Eww. Grown-ups drink that on purpose?”

  “They sure do.”

  Kanika sighed sarcastically, imitating the way Jenny often did. “I don’t understand grown-ups.”

  Anu had promised her daughter she could stay up until midnight, but as expected, Kanika was fast asleep on the living room floor hours before the New Year. After putting her to bed, Anu grabbed another bottle of wine from the fridge and settled in next to her friends on the couch.

  “Cheers,” she said, toasting them. “To a brand-new year of . . .”

  “Friendship,” said Jenny

  “Family,” added Monica.

  “And . . . forgiveness?” Anu smiled at each of them in turn, and they nodded, clanging their wineglasses against hers.

  “Imogen didn’t want to come?” Monica asked. “I was excited to meet her.”

  “No offense, but if I was twenty-one, I wouldn’t want to spend New Year’s with three thirty-year-olds and a baby, either.”

  “Kanika’s almost six, Jen,” Anu said.

  “If it’s too young to drink, it’s a baby.”

  “It?”

  “You know who was too young to drink . . .”

  “Ha-ha. I made out with a teenager. Get a new joke, Mon.” Anu winked at her. “And don’t worry. You’ll meet Imogen soon. At yoga. This week, maybe?”

  “Yo
ga . . . ,” Jenny groaned.

  Imogen had seemed interested in coming over for New Year’s, but then had canceled at the last minute without giving a reason, despite Anu’s insistence that she wouldn’t be intruding.

  Anu had seen Imogen a few times already since coming home, preparing for reopening the studio at the kitchen table while Kanika played in the other room.

  Scheduling. Payrolls. Budgeting. These were foreign concepts Anu had never thought about when agreeing to take over the damn place. And it didn’t help that she had blown through more of her savings than she’d expected in London. Eating out. Roaming charges. Two last-minute flights. That Oxford Street shopping spree, on which she’d spent more than she’d ever admit on clothing she’d never have the courage to wear out in Vancouver.

  She and Neil had always been money conscious, frugal even, yet that month Anu would barely make her half of the mortgage payment. She would have to dip into her savings account to pay her bills, and it was Anu’s turn to pay Kanika’s monthly fees for swimming and dance lessons. Kanika had grown several inches since the year before, and soon she would need new sneakers and a raincoat, a whole new wardrobe of summer clothes. Of course Neil would want to pay half as his share, but he was a contractor, and with Priya sick, he would be on unpaid leave indefinitely. She couldn’t ask him now. She wouldn’t ask him.

  Without even crunching the numbers, Anu knew she couldn’t afford any of the updates and renovations she and Imogen had dreamed about. All of it would have to wait. They would have to reopen the studio that week without changing a thing.

  Imogen had turned surly when hearing the news, prompting Anu to think that her disappointment was the reason she had skipped out on New Year’s. But she couldn’t help but wonder if it was something else. Anu kept having this nagging, clawing feeling that Imogen was going through something. But whenever Anu tried to get personal, or even asked her how she was feeling that day, Imogen would laugh or make a joke and then change the subject. Typically aloof, Imogen had even been vague when Anu asked her about her own Christmas holiday with her family. Had she brought Haruto? Was she close to her parents? Anu knew Imogen was also an only child, but that was the extent of her knowledge on Imogen’s family.

  “So,” Anu said, trying her best not to worry about Imogen, “what should we do tonight?”

  They all looked at one another and shrugged. Usually, they didn’t do anything when they got together. They talked. They teased. They drove one another crazy.

  “We could watch a movie?” Monica ventured.

  Jenny shook her head. “No. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Board game?”

  “What are you, twelve?”

  “Excuse you,” Monica snapped. “Board games are super trendy. Everyone plays them—”

  “Dorks—”

  “Well, what do you want to do, then?” Monica threw back her wine.

  After taking a big sip, Jenny laughed. “We could play Tinder.”

  “Play Tinder?” Anu asked. “Is that how you say it?”

  Jenny pulled out her phone from her back pocket. “I don’t know. I think I’ve swiped through every single guy in Vancouver.”

  “That can’t be.” Anu glanced at Monica. Neither of them had ever tried the app, and they only ever watched Jenny swipe and text from over her shoulder. “Doesn’t it give you new matches every day?”

  “A few, yeah. But I’ve been off and on Tinder since it was invented. I’ve seen everyone there is to see.”

  Anu and Monica looked at each other for a second, not quite sure which way to steer the conversation.

  “Can you stop?” Jenny sat up, glaring at the both of them. “I’m not a charity case. I have zero problems getting dates. Hell, I have a date tomorrow.”

  “With who?” Anu asked.

  “His name is Ahmed. I met him at the bank.”

  “Who meets guys at the bank?” said Monica.

  Anu sat back on the floor, letting her weight fall onto her hands. “Jenny, that’s who.”

  “You know who should be on Tinder . . . ?”

  “Me?” Anu shook her head, thinking back to Theo, to— Oh, Jesus, she couldn’t even remember the eighteen-year-old’s name.

  “Yeah, Anu. Let’s do yours,” Monica said. “We can help you make a profile. Well, Jenny can. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “You’re telling the girl who had a one-night stand less than two weeks ago to go on Tinder.”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “You can’t punish yourself forever,” Jenny said.

  “After London . . . I feel like I need to calm down a bit. Tinder wouldn’t be good for me right now.”

  “But this is harmless,” Monica said. “This is about keeping your options open. It’s like window-shopping.”

  “It’ll be fun,” Jenny said, and Anu sighed.

  “Fun for you guys. I don’t have time to date. I don’t have time to . . . go window-shopping.”

  Over the past week, all she had time for was getting back into a routine with Kanika, checking in on Neil and Priya, and chatting with Imogen on speakerphone as they prepared to reopen the studio.

  Lakshmi kept offering to come home and help out, but Anu refused. It was time to be a grown-up, and grown-ups didn’t go crying to their mothers for help when life got tough. No, they figured it out for themselves. And would she even want her mother close by after what they had said to each other?

  Jenny scooted off the couch and slyly grabbed Anu’s phone from where it was sitting by the wine bottle. “What’s your iTunes password? I’m downloading it.”

  “Jenny,” Anu said firmly, “I said no.”

  Jenny held her stare, and Anu couldn’t tell if she was upset. A beat later, Jenny turned to Monica and batted her eyelashes.

  “What is it you were telling me, Mon?” Jenny looked at her quizzically. “Neil’s girlfriend is desperate to meet Kanika?”

  Anu’s mouth dropped.

  “Jenny,” Monica whined, “you are such a bitch!”

  “His girlfriend wants to meet my daughter?”

  Monica threw another look at Jenny, shaking her head at her before turning to Anu. “That’s what Tom heard from Neil, but I don’t know if she ever actually met her because, well, it was before everything happened with Priya Auntie. . . .”

  Anu glanced up the stairs. Had her daughter met this woman? Did she like her?

  Wincing, Anu realized that even if Kanika hadn’t met the woman already, one day she would. Kanika would sometime soon wake up and find that woman in her kitchen, with Neil’s arm around her. Anu swallowed hard. Neil was going to marry that woman, wasn’t he? He wasn’t the type to fool around. If he was with her, he must really like her. Maybe he already loved her.

  Anu stretched her legs out in front of her, staring at them. She could feel tears threatening, the swelling in the back of her throat. Was this how Neil had felt? Had he stopped breathing when he’d seen Anu and Ryan? When he’d imagined their life together, without him?

  “Anu . . .” Jenny’s voice. Anu looked up and saw that Jenny felt bad. Monica, too. Anu smiled, pushing past it all.

  She needed to be a grown-up.

  She needed to get her shit together and simply handle it.

  In a few weeks, it would be a year since she and Neil had separated. The fact that their marriage was over was hardly new. What had she thought, asking Neil to move out: that they could live separately and lead separate lives, and he wouldn’t move on?

  Surely, by now Neil had fallen in love with Ms. Dirty Messages. The fact was a foregone conclusion, and the perfect, undoubtedly beautiful couple would buy a house together and get married and have babies—and hell, so could Anu if she wanted to. She could go on a thousand first dates and send her own dirty messages.

  “How much does Tinder cost?” Anu asked, spi
nning toward Jenny. “I’m on a budget.”

  Jenny’s face lit up. “It’s free!”

  chapter twenty-three

  Damien. 28 y/o. Physicist, foodie, and pheromones.

  Happy New Year, Anusha! You’re my first match of 2020. Maybe it’s a sign?