I mouth sorry to Molly.
She keeps singing, but gives me a “what’s going on?” look.
I shake my head and stare at the candles on Great-Aunt Maggie’s froofy yellow cake. I don’t know what to tell Molly, because I don’t even know myself. But something about being in a room with so many people, so many generations that you belong to and who accept you without question as one of theirs, leaves me feeling like a hand is squeezing my heart, making it just a littler harder to breathe.
Chapter 3
The doorbell rings as Aunt Maggie’s celebration is winding down. Uncle Sandeep is picking me and Molly up to take us back to my place to study for our Intro to Calculus quiz tomorrow. Since Molly’s extended family has taken over her place, my house is ideal. Quiet, with no one there but Mom—and tonight, Uncle Sandeep.
He and Mom have been doing dinner once a week. It’s the one night I look forward to having dinner at home. Otherwise, I make plans to be out, either at Molly’s or at Mike’s. But there’s something about seeing the table set for three that makes dinner feel like an occasion at our house.
“Yes?” Molly’s dad asks, opening the door. I hear a muffled voice outside asking for me. Mr. Mac turns to me in surprise. He points out the door with his thumb. “Know this guy, Sam?”
I forgot that this is the first time the MacFaddens, with the exception of Molly, are meeting Uncle Sandeep. I can’t help the grin that spreads on my face. “That’s my uncle,” I say, getting up from my sunken spot on the sofa.
Mr. Mac steps aside to let Uncle Sandeep in. “Come on in,” he says with an uncertain smile.
As I walk to the door, I notice a couple of people shooting glances at one another. “Uncle Sandeep,” I say, all of a sudden feeling very uncomfortable, “this is Mr. MacFadden, Molly’s dad. Mr. Mac, this is my Uncle Sandeep.”
Before Mr. Mac has a chance to say anything, Molly’s mom comes swooshing out of nowhere. “Well, don’t just stand there, Sandy, come on in! There’s plenty to drink and eat. What can I get you—beer, wine, a mixed drink?”
“No thank you, Mrs. MacFadden, I don’t drink,” Uncle Sandeep says, nodding his head.
“Well, how about juice, then?” Mrs. Mac says, steering Uncle Sandeep through the living room toward the kitchen.
I turn to follow them and notice Mr. Mac still watching Uncle Sandeep. As I walk through the living room amidst the laughter and conversation, I realize that several other pairs of eyes are trained on my uncle as well. Although most of the people in the room are still enjoying themselves, a few faces have become visibly taut.
For the first time in all the years I’ve known them, I feel self-conscious in the MacFaddens’ home. Even though I’ve met almost everyone here at least once and I’ve always been treated like a member of the family, I feel like I’m being re-evaluated based on the latest evidence.
Part of me wants to say, “Um, I just met him…I don’t really know him that well.” And the other part wants to scream, “He’s not a terrorist, okay?” Instead I clamp my jaw tight and walk stiffly into the kitchen. This feeling of being—and a jolt ricochets through my body as I think this—unwelcome, is like an echo, but as I try to zero in on it, it slips away.
Mrs. Mac chatters nonstop as she hands Uncle Sandeep a plastic cup with the same bubble-gum-flavored water she had handed me earlier.
He grimaces as he takes a sip. “I don’t mean to intrude on your family celebration,” he says, putting the cup down on the countertop. He turns to me meaningfully. “Samar, if you and Molly are ready to go now…”
As if on cue, Molly bounces in. “Uncle Sandeep, you’re here!” She rushes him and throws her arms around his shoulders.
Uncle Sandeep smiles awkwardly, steps back, and untangles himself. “Hello, Molly. Are you two ready to go?”
Molly groans. “Ugh, calculus quiz first thing tomorrow morning!”
Mrs. Mac claps her hands. “Well, run along then, girls. Study, study, study!”
Molly and I grab our bags. But to my utter disbelief, Uncle Sandeep walks over to Great-Aunt Maggie to wish her a happy birthday. What is he thinking?
As soon as we get into his car, a sea-green Buick Regal, I click my seat belt in place and turn to Uncle Sandeep. “I thought you’d want to get out of there as soon as possible. I mean, was it me, or was there a…weird vibe going on as soon as you walked in?”
He sighs. “I’m used to it, Samar.”
“What’re you talking about?” Molly asks.
I turn around. “You didn’t notice that several people in there were staring at Uncle Sandeep as soon as he set foot in the house?”
She frowns. “Well, they don’t know him.”
“None of them knew me the first time I met them, but they didn’t shoot nervous glances at one another when I walked into the room.”
Molly looks astonished. “You’re a girl, he’s a guy. It’s different.”
“You think that’s what it was?”
The muscle at her jaw jumps. “What else?”
I look at Uncle Sandeep, who’s staring out at the road. I turn back in my seat and say nothing.
After several moments of driving in silence, Uncle Sandeep clears his throat. “Seems as if your celebration was a big success, Molly.”
Despite the frown, her face lights up. “Can you believe Great-Aunt Maggie is ninety-two?”
He shakes his head. “What’s her secret?”
“She says to laugh every day and drink stout every night,” Molly says with a smile.
Uncle Sandeep laughs. “Sounds like a fun lady.”
Molly leans forward. “Thanks, Uncle Sandeep, she really is.” I want to tell her that he is not her uncle, but I pull the words back. I’ve already had to apologize once this afternoon; I’m not doing it again.
“Everyone seems to have been having a good time,” Uncle Sandeep says, smiling warmly at Molly in the rearview mirror.
“They always do,” I say. “The MacFaddens always have a blast.”
I didn’t mean it as a compliment, but Molly reaches forward to tousle my hair. “Thanks, Sam,” she says. “It’s never as much fun when you’re not around, though. You’re part of our crew too, y’know.”
I recall the numbing feeling that shot through my body at Molly’s house. “It would be nice to have my own crew,” I say, looking out the window.
“Hey,” Uncle Sandeep says, “what am I—cherry pits?”
“It’s chopped liver,” says Molly, grinning. “And it’s true, Sam. You do have your own crew.”
I roll my eyes. “No offense, Uncle Sandeep, but one person, besides my mother, does not translate into a crew.”
“It’s a start,” he says, looking hurt.
“I know, but…” I look out of the corner of my eye at Molly in the side mirror. “Look at the difference between the masses at Molly’s and, and…us.”
Uncle Sandeep drives silently for a moment. When he comes to a stop at a red light, he turns to me. “I meant it’s only a beginning, Sam. You do have a crew; a whole family—grandparents, cousins…your very own masses.”
“Yes, but they’re crazy. Mom says they’re fanatics who don’t want girls to cut their hair or shave their legs.”
Uncle Sandeep raises his eyebrows. “She said that?”
I shrug. “Basically. Not in those words, maybe, but that’s the gist.”
He shakes his head, amazed. “God, she makes us sound like the Taliban.”
“That’s what I always pictured,” I say, looking closer at his face. He shakes his head again.
He slows down at a stop sign and looks at me. “Do I fit that description?”
“You sure don’t,” Molly answers from the back. “From Sammy’s descriptions all these years, I thought I’d be meeting Abdullah with his nine wives.”
He smirks. “Wrong religion. Sikhs are not allowed more than one wife.”
As we pull into our driveway, I can’t get Uncle Sandeep’s question out of my mind: Do I f
it that description? No, he definitely does not fit the description that Mom always gave of her family. Not in the least. So what does that mean about the rest of Mom’s family? The rest of my family? What are the Ahluwahlias like, if not miserable, critical, and controlling?
When we walk into the house, the smells of Mom’s cooking hug us and fold us in. “Shoes off, everyone!” she says, waving a wooden spoon. Molly goes scurrying back to take off her boots. Although she’s a regular visitor to the Ahluwahlia house, she forgets this rule every time.
“Coconut shrimp and green beans amandine,” Mom announces.
“Can’t wait to dig in,” says Uncle Sandeep, washing his hands in the sink. “Will you girls be joining us?”
“Not me,” Molly says. “I’m stuffed.”
“Me either. Studying on the agenda,” I say, heading up the stairs.
Molly follows me into my room and flops onto my bed. “I’m tired,” she complains. “I don’t know how I’m going to focus on calculus!”
“No one told you to drink so much.”
“I didn’t drink ‘so’ much. I had a couple of social drinks at a birthday party.” She rests her chin on one hand. “What’s up with you, Wally? It’s not like you’re an angel.”
Wally is the nickname Molly gave me when we were in second grade. We had just met and the other kids were taunting me, calling me Ahluwahli-ali-alia, or All-you-wallies. Mom and I had just moved into the neighborhood, and Molly and her family knew just about everyone. Molly started to affectionately call me Wally, and the teasing slowly fell off. I stuck to her like glue after that.
I stop leafing through my calc book. “Moll, are you honestly going to tell me you think those people were staring at Uncle Sandeep because he’s a guy?”
She sits up, her mouth thinning into a straight line. “Sammy, if you’re trying to say something, just say it.”
I close my textbook. “You don’t think the huge red turban on his head had anything to do with it?”
She throws her arms up. “It’s because they don’t know him, Sammy—he could’ve been wearing a potato sack! If some strange man walked into your house, wouldn’t you stare?”
I shake my head as if to clear it. “Are you serious? I wouldn’t stare if you told me he was your uncle!”
She climbs off the bed and stands in front of me with her arms crossed on her chest. “My family is not prejudiced.”
I say nothing.
Color floods her face and her eyes glisten. “I can’t believe you’re saying this, Sammy—you’ve known us forever! When have we ever made you feel…” Her voice fades, and she stares at me for a moment. Then she snaps up her books and calmly marches out of my room. I make no move to stop her.
I hear her footsteps, followed by Mom’s and Uncle Sandeep’s surprised voices, then the front door slamming shut.
A few moments later, Mom’s at my door. “Sammy, what happened?”
“Nothing.”
She fixes me with a hard stare. “Samar, you two have had your spats in the past,” she says, then points downstairs, “but Molly has never stormed out of here like that. Don’t tell me it was nothing.”
I open my textbook. “Mom, I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
She stands there without saying anything. “Fine,” she says finally, turning around. “But good friends aren’t easy to find, Sam. Keep that in mind.”
Whatever. What would she know about friends and family? The only family she ever had she dumped, and maybe for no reason. She has no friends—just a few “gal pals” to go out with every now and then. And if Uncle Sandeep hadn’t come back around, she never would have made the effort to contact him.
I hear the murmur of voices downstairs as the equations and numbers in my textbook merge and blur together. How could Molly not see it? If the people at her house this afternoon got to know Uncle Sandeep, they’d love him. But a lot of those faces looked like they had already made up their minds. Maybe the same way I’d made up my mind about Mom’s family and about Uncle Sandeep, based on the few words she’d given me.
I hang my head. Why didn’t I ever think to find out for myself? I snap my textbook shut. Some things are more important than calculus. Like figuring out how I’m going to meet the rest of my very own crew—beginning with Mom’s parents.
When I get home from school on Monday, I ask Mom if I can hang out with Mike for a bit.
She gives me a look. “It’s a weeknight, Sammy.” Mom’s fine with me dating, but she has never really been crazy about Mike. She hasn’t come right out and admitted it, but it’s pretty easy to tell when Mom doesn’t like someone.
My voice heads into whine country. “I know, but I never get to see him anymore, and Molly’s totally incommunicado.”
“You two haven’t worked that out yet?”
“Mom!”
She purses her lips. “What about your homework?”
“It’s totally manageable.” Not completely true, but close enough.
She sighs. “I suppose, but be back by dinner.”
I race upstairs to call Mike.
About half an hour later I hear the doorbell. When I come down the stairs, Mom and Mike are exchanging awkward small talk just inside the doorway. Mike, at six foot three, towers over Mom’s five foot one.
“Hey,” I say, a little breathless. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. No mouth kisses in front of Mom—she’s cool about dating and all, but not that cool.
“Hey,” he says. “Ready?”
“Ready. Bye, Mom,” I toss over my shoulder.
“What’s up?” Mike asks, once we’ve turned the corner.
“Mama drama,” I say, flipping through his CDs.
He reaches for my hand.
“She’s so nosy! Molly and I had a fight yesterday, and Mom’s all over me about it.”
“What did you fight about?”
I find a Joss Stone CD and pop it in the player. “Uncle Sandeep picked me up at her place and there was this weird vibe, and she just wouldn’t admit it!”
“A weird vibe?”
“I don’t know…it was just this weird feeling….”
He nods but doesn’t say anything.
“Plus, he and Mom have been talking about a lot of family stuff since he came around.”
“Hmm,” he says. “Probably some serious stuff.”
“That’s it, exactly,” I say, a bit too forcefully. “I think I do need to find out more about my family—my history.”
“Why?”
I exhale in exasperation. “What do you mean, why? Because I don’t know anything about them!”
“Take it easy, babe.” He reaches across the seat to take my hand. “I’m only asking because you’ve always seemed fine with it being just you and your mom.”
I lean back against the seat for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that…I don’t know. Something about Uncle Sandeep coming back makes me want to know more, you know? Maybe I could be part of something bigger—a family, community…something. Does that make sense?”
He looks thoughtful as he stares out at the road ahead. “I guess,” he says.
“Whenever I’m at Molly’s with her big family gatherings, I feel like it’s a club, or a secret society that has its own words and meanings, and I never quite fit in…totally. And I felt it so much more yesterday when Uncle Sandeep came to get me.” I glance over at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to go on about my problems. I don’t expect you to understand.”
He cocks his head to one side. “Maybe I do. Give me a chance. Is it like walking into a loving family and thinking only of your own family’s brokenness? Or like going to a restaurant with your college friends and not being able to order anything from the menu because you’re paying off your mom’s credit cards?”
I wince. I’ve been so absorbed in my own problems that I completely forgot what Mike has to deal with every day. Suddenly I feel like a selfish kid. “Kinda,” I say softly, looking at his
profile. “I don’t mean to go on about all my crap.”
He gives my hand a squeeze.
“I don’t really get the restaurant comparison, though.”
He smiles. “You walk in thinking you’re the same as everyone else, only to realize you’re not. Nobody understands what you gotta deal with. They’re in their cushy worlds and you’re the kid outside the window.”
“Wow. That’s exactly what I mean.”
He winks and kisses the inside of my wrist as we pull into his driveway.
The part of town where Mike lives has more apartment buildings and townhouses than where I live. In my neck of the woods, all the houses have lawns and backyards. Streets end in “Crescent” or “Circle” or “Lane.” I live on Riverview Lane, and Molly lives a few streets down on Walnut Crescent.
From the outside of Mike’s home, you’d never think the inside looks the way it does. His mom likes the finer things in life and has gone into debt to get them. She’s almost never home, so most of the time we have the place to ourselves, which is really convenient for make-out sessions. It’s always too warm at his place, and Mike puts on one of his jazz or R & B CDs, and we cocoon ourselves away from parents and school, and now (for him) work.
We walk in and fling our jackets onto the dining room chairs, letting them stay wherever they land.
“Want something to drink?”
I nod, sinking into the cream-colored leather sofa.
“What’s new at school?” he asks, coming back and setting a Coke in front of me.
I take a sip. “Lots of talk about September eleventh.”
“Yeah. That’s all anybody ever talks about at work, too. All day long.”
“I have to do a paper for Lesiak on it, and we’re talking about it in American history.”
He guzzles half of his Coke. “Those bastards came out of their caves and ruined innocent lives for nothing.”
I turn to stare at him, my stomach beginning to churn. “But, but…we don’t really know what happened, Mike….”
He jerks his head around to look at me, eyes wide, incredulous. “What do you mean, we don’t know what happened? You saw it all on TV, didn’t you? Everyone in the whole goddamn world saw it! Thousands of people died for no friggin’ reason, Sam.”
Shine, Coconut Moon Page 3