by Saumya Dave
But now she feels all her determination dissolving and making room for something else.
Something that feels a lot like losing control.
* * *
• • •
The apartment is pitch-black when Suhani gets home several hours later. She hangs her purse on a gold hook and drops her keys in a speckled turquoise Anthropologie bowl on the entrance table. Since Zack isn’t here, she can get away with having a large glass of wine, cheese, and crackers for dinner.
Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a blanketed mound rising and falling on the couch.
“Natasha?” Suhani turns on the light. “You’re sleeping?”
Of course. This is how it’s always been. Suhani works while Natasha sleeps or drinks or captivates people with her bold humor. Some people can get through all of life being their carefree selves, while others, like Suhani, have to hunker down and work, work, work.
Natasha stirs. She’s wearing Suhani’s maroon flannel pajamas, which she no doubt fished out from the bottom of Suhani and Zack’s dresser. For a second, seeing Natasha that way makes Suhani nostalgic for high school, when in some ways life felt a little simpler.
But now she wonders if it really was simpler or if, with growing up and going through some shit, she’s become more aware, or maybe just more cynical.
Suhani starts picking up crumpled tissues, Reese’s peanut butter cup wrappers, and an empty Cheetos bag off her coffee table. A bowl of Cape Cod chips is dangerously close to the edge. The television is on the Netflix screen that reads are you still watching?
Suhani feels a flash of irritation as she throws the trash away. “NATASHA, WAKE UP!”
Natasha jumps up as though she’s been electrocuted. “Oh my God, you scared the crap out of me. Uh, hey.”
Suhani opens the fridge door. “Did you seriously finish my champagne?”
“Oh, calm down,” Natasha says. “I’ll get you another bottle.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Suhani says, too tired to argue. “So what have you been doing all day?”
She removes a bottle of wine from the pantry. Outside, the Atlanta skyline glitters like jewelry.
Natasha scrolls through her phone. “Just, you know, working on stuff.”
“Anything of note?” Suhani asks, torn between feeling sorry for her sister and feeling frustrated with her lack of initiative.
Natasha shakes her head.
Suhani avoids eye contact as she pours wine and arranges a slab of Brie, several crackers, grapes, and a tiny bowl of olives on a white marble cheese board. She pours another glass for Natasha and brings everything to the coffee table.
Natasha sits up and slathers Brie onto a cracker. “So, was work stressful?”
“Yeah.” Suhani takes a big sip of wine. “You know, the usual.”
“I wish it could get easier for you at some point. I feel like you’re always working. Always tired.”
“That’s just how residency is. Every single thing I do counts. If I screw up, someone can really get hurt. And I’m then forever a bad doctor.”
“You really need to let that worry go already,” Natasha says. “You are never going to be that. Ever.” She shakes her head on the word “ever.” “Damn, don’t you ever get exhausted just being so you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Suhani asks as she realizes it’s a variation on what Zack’s been telling her for the past couple of weeks.
“You’re so on edge all the time that it makes me anxious,” Natasha says. “Like, chill the fuck out already.”
The statement lingers in the air between them. Natasha glances at Suhani, unsure of whether she’s just said something too offensive. A couple of seconds pass. Natasha has a gleam in her eyes. Her gaze locks with Suhani’s. They instantly break into a fit of laughter. Suhani feels some of her stress pour out of her in a way that’s only possible when she’s around her sister.
“Guess who I saw at work today?” Suhani says with a tone that reminds her of Mom excited to share gossip. She tells Natasha everything, ending with how she stormed out of Roshan’s office.
“Whoa. Holy shit,” Natasha says after Suhani’s done. She launches into the questions that can only be asked with Zack not at home. “How did he look? Did you feel anything, even anything small, toward him? Are you going to talk to him again?”
“I don’t plan to.” Suhani takes a large sip of wine and pictures the lines around Roshan’s eyes, the way his broad shoulders and palpable confidence flooded her with memories.
“Does Zack know about everything that happened with him?”
“What do you mean by ‘everything’?” Suhani’s stomach tightens. Natasha knows more than anyone else, but even she doesn’t know everything.
“Like how serious you guys were? How intense it got? That that was the most formative relationship you were in before Zack? I mean, that guy got to you in a way I’d never seen before.”
Suhani shakes her head as she thinks of the waves of rage and relief that only Roshan could send her on. “I don’t think Zack wants any of those details.”
“I think he would,” Natasha says. “Wouldn’t you if he had someone like that in his past who now works close to him?”
“I guess I would and wouldn’t. Of course I checked out all of his exes when we first started dating. They were all white,” Suhani says. “But I don’t know if I needed every single detail of his relationships.”
“I’d want to know,” Natasha says, confirming that she and Suhani have such different approaches to their pasts. Natasha doesn’t believe in keeping anything to herself, even if it could spare someone’s feelings or stop her from getting into trouble.
“I did remember how intense things always were with Roshan. I knew it would all be easier with Zack. No guessing or mind games or any of that crap. All the really hard parts with him, especially at the beginning, were about everyone else. Our parents not taking us seriously. Everyone judging us.”
Natasha squints at her, a look of skepticism on her face. “Do you feel like you miss the drama? Or wish Zack was more passionate?”
“No, of course not,” Suhani says, resenting herself for implying that there is anything wrong with Zack. “It’s just that . . . no, never mind.”
“What?” Natasha pushes.
Suhani sighs. “There were certain things Roshan and I never had to discuss, about our parents moving to America, being the oldest in a Gujarati family. With Zack, we had to make it a point to talk about all of that stuff, and sometimes he still doesn’t get it.”
She sips her wine and feels a wave of relief at being able to say all this and know Natasha won’t judge her. Maybe Suhani should be kinder to her younger self every time she berates her for dating Roshan. Things weren’t toxic in the beginning. He doted on her constantly. It took her months to realize that control could be disguised as love.
Natasha looks at Suhani as if she’s examining her. “Is there ever a second when you wish you were with someone else? Or single? I feel like nobody ever talks about the bad parts of being married, like being trapped or wondering if you made a mistake.”
“Never.” Suhani shakes her head. “Even on our bad days, things with Zack are still good at the core. I’ve been so tired and stressed from work, but we both still try as hard as we can for each other. And he’s always made me feel like I can do anything, be anyone I want.”
Before Zack, Suhani didn’t know that the way someone made her feel about herself was one of the most important parts of a relationship.
She wonders if she should tell Natasha about the last few times she and Zack have argued. It all feels so out of character for them, for the usual steadiness of their marriage. Natasha would know how to reassure her that it’s just because of work stress and some miscommunication. Nothing to worry about.
“I get that,” Natasha say
s. “Karan made me feel funny, for sure, but, like, I think he wanted a funny housewife. Not a comedian. Maybe I knew on some level that he thought I was fun-girlfriend material but not his type of wife material.”
“I can see how it’s easier to like the idea of someone more than the actual reality of being with them,” Suhani says. “But don’t you think Karan did really know you? He’s been a part of our family forever. Maybe you both just need a little space.”
Natasha frowns. “So you’re saying I made a mistake?”
“I didn’t say that at all. I just think you both know each other so well and maybe this is just a rough patch.”
“Ugh.” Natasha rolls her eyes. “I was just trying to talk to you about Zack, not get into why I screwed things up with Karan. Trust me, Mom has given me enough shit about it. And I’m sure his mom is thrilled I’m out of the picture.”
Suhani catches a glimpse of her sister’s eyes. There’s anger in them, yes, but there’s also a hint of something else. Sadness, maybe. Or could it be regret?
“So, how’s your comedy going?” Suhani asks to change the subject. “Any thoughts on getting a day job?”
“Seriously?” Natasha asks. “You sound like Mom. She already tried to make me call that weird uncle for a job.”
“Well, maybe we’re trying to help. Because sometimes you shut down or block out your problems,” Suhani says. “And you have to have an income.”
“I don’t shut down,” Natasha says with a very distinct edge to her voice. “And I already applied for a job at Starbucks.”
“As a barista?”
“Yes. I’m not beneath pouring coffee, okay? And just so you know, working on my comedy isn’t all fun and games. It’s actually really freaking hard and I could use some support.” Natasha stands up. “I definitely don’t need you to treat me like one of your therapy cases.”
“I’m not!”
“Puh-lease. And I don’t even expect you to totally understand,” Natasha says. “You don’t know what it’s like to feel like a total failure. Like everyone’s just judging you and waiting for you to screw up. You just don’t get it.”
Oh, I do get it, Suhani wants to say. More than you know.
“What don’t I get? I want to be there for you, understand what you’re going through. You didn’t even tell me you were going to break up with Karan and I sti—”
“I wasn’t going to! I was so caught off guard by the freaking proposal in front of our entire family!” Natasha interrupts. “I mean, he was my best friend and now I don’t even know how he’s doing.”
Despite Natasha’s firm, loud voice, Suhani detects an undercurrent of defeat.
Natasha wrings her hands. “Maybe I didn’t realize how not ready I was to get married until he got down on one knee! I mean, who the fuck proposes without discussing something like that with their girlfriend?! And when we’re so young!”
“That’s true,” Suhani says. “I can’t imagine how shocked you were.”
“I really was,” Natasha says. “I wish I just had the chance to tell him that I was happy with the way things were. And I always saw myself having a bigger and better life than this before I got married. There was stuff I thought I’d accomplish before I became a wife, if I ever became a wife. But it doesn’t matter now. Everything’s just gone to shit.”
“It hasn’t all gone to shit. Not at all,” Suhani says. She knows it’s not the right time to tell Natasha that until now, she’s had an easier time than Suhani or Anuj in a lot of ways. Suhani had to dress up as an Indian princess for Halloween every year, but Natasha always found a way to convince Mom to buy her something new. Suhani and Anuj were both bullied throughout middle school, while Natasha’s unapologetic confidence made her a consistent leader of the pack.
“Let’s see what’s on,” Suhani suggests. She starts to feel the weight of her day. Suddenly, all she wants to do is take a hot shower and collapse into her king-size bed.
Natasha turns on an episode of The Office.
“This is one of the scenes Mindy wrote,” Natasha says. “She was the only woman and person of color on the writing staff when she was hired. Can you believe that?”
Suhani shakes her head. “Sadly, I can. She’s done so much for women, especially women of color.”
“Totally,” Natasha says. “If I ever make it with comedy, I’m going to make sure there’s space for more women.”
“I know you will,” Suhani says. “And you’re going to make it.”
She stops herself from saying If you put in the work. Her sister has so much innate talent but often lacks the drive to follow through. But she won’t offer that reminder right now, maybe because on some level, Suhani suspects, she already knows it.
Natasha leans over to Suhani’s side of the couch and puts her head on her shoulder. Her curls brush against Suhani’s cheek. For a second, Natasha’s thirteen years old again, asking Suhani what a period is and how to wear a tampon.
“I’m sorry I freaked out. I know you’re only looking out for me.” Natasha chews on her bottom lip.
“It’s fine.” Suhani turns the volume up. “Let’s just let it go.”
Classic Natasha: pissing you off one second, melting your heart the next.
“I had to watch this show behind Mom’s back and pretend I was studying,” Natasha says. “But she always caught me. Remember how we’d wait to hear her breathing every time we talked to our friends on the landline? She was always listening from the downstairs phone.”
“She was. She could have been a detective with the way she kept tabs on what we were doing. And she always denied it!” Suhani laughs. One time, Mom forgot to cover the mouthpiece and Suhani heard the telltale piano intro from her Hindi soap opera.
A few minutes later, Natasha pauses from staring at Jim and Pam and asks, “Do you ever think that we all put on an I’m-fine face for Mom and Dad? Because we know how much they struggled as immigrants?”
“I know we do,” Suhani says. “I think we tell ourselves that they had it so much worse, having to leave their home, face discrimination, try to make ends meet . . . so there’s no way our problems could ever compare.”
She kept so many things from Mom and Dad throughout the years that by college, denial was just another reflex. No, she wasn’t waxing her arms because someone at school called them hairy. No, she didn’t sob in her car after getting a B on the calculus final. No, her ex-boyfriend never crushed her sense of self-worth and almost cost her her career. No, she doesn’t feel insecure at work.
“Sometimes I get so sick of telling them I’m fine,” Natasha says.
“I know you do.” Suhani wraps her arm across Natasha’s back.
They sit that way until the wine and cheese are finished. Natasha slumps onto Suhani’s shoulder in the middle of the next episode. Suhani strokes her sister’s wavy hair, which is crunchy from dry shampoo. They both drift into a dreamless sleep, with the television still on, as though they’re kids again.
Twelve
Bina
You decided to wear that?” Bina takes in her daughter’s makeup- and jewelry-free face, flip-flops, and wrinkled peach cotton sari that’s unevenly pleated around her waist. They’re at one of the nicest hotels in Atlanta for a wedding reception and Natasha looks like she rolled out of bed and wrapped a sari around her like a bath towel. It’s as though she was making it a point to stand out in the sea of heavy saris and even heavier jewelry sets.
Still, Bina regrets her words the second they emerge. A part of her wants to say she’s only trying to help, but that’ll only make things worse.
Plus, Natasha’s outfit did distract Bina from the dread she’s had all week over seeing her friends for the first time since the health fair. Her stomach tightens as she thinks of the impending awkwardness. She hates how much of her identity is tied to being accepted by the people she loves. It reminds
her of her first years in America. Back then, Bina spent so much time wondering when she’d finally feel like she belonged. Now, she wishes she could tell her younger self to focus less on wanting to belong with others and more on believing in herself.
She reaches into her gold sparkly clutch and wraps her hand around the folded place card that has her name and table number. The seating cards are at the entrance of the hall on a large round table with tea-light candles and a brass statue of Ganesha in the middle. Bina spots hers right away. Anita’s is next to hers, with the same table number in the same elegant calligraphy. What’s Bina supposed to do all night? Smile and act like everything’s okay? She should have put Vaseline on her teeth, an old trick she used during her acting days to help her hold a grin for long periods of time.
“Mom. Seriously? Hi to you, too.” Natasha groans as she sticks a toothpick into a cube of chili paneer, her favorite appetizer at Indian weddings.
Now that Bina has a second to notice, the entire cocktail-hour space smells like chili paneer, alcohol, and an array of perfumes. Bina could bottle up that combination and name it Desi Wedding.
Bina exchanges hellos and brief updates with people who pass by them. She knows people aren’t supposed to like small talk, but she loves it, always has. It’s always been one of her favorite parts of going to weddings.
“Dad,” Natasha says, unaware or nonchalant to the fact that everyone can hear her. “Whenever Mom is done socializing with every single person here, can you tell her to back off with me? Who even cares what I look like here? We barely know these people. They only invited us because they invited everyone.”
Natasha does have a point. But Bina doesn’t tell her that. It’s been three weeks since she moved out of the house. Three weeks of Bina wondering if Natasha is okay, what in the world she’s filling her time with, and how fulfilled she can really be living on Suhani and Zack’s couch. The second Bina saw her daughter walk into the Whitley Hotel Atlanta Buckhead event hall, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to yell at her or tell her she missed her and wants her to come home.