by Saumya Dave
“By serving coffee?” Bina jumps in. “Is that what you consider a valuable use of your time?” Natasha has to be kidding. First the videos and now this? Is this what she and Deepak came to America for?
“Mom,” Natasha stretches out the word so it sounds like “Moooooom.” “Where did you even come from? And, no, I don’t think any job is beneath me, but of course I should have expected you to have an opinion about it.”
Bina feels a flash of worry, followed by anger. “I think as your mother, I have the right to weigh in on your choices. My mother wouldn’t have let me out of the ho—”
“UGH, you just don’t get it!” Natasha yells. “I don’t want to be like you, Mom. I want to do big things with my life, okay? How come you’re so okay pushing Suhani to work and work and Anuj to take his time to figure out what he wants, but with me, all you do is put me down?”
“Oh, I see,” Bina says. “You can talk about me putting you down while you talk about all of us on videos? Public videos?”
Natasha’s silent. If it wasn’t for the whir of the coffee machine and staccato of people’s footsteps, Bina would think they got disconnected.
“What are you talking about?”
Suhani whispers, “Let’s stay calm so she hears us,” but Bina ignores her. “Mira showed me your recordings or whatever they’re called. You think this is comedy? Making fun of your family? What is wrong with you? What are you even doing with your life?”
“Mira Auntie showed you that? How?” Natasha’s voice is softer than before.
“Does it matter?” Bina challenges. “You humiliated all of us. How dare you?!”
“I wasn’t trying to humiliate anyone! I was creating material for my comedy. Obviously it’s exaggerated and embellished. But it’s helped me process things . . . about my life. About us.”
“Wait,” Bina says. “You think this is somehow helping you? Are you being serious, Natasha?”
Before Bina can say anything else, she hears the telltale click indicating that Natasha has hung up.
Sixteen
Natasha
Fuck.
The word replays in Natasha’s head until it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Mom’s words on the phone come back to her. You humiliated all of us. How dare you?!
Maybe Mom has a point. How dare she? But comedians use their lives as inspiration all the time. Natasha couldn’t have crossed the line when she only did what countless other artists have done, right?
Or maybe she did.
She sends a text to the thread she has with Anuj, Suhani, and Zack.
I’m really sorry for hurting y’all with my videos. Love you all so much.
The conviction she had just seconds ago is replaced by a sharp regret. How could she have said those things? Why didn’t she even consider what would happen, how they’d feel, if they saw? The thought of them, all of them, hearing all that makes her nauseated. She sees herself the way they see her. The troublemaker. The disappointment. The hassle.
But right now, she has to focus on the next hour. She has to get it together, or at least appear to get it together, before she has the conversation she’s been anticipating for days.
She takes one more deep breath and glances in the mirror. She tries to conjure an inspirational quote from the multiple ones she read on Instagram this morning. But her mind draws a blank.
Never mind, she doesn’t need Instagram therapy to get through this. All she needs is the faith that today, she’s going to start taking control of her life.
The Starbucks bathroom is poorly lit but she can still make out her full cheeks, round eyes, and the new layer of fat on her chin, all such contrasts to Suhani’s and Mom’s angular faces. It’s as though the Joshi DNA decided to soften before it got to her.
She crouches under the hand dryer in an attempt to get rid of the wetness that pooled under her arms during Mom’s phone call. She should have taken one of Suhani’s perfume samples. And some of her makeup.
She sees Karan just when she opens the bathroom door, at a round table near the entrance, wearing a salmon-colored Lacoste polo that has to be new. It’s surreal that he’s just sitting here and scrolling on his phone, as if he’s anyone else and not the person she grew up with and thought she’d be with forever. This is the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other and she’s reminded of the things that define him, the ones that became blurry in her memories, like his widow’s peak and the scar above his left eyebrow from a fall on the ski slopes during one of their joint family trips. Depending on who you asked, Karan could be either “adorable cute” or “hot cute.” Ifeoma and Payal always thought he was too short. But Natasha would take Karan’s compact, huggable build over height any day.
He sees her from his periphery. “Hi.”
“Hey. Thanks for meeting me. It’s really good to see you.” Natasha feels her facial muscles twist into the most awkward smile. It’s the first time in too long she’s felt anything close to anticipation. She considers grabbing his face and kissing him, the way she first did in middle school when they snuck outside during a Diwali party.
“You, too.”
I’ve missed you so much, she thinks as she takes in all of him.
Karan doesn’t seem mad at her. In fact, the gleam in his eyes gives away that he’s missed her, too. She’s overcome with a mixture of excitement and relief.
“How’s it going?” Karan’s chair screeches against the floor when he shifts toward her for a hug. Natasha means to sink into his broad shoulders but at the last second bumps into his chest like a frat bro at a football game. So much for a graceful reunion. Nobody here would ever think that two months ago, Karan was bending down on one knee and asking Natasha to marry him.
“Oh, you know, just livin’ the dream.” Natasha motions to her green apron and name tag. Even though she had so much conviction when Mom questioned her about the Starbucks job, now she suddenly feels stupid.
Karan chuckles. “Yeah, look at you all dressed up for work. It suits you, actually.”
“Oh really? A green apron suits me? How kind of you!” Natasha smiles.
“I’m just saying, I’d like to get a coffee from you.” Karan gives her a knowing smile. Is he flirting with her?
Natasha moves the free chair at the table so that it’s directly across from him. “It’s so weird being here with you like this. But I’m glad we’re doing this.”
“I am, too. So, what’s going on? How’s your comedy?” Karan takes a sip of his drink. Natasha doesn’t even have to ask to know it’s a pumpkin spice latte. Karan always craved the seasonal drinks at Starbucks, even after they were deemed “basic.” Now that she thinks of it, he embraces a lot of things that are dismissed as being commonplace, like dinner at the Cheesecake Factory or a Taylor Swift concert or those giant fingers people wear at Braves games.
“Eh, it’s fine,” Natasha says. “A lot of ups and downs.”
It takes all her self-resolve to not tell him everything that just happened with Mom and Suhani. More than ever, she craves someone who understands her and her family in a way that can only come from history.
But then she remembers that she can’t tell him because he’s a part of the videos and not in the most flattering way. Damn it, why did she have to go and do this? Why couldn’t she have just kept her mouth shut, the way so many teachers over the years had advised her to?
Karan raises his eyebrows.
Natasha tells herself to stay strong and put on a brave face.
But as she and Karan lock eyes, she feels herself crumbling, unable to keep it all in anymore. “Okay, so maybe more downs than ups.”
She gives him a summary of how Alexis’s class was harder than she thought it’d be and how she froze last night during an open mic segment at the Punchline. Someone in the audienc
e even shouted “Get off the stage, already!”
“And there are other ways to pursue comedy, I know,” she says. “I’ve applied for internships at some of the comedy clubs I’ve tried to go to for open mics. But they don’t really pay much, if anything, and that’s if I’m lucky enough to get a spot. Nobody will even interview me because of my lack of experience. What a catch-22, right? I can’t get experience unless someone will give me a chance but nobody will give me a chance without experience. So, here I am, your favorite neighborhood barista.”
She gives a big I’m-fine smile. And for this moment, she is a little closer to fine than she has been in weeks. It’s cathartic to purge her mind, to tell the person who was her best friend everything that she’s been keeping locked inside.
“I see,” Karan says as he stares at his latte. “Wow. That really is a lot.”
“I know. Sorry I just unloaded on you. I haven’t been able to really talk about any of this with anyone,” Natasha says. Why did she let go of the one person she used to talk to all the time?
“What about the girls? And Suhani?”
Natasha shrugs. “I know they all care, but they’ve got their own things going on. Things that are really different from anything I’m doing. They try but they don’t fully get it. And I don’t blame them. Even I don’t always fully get why I’m doing all this.”
Karan’s eyes are heavy with concern. “Natasha, don’t take this the wrong way, but are you okay?”
“Yeah, totally. I’m fine,” Natasha says, then adds, “Fine enough. I mean, sure, things have been tougher than I thought they’d be, but I’ll get through it.”
Tears line the corners of her eyes. But she can’t cry. Karan shouldn’t see her like this. “It’s just hard to stay motivated and keep going after I’m rejected over and over again. Then I tell myself to keep creating more ideas but my brain is running so fast sometimes that I can’t even produce anything.”
She doesn’t say that within minutes of talking to him, she already feels more at ease. It was always so easy to talk to him. With his nonjudgmental questions and occasional nods, he’s what Suhani calls an “active listener.”
“But I didn’t want to get into all this today. More than anything, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for everything,” Natasha says. “I know the way I reacted to the proposal was hurtful. And instead of getting so freaked out by you asking, I should have just told you I’m nowhere near ready to get married. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you.”
Natasha fidgets with the cardboard sleeve on Karan’s cup, which reads Karen in black Sharpie. When they were in elementary school, Karan would get so annoyed that people thought his name was Karen, but by ninth grade, he tried to find the humor in it. It’s my white-person name, he’d say.
“You never reached out to me after that.” Karan presses his lips together, which enhances the dimple in his chin.
“I know. I’ve wanted to but I needed to think,” Natasha says. “And then, when I thought about calling, it felt unfair to bother you when you were clearly so upset. I thought a little space would help.”
“Help what? Help me forget that you rejected me?” Even though Karan’s cheeks are flushed, his voice is still soft. He would never get visibly pissed in a Starbucks. He and Anita Auntie are alike that way, careful to maintain public decorum no matter what, while Natasha’s gotten mad at Mom in all types of places.
“No, I’m not saying that.” She starts tearing the cardboard and relishes the feel of each piece in her hands. Then, because she’s feeling bold, impatient, or both, she blurts, “I want to get back together.”
“What?” Karan clutches the table. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious.”
“Are you asking this just so there’s something stable in your life?”
“What? No, of course not! I’ve known you since I was a baby.” Her legs start to shake as she says, “And I’ve always seen us growing up together. You’re my family.”
For a second, Karan’s face looks brighter. Happier. But then he shifts his hand away from hers. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because,” Karan says.
“Because what?” She almost expects him to say Because I said so, the way he did when they were younger and she’d ask for explanations for the random facts he’d tell her.
“It’s just not a good idea.”
“Why? Because you went on a date with someone else?”
His eyes widen with surprise.
“I saw you at the market weeks ago, when I was getting ready to leave brunch. She seemed nice, you know, if you like those pretty, skinny, stylish, happy types.” Natasha smiles.
“Oh,” Karan says. “You mean Anisha.”
She waits for him to tell her that Anisha’s a long-lost cousin Natasha somehow never met.
But Karan’s lips are downturned as he stares at the floor and mumbles, “She’s my girlfriend.”
“Your what?”
“My gi—”
“How do you already have a girlfriend? It’s been, like, twenty seconds since we broke up.” Her mind is flooded with the image of them from that day. Karan’s large, easy smile. Anisha in her dress and heels. Of course Karan likes a girl like her. A Suhani-type girl, as put together on the inside as she is on the outside. There’s no way Anisha snoozes her alarm too much or takes forever to respond to texts for no legitimate reason or oscillates between being angry at everyone and then not caring at all.
“It’s been weeks since you said no to marrying me,” Karan whispers as he looks around. Natasha wants to tell him nobody can hear him, and even if they can, nobody cares.
They’ve been together for years—years—and he can just be with someone else within weeks? What’s worse is that he didn’t even really replace her; he upgraded. If you randomly polled anyone—an auntie, a twenty-year-old, or a high schooler—all of them would agree that Anisha is a catch.
“So that means you just got another girlfriend?” she asks, suddenly feeling nauseated. “But when I asked you to meet, you seemed excited. Like you really wanted to see me.”
And you’re the only person I have left, she wants to say. Nobody else gets what’s going on.
“I did want to see you,” Karan says. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay since my mom had heard from some of the aunties that things have been tough for you.”
“You got your intel about me from your mom and the aunties. Shocker,” she says.
Anita Auntie could have gotten her Natasha updates from Kavita Auntie or Mira Auntie. Both are equally likely. Mira Auntie likes sharing everyone’s business as much as possible, but Kavita Auntie, even though she seems quieter, is actually the one who gets the information in the first place. Suhani’s always thought that people tell Kavita Auntie more since she puts on a pretty convincing I-don’t-care-about-gossip act.
“Yeah, and I mean, at that wedding a couple of weeks ago, you got into that argument with your Mom during cocktail hour. So, I dunno, it seemed like you weren’t in a good place.”
“Well, thanks for caring.” Natasha scoffs. “But I’m fine and I definitely don’t need your support.”
She expects him to be irritated or maybe even mad. But when she looks up, what she sees in his eyes is way worse: pity. Stark, straightforward pity, the kind that stings more than anger would.
When Natasha and Karan were dating, he’d often note that he couldn’t believe he was with someone so fun. He assumed he was too dorky, too serious, for her. But now it’s clear that Karan has won. It turns out that in the game of life, being the funny, outspoken one doesn’t get you very far.
“If I can ask, how did you meet Anisha?” While a part of her wants to play it cool, a bigger part is way too curious to not know more details.
“We met on Dil
Mil.” Karan shifts in his chair. “She’s nice. Not complicated or all over the place.”
“You mean, like me.” Natasha clenches her fist. Of course she’s now Karan’s crazy ex-girlfriend. A part of her isn’t even surprised.
She thinks back to the episode of Sex and the City when Carrie realizes she’s too complicated for Big, confronts him after his engagement party at the Plaza, and walks away without looking back. If only Natasha had the strength for that type of badass gesture now.
“That’s not what I said.” Karan puffs out his cheeks. “I meant Anisha and I want the same things. A simple life. Stability. Family.”
“Oh wow. I’m sure your mom is thrilled,” Natasha says, hating that her words are weighed down with bitterness. Damn that desi dating app. Natasha can picture Anita Auntie entering in all the preferences on Karan’s behalf: Sweet, polite, perfect boy seeks girl who is as opposite of Natasha Joshi as possible.
“I think we should stop talking about this.”
“I think you’re right.” Natasha crosses her arms, feeling like a five-year-old who just got told she can’t have dessert.
Karan glances at his phone. “I should get going.”
“Good idea. I have to get back to work anyway,” Natasha lies.
The weight of the entire day settles on her shoulders. She’s a disappointment to everyone: her family, her friends, her ex-boyfriend, herself. Why did she ever think she could be anything else? She never fit in, and now she understands that she never will.
After she watches Karan pull out of the parking lot, she grabs her tote bag and gets in her car. She’s gotten a few responses in the group thread.
SUHANI: That was really messed up. Please don’t call me. I have enough going on in my life and don’t need anymore stress.
ANUJ: Agreed. Didn’t even know you made one about me. I helped you with YouTube and then you do that? Seriously?
ZACK: Think we should all take some time to process.
Zack also texted her separately. It’ll blow over soon. Don’t worry.