What a Happy Family

by Saumya Dave

  “You must be hungry.” Mom raises a recently threaded eyebrow. “Were you asleep?”

  Suhani forgot that in the midst of replaying Natasha’s videos, she had changed out of her maxi dress and into teal-blue Athleta pants and a faded gray Pleasant Hill High T-shirt. Her nails are chipped for the first time in months. Zack always joked that he could tell how Suhani was doing based on the state of her nails.

  “Uh, no. I was just sitting in my room.” Suhani takes two Oreos from a box on the counter. With her outfit, glasses, messy bun, and now the cookies, she almost looks identical to her seventh-grade yearbook picture. “Why are you cooking again?”

  “Just in case Dad wants one as a midnight snack,” Mom says, and Suhani can almost hear her adding the word “duh.”

  “Can’t he figure something else out because he’s an adult?”

  “You know I can’t just do that to him,” Mom says, as if leaving Dad to eat a bowl of cornflakes or pick up late-night Taco Bell would be some sort of crime. Suhani doesn’t even know what Zack eats most of the time. She couldn’t handle one week with a dynamic like Mom and Dad’s.

  “I think it could be good for both of you if he fends for himself once in a while,” Suhani says.

  “I’m fine. We’re all fine,” Mom says with an edge to her voice. “Whenever you come here, you think it’s your job to dictate the way the house runs. Even when people were visiting a few months ago, you got so upset.”

  “Somebody has to say something about this throwback to the 1950s!” Suhani says as she thinks back to the extended family members who visited Mom and Dad over the summer. Of course Mom could never suggest they stay in a hotel. Instead, she made them chai multiple times a day, cooked them fresh meals, did their laundry, took them to Stone Mountain and the Coca-Cola museum, and sent them home with a combination of gifts and some of Anuj’s old video games for their own kids.

  But it’s not just about that visit. It’s about Suhani always seeing her mother put herself last. It’s about how politeness and accommodating others were a part of her language, like the syllables of Gujarati mixed with English. And now that it’s just her and Dad at home, she should cook less and tell him to do his own laundry. Why does she accept this for herself? Why doesn’t she demand more? She can’t believe this woman in front of her—the one concerned with when Patel Brothers will restock ginger or if she’s slacking by buying ready-made dosa batter—once recited lines onstage in front of hundreds of people.

  “Trust me, I made peace with all this years ago. It’s not worth it for you to get so worked up. And I’m glad this isn’t your life, beta.” Mom gazes at Suhani with a look that takes her back to countless afternoons when Suhani studied at the dining table while Mom cut fruit. The rush of nostalgia and wistful expression on Mom’s face make Suhani wonder if she should just tell her everything going on with Zack and work and Roshan. Maybe she won’t judge her. Maybe, since Suhani is now an adult who has proven herself, Mom will listen and provide support.

  But then Mom’s phone rings with a WhatsApp notification. She rushes to pick it up with an urgency Suhani thought was reserved for doctors responding to codes. She watches Mom scroll through the message and knows her moment to tell her anything has disappeared. Throughout Suhani’s life, there have been narrow windows of time when it felt right to confide in her mother. Once they were interrupted—by a phone call, something bubbling over on the stove, one of her siblings needing something—it was as though the air between her and Mom had shifted, and it no longer made sense to bother her with anything.

  Mom tucks her phone into the side pocket of her nightgown. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Already?” Dad walks into the kitchen. He’s wearing an outfit that’s a confused cross between loungewear and nineties soccer player: a buttery yellow shirt that reads keep talking; i’m diagnosing you and a pair of black Umbro shorts that he definitely took from Anuj’s room.

  “Yes, I’m going to watch that new Bollywood series on Netflix until my eyes close.” Bina gives Deepak a hug, then pecks Suhani on her cheek.

  “Now, why are you awake?” Suhani asks Dad after Mom is gone.

  “I was hungry. Ah, my favorite!” Dad picks up a warm rotli, adds chickpea curry, and rolls it all up like a burrito. He’s been eating his Gujarati food like that since residency. Now the ensemble has been named a “kathi roll” and is sold at Indian restaurants everywhere.

  “So . . . I was telling Mom you should be able to cook for yourself and finish other chores that she’s been doing forever. Now that it’s just both of you at home, things should be split more equally.”

  She waits for Dad to argue or explain why this setup has always worked.

  But to her surprise, Dad puts down his food and says, “I agree.”

  “You do?” Suhani asks.

  “Of course. Why do you think I encouraged her to start these meetings? I know she should be spending her time doing different things. And the events she’s always planned were great, but even with those, she became the go-to cook and coordinator. She needs something that challenges her, helps her connect with people the way she was always meant to and make a bigger impact. I want that for her. I’ve always wanted that for her.”

  “Does she know that? Have you told her?” Suhani asks as she realizes that sometimes it’s the words people don’t say that can shape a relationship, a life.

  “I always assumed she knew but clearly, I was wrong.” He takes a glass and fills it with ice and water from the fridge, which is covered in magnets that have different drug names: Prozac, Xanax, Lexapro. “I was convinced I’d be different—the Indian husband who actually made sure his wife had as big of an identity outside the home as he did. But then we had more kids and I got so wrapped up in my own work and we were surrounded by people who divided things in a more traditional way. I guess at some point both she and I surrendered to that.”

  He turns to her, his eyes heavy with something Suhani can’t pinpoint. Regret? Sadness? “Your mom had to sacrifice a lot for me, for all of us. She couldn’t go back to the life she had planned for herself. And I think that eventually, managing all this”—he points to the house—“became her way to prove herself.”

  Suhani always thought of Mom’s endless daily tasks as a function of the patriarchy. But maybe by keeping their house in order, Mom could ensure her regrets were organized and manageable. Still, she can’t decide if this is a healthy coping mechanism or a sign that underneath the cleaning and folding and pleasing, her mother is depressed.

  And she always assumed Dad was content being absentminded about anything that happened at home. Instead of seeing her parents clearly, she wonders if it’s her default to view them through a lens that’s clouded with her own bias. Maybe with family, the past is always too intertwined with the present.

  “Isn’t it funny how we get used to things so easily?” Dad says. “I forget sometimes that I went to medical school for her and, of course, for our future children.”

  “I forget you went to med school for Mom, too,” Suhani admits. “For all of us.”

  She absorbs a truth that she usually pushes to the far corners of her mind: her parents shifted their entire lives and never looked back, all so that she and her siblings could do things they never had the chance to. She pictures Dad at her age, standing behind a cash register at a gas station in the middle of the night, masking his anger while customers mocked his accent, not being able to afford any phone calls to the family he left in India, and playing with the three of them whenever he was home, regardless of how exhausted he was.

  Unlike Mom, he’s always kept his emotions to himself. But maybe he doesn’t do that because he wants to. Maybe it’s because he always thought he had to.

  He nods with understanding, then looks away from her. “You know I’m not the only one, right? No, never mind.”

  “Never mind what?”

 
; “I shouldn’t have said anything,” Dad says, lowering his voice.

  “About what?”

  Dad sighs. “Did you know Zack was willing to do the same thing?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “You apparently told him the story of how I was determined to win over Mom’s parents, even if that meant changing my career path.” Dad has the peaceful look that he gets whenever he talks about a happy patient story. “And when Zack thought we or our community wouldn’t accept him, he called me and told me he’d go to medical school if that’s what it took.”

  “Zack said that to you? He never told me. . . .” Suhani tries to picture her husband in a white coat or hunched over fat textbooks for hours. After his dad left, Zack thought it was his responsibility to do what he could to help his mom. He started with working at a movie theater in high school and, eventually, at McKinsey after he graduated from Dartmouth. And even though he’s always been interested in Suhani’s work, he’s maintained that he could never study for so many tests or be in school for years.

  “He didn’t want you to know,” Dad says before he tells her about how Zack asked him to coffee and then said he’d do whatever it took to prove he was serious about Suhani. “And, ironically, this was the same week that something else happened. And I always wondered if the universe was sending us a message.”

  “A message? About what?” Suhani sits on the island.

  “Ah, so Natasha never told you.” Dad raises his chin into the air, a look of recognition on his face.

  “Told me that Zack was willing to be a doctor?”

  Dad shakes his head. “No, that we ran into the boy you used to be with at Lenox Mall. Rohit? Roshan? It was only a few days before Zack asked me to meet. Anyway, Mom and I were window-shopping and stopped to get California Pizza Kitchen. He came up to us while we were eating. He introduced himself, asked if we remembered him.”

  “And?”

  “And”—Dad shifts his gaze to the floor—“he told us you meant a lot to him, that he was going to reach out to you about settling back in Atlanta.”

  “How are you only telling me this now?” Suhani’s thoughts go back to that time in her life when she was fully wrapped up in her relationship with Zack. She remembers that one night when she realized it had been months since she’d thought of Roshan. It felt like a true accomplishment to finally be that detached from someone she thought would haunt her forever.

  “We debated about whether we would ever tell you,” Dad says. “But at that time, we were confused. And wrong. You have to understand that Zack wasn’t who we pictured for you.”

  He wasn’t who Suhani had pictured for herself, either. Then again, her younger self’s idea of the perfect husband came from a mix of Bollywood and Disney movies. Not the most reliable mash-up for a real future.

  “We worried about how your different backgrounds would affect your future together. We didn’t understand why you would purposefully make your life harder when marriage is already hard enough,” Dad says. “When we came home from the mall we told Natasha everything. She really let us have it.” He shakes his head and chuckles, confirming one of Mom’s long-standing complaints about Dad: he always lets Natasha get away with everything.

  “She actually sat us down and said we were being closed-minded and stupid. And she reminded us that we went against our parents to marry each other, and here we were, doing the same thing to you. Isn’t she clever?” Dad smiles. “We didn’t think about things the right way. Yes, we weren’t perfect as parents, and I think in a lot of ways, Mom and I always worried about you the most. Because when something was bothering you, you kept it inside. When you were a lot younger, it showed in how you were in school. We were shocked when you didn’t get into the gifted program, but after we met with that terrible teacher who put you down, we realized you were showing your frustration with her by not trying in school. After that, we felt you needed more consistent encouragement to make sure you really lived up to your potential, regardless of how other people may or may not treat you.”

  If anyone else heard what Dad had just said, they’d probably assume he was referring to Natasha, who, to everyone’s surprise, got into the gifted program right away.

  “That racist fifth-grade teacher was the worst,” Suhani says. “And I can’t believe we all forget that Natasha is the one who used to do well in school, without even trying that hard.”

  Suhani always took pride in her ambition and steadfast work ethic. But is it possible that Natasha was more equipped to achieve while Suhani had the potential to take more risks? She thinks back to the times Natasha told her she wanted to be different from Suhani, have her own things going for her. Did both of them become who they are just because that’s how they were shaped by their worlds? And were they both pushed to become the opposite of each other? Were they like a photograph and its negative, their complementary parts exposed and darkened?

  “Natasha’s never needed anyone to push her when she decides she wants to do something,” Dad says. “And that day, she wanted to make sure we knew we were making a mistake by even considering Roshan could be a better fit for you. And she reminded us of how much happier and, really, bolder you became once Zack came into your life.”

  Suhani taps her fingers on the marble island in the center of the kitchen. Each tap is a tidbit for what Dad told her. Tap. Zack was willing to go to med school. Tap. Her parents ran into her ex-boyfriend, who wanted her back. Tap. Natasha defended Zack. Tap. Suhani wasn’t meant to succeed.

  “Wow, this is all a lot.” Suhani feels a sting of impending tears as she runs through all of it again. She has a sudden pang of longing for her sister. For years, she assumed Natasha either didn’t understand her or, worse, resented her. But now she sees that her sister gives her a type of safety nobody else can.

  “Of course, it took a lot for us to realize we needed to change,” Dad says, echoing the words he used during his speech at Suhani and Zack’s engagement party. She’ll never forget how Dad raised his champagne glass, looked at her with a soft smile, and in front of all their family and friends said, “Beta, this is exactly why we came here, so you could choose the life you wanted.” As the St. Regis ballroom filled with applause and a wave of “aws,” Suhani realized how much she had underestimated her parents. And because they accepted Zack, all the uncles and aunties did, too.

  Natasha was right. Zack did make her different. Someone more willing to take risks, to not be so afraid.

  She unlocks her phone, opens her e-mail, and types a response to Dr. Wilson:

  Hi, Dr. Wilson,

  I think it’s important that we meet to discuss the situation. After all the hard work I’ve done, I don’t think it would be fair for a past relationship to hold back my being considered for chief.

  Before she can think anymore, she hits send. A wave of panic rises in her. She’s never sent an e-mail that direct before.

  “Sorry,” she says to Dad. “I was just sending an e-mail to my program director.”

  “When do you find out about chief?”

  “Soon, I guess.” Suhani chews on her lips. “You know how these things go.”

  Dad nods. “I was so shocked when I found out I was chief.”

  Suhani’s heard this story a million times but she says, “Really?”

  “I thought there was no way they’d pick the Indian resident for chief, especially back then. But my program director’s assistant—she really liked me—told me that she vouched for me in the meetings. It was a stressful job, making everyone’s schedules, accommodating requests, and doing my regular job, but I learned so much that year about administration and managing people. And I felt that I made some real changes.”

  Usually, Suhani enjoys hearing about Dad’s experiences at work, the way he defied the odds to even get a residency spot in Atlanta, then graduated as a chief.

  But today, h
er thoughts keep shifting to Zack.

  A few minutes later, in typical Dad fashion, he ends his story with a series of grand statements. “So it really came down to the value of leadership. And fixing our broken mental health system from the inside.”

  Dad glances at his Apple watch. “Oh! It really is late! Let’s both try to get some rest.”

  As soon as she hears the click of Mom and Dad’s bedroom door shutting, her phone vibrates with a text message alert.

  Zack!

  I’m outside your parents’ door. Are you awake?

  Suhani runs to the foyer. My husband, she thinks. My husband is here.

  Through the beveled-glass door, she makes out brown wavy hair and glasses. She opens the door. Her husband is just standing there, as if it’s totally normal for him to show up here late at night, when they haven’t been talking.

  “I can’t believe you’re really here. I’ve missed you,” Suhani says as she jumps into his arms and inhales the mint and rosemary of his Jack Black body wash. She didn’t realize until now how much she’s missed his smell.

  Zack’s posture is stiff. “Sorry, I didn’t come here because of us.”

  “Oh.” Suhani feels a drop in her chest.

  “Is Anuj home?”

  “He’s still out with friends,” Suhani says. “Why?”

  “We have to go. And don’t say anything to your mom and dad yet.”

  “What’s going on? You’re scaring me.” Suhani’s throat tightens as she takes in Zack’s red eyes, the urgency on his face.

  “Natasha’s in the emergency room.”

  Eighteen

  Bina

  She can’t sleep.

  To be fair, Bina was always a bad sleeper. Ma said that even when she was a baby, she’d just stare at the ceiling as if she was lost in thought.

  She goes through a breathing exercise that’s Suhani approved. (She told Suhani she found the exercise through Psychology Today when really she found it on WhatsApp, her main source of information. Suhani got irritated every time Bina started a sentence with “I found the best remedy on WhatsApp. . . .”)