The sound of tires crunching on gravel had him looking down over the thick, ornate railing. Ma’s car had pulled up, and Rajat got out to open her door. He brought her many bags of shopping to the door. Ashish turned and walked downstairs, feeling just the slightest tingle of anticipation in spite of himself. Do not get excited, he reminded himself. This is a girl your parents want you to go out with. But still. Didn’t it beat sitting on the terrace by himself Saturday night after Saturday night? At least going out on a date with her would be something to do.
Ma had set her bags down in the den and was pulling out her cell phone when she looked up and saw him enter. “Beta,” she said, a warm smile on her face. She walked across the room and kissed him on the forehead. (He bent down to make it easier.) “Where’s Pappa?”
“He’s at that golf and dinner thing, remember? With the Apple people?”
“Oh, yes.” She slapped her forehead with an open hand. “I’m sorry you were alone. I thought Pappa would be here to keep you company.”
Ashish scoffed. “Ma, please. I’m not a kid anymore; I don’t need you guys at home with me.” Even though it had sucked to be alone. “So, um … how was your day?” He tried to say it nonchalantly, but his voice got all squeaky at the end. Dang it.
Ma sighed and shook her head. “It did not go as planned. Vidya Nair was strangely opposed.”
Ashish felt his face fall, and then rallied by putting on his usual nonchalant expression. So what? He didn’t care at all. Sweetie Nair was probably some awful Goody Two-shoes much more suited for Rishi than him.
Ma reached out and squeezed his arm. “Fikr mat karo, beta. I will get to the bottom of it.”
“I’m not worried,” Ashish said, making his voice extra scoffy for her benefit. “I knew it wasn’t going to work.” The thought of endless Saturday nights spooling out before him made him feel a little physically ill, so he injected even more bravado into his voice. “I’m just glad we can put this silly idea of yours to rest.”
It was a monument to Ma’s patience that she didn’t remind him that the idea had been his. Her eyes, soft and kind, told him she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Well, I’m still going to find out what happened. Because I’m curious,” she added when he opened his mouth to object. “I know you don’t care.”
She dialed a number on her phone and sat on the chaise lounge. Ashish sat on the couch across from her and picked up one of Pappa’s tech magazines. He held the magazine up so the bridge of his nose was covered, but kept his eyes on Ma over the top.
“Hello, Vidya?” she asked. “Haan, this is Sunita Patel. I wanted to make sure you and Sweetie got home safely this afternoon.” She listened for a minute. “Oh, yes, yes, Rajat came and picked me up not long after you left. No problems at all.” Another pause, and then Ma laughed. “I am sure they’ll be very excited to eat all of these mithai over the next few weeks! And of course we will be coming back for more!” A pause. “Did Sweetie’s father arrive safely?”
Ashish flipped a page just to keep up appearances. Jeez. Was she ever going to get to the point?
“Oh, yes, flights are so unreliable nowadays. Mm-hmm, yes.” Another long pause while she listened. Then the money question: “Vidya, I must ask your forgiveness if I somehow crossed a line today. I did not mean to offend you or Sweetie with my talk of dating.” A pause. “I see. I was wondering if it was Ashish’s history of dating other girls …?” She glanced at Ashish and winked at him, though he could tell she really was uncomfortable asking the question. He felt a slight twinge of guilt. Ma really didn’t deserve as much girl grief as he gave her. She frowned. “But, Vidya, that does not bother me, and I know it won’t bother Ashish—” She listened. “No, I’m sure it’s not—” Then she sighed. “Okay. Yes, I understand. She’s your daughter, after all. Yes, please do. We must do lunch again soon. Bye.”
Disconnecting the call, Ma looked at him. “Well, I know the truth now, at least.”
Ashish sat up and put the magazine down. “Which is what?”
“How do you kids say it?” Ma thought for a moment. “Oh, haan. It’s not you; it’s her.”
Sweetie stood at the doorway, listening. She didn’t snoop on phone calls usually; she knew it wasn’t cool. But the way Amma had just totally shut down the whole Ashish thing today and refused to provide an explanation, she knew there had to be more to the story. They’d been finishing up dinner when the call came through. Sweetie had seen Patel on the caller ID on Amma’s cell, and the way Amma had jumped up and run off to her bedroom, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the truth. It was Ashish’s mom calling.
They’d mostly been talking about inconsequential things, but when Amma’s tone turned darker and her volume quieter, Sweetie knew to lean in and hold her breath.
“No, no,” Amma said. “After all, boys will be boys. But you see, Sunita, your son is … athletic. He’s handsome. He’s … thin. And Sweetie is, well, she is working on losing weight. But as you noticed, it hasn’t happened yet. And at the present time, they are simply not well matched.”
Sweetie felt her vision tunneling. So it had nothing to do with Ashish Patel at all? Amma had refused, had left Taj in such a hurry, because she was just that embarrassed of her fat daughter? Sweetie turned away as she heard Amma say, “I am happy to hear it does not matter to you or Ashish. But I cannot allow them to date, Sunita, I’m sorry. Sweetie is simply not at Ashish’s level right now.”
She ran down the hall to her bedroom and shut the door quietly, one hand over her mouth. Her breath came in sharp gasps; there was an intense pain in her stomach, and she thought for one whole minute that she’d puke. But then the minute passed. On wobbly legs Sweetie walked to her bed and sank down onto it. Her face flashed hot and cold. Her own mother. Her own mother was that ashamed of Sweetie’s looks. She thought Sweetie was an abomination.
Sweetie had always known, obviously, that Amma was ashamed of her. The refusal to let her wear things that exposed even the slightest bit of skin, making her run in the backyard after school every day, tempering every compliment about Sweetie’s athletic accomplishments with “Well, yeah, but if you lost the weight …”—all of that was a pretty obvious freaking message. But this? To think that Sweetie was actually less than that Ashish guy simply because she was fat and he wasn’t? Sweetie grabbed her pillow, pushed it against her face, and screamed.
It was so unfair. She pulled the pillow off her hot, sweaty face and swiped angrily at her tears. Enough. If Amma was that ashamed of her, well, whatever. She just couldn’t think of it right now. Sweetie walked across the room to her closet and pulled her rolling craft cart out. It was made out of three bright-green plastic bins stacked one on top of the other and held all the stuff she needed to make her anger go away: ribbons, buttons, dried flowers in small plastic packets, boxes of every kind. Sweetie was officially in charge of Heera Moti Baked Goods, Amma’s business.
She pulled out one of the boxes she’d been working on and looked at the embossed letters of the company name Amma had chosen: Heera Moti. It literally meant “diamond pearl” in Hindi, but the general meaning was “jewels” or “gems.” Though her parents were from Kerala, which was in southern India, and didn’t speak too much Hindi (they spoke Malayalam instead), Amma had thought it would appeal more to their customer base to have a Hindi name.
Ironic, Sweetie thought, that moti could mean “pearl” or it could mean “fat.” It just depended on how you pronounced the t sound. She pulled out a length of burlap and wrapped it around the box. If she added just a touch of dry lavender with some raffia, it might look—
There was a soft knocking at her door. Sweetie looked up and sighed. “Come in.” Amma never knocked unless she figured Sweetie was mad at her for something.
Amma peeked in, a smile on her face. “Sweetie mol. What are you doing?”
Not trusting her voice, Sweetie held up the box silently and then went back to putting the lavender on.
Amma came in and sa
t next to her on the floor. “That’s a nice look. Did you see it on Pinterest?”
Yes, Amma. Let’s talk about Pinterest instead of anything real. “No. I saw some wedding centerpieces in that magazine you have, and it gave me ideas.” Sweetie attached the raffia and squinted at the box. It was missing … something.
“Mm.” Amma sat silently, watching Sweetie paw through the plastic bin on the bottom. “Ashish’s mother called.”
Sweetie’s hands stilled for a moment, but then she forced herself to keep going. “Oh. What did she say?” Her voice sounded robotic, but it was either that or tearful anger, and she’d settle for robotic, thanks.
“She asked if she had made me angry and that’s why I refused, but I told her no.”
Sweetie pulled out a pack of high-quality stick-on cubic zirconias and then discarded it. No, that wasn’t it either. “Right.” Her hands tightened around the gems, but she kept her tone neutral. “You know, you haven’t told me why you refused yet.”
“Yes, I know. Sweetie … you might have noticed. There are certain differences between you and Ashish.”
Sweetie picked up a packet of small purple bows, then threw it back in the bin and kept rummaging. “Really? Like what? I mean, he’s Indian, I’m Indian. He’s an athlete, I’m an athlete. We both live in Atherton. Oh, do you mean because he’s Gujarati and we’re Malayali?” She saw Amma shift uncomfortably in her peripheral vision and felt a tiny glow of satisfaction. Good. Let her be the uncomfortable one for a change.
“Mol … you still have to lose some weight. No?”
Sweetie’s hands shook as she set the box in her lap and looked at Amma for the first time since she’d come into her room. “So?”
“Ashish is … he’s thin. If you date him, people will laugh at you. I don’t want people to make fun of you.” Amma’s lips were a thin brown line.
Sweetie stared at her mother, her mouth filling with words that she knew she’d never say. Why did Amma assume people would laugh? And if they did laugh, why should Sweetie care? What gave them the right to dictate what she could and couldn’t do? Come to think of it, what gave Amma the right? But she knew what Amma would say to that last question: I am your mother, and that gives me all the right. The space between a desi mom and her kids was a lot smaller than the one between some other moms and their kids.
“When you lose weight, mol, you will be a suitable match for him.”
Sweetie knew in her heart that she was good enough for Ashish just as she was. But why couldn’t her own mother see that? “I’m … I’m sorry you’re so ashamed of me,” she said quietly. “But I’m not ashamed of myself.” Her eyes burned with tears.
Amma shook her head and stood up. “I am not ashamed. I am just saying that you could do better. Make yourself healthier. Why is that so bad?”
Because! I’m like this now! Sweetie wanted to say. Why are you always saying you’ll like future me, thin me, better? Why can’t you just like me how I am? Instead she turned back to her arts and crafts, away from her mother.
Amma took a deep breath. “One day you will see that what I’m doing, I’m doing because I am your mother and this is what good mothers do.” She paused, and when she spoke, she sounded farther away, like she was on her way out. “I am going to Tina auntie’s Mary Kay party. Priscilla Ashford, my friend from the California Businesswomen’s Society, is also coming, so I told her she could drop the baby here for you to babysit him tonight. They’ll be here in thirty minutes.”
“Fine.” Sweetie looked down at the box in her lap as Amma closed the door. Inspiration hit, and she reached over to the top bin and pulled out a sheet of stickers. Very carefully she smoothed a pale-purple heart onto the corner of the box. That’s what it had been missing this entire time—love.
CHAPTER 7
“Feetie!” Henry hurtled his three-year-old body into her with the force of a tiny hurricane capable of great damage.
“Hey there, little man.” Sweetie picked him up and blew a raspberry into his belly, which made him screech like a little banshee.
Priscilla, his mom, a tiny redhead, watched with a fond smile on her face. “Thank you, Sweetie,” she said. “Giving up your Saturday night for us.”
Sweetie laughed. “That’s okay, I didn’t really have any plans tonight. All my friends are going to this concert in San Francisco, and Amma didn’t want me to go.”
“Oh, I agree with your mother,” Priscilla said. “Those rock concerts can be scary.” She shuddered theatrically, and Sweetie laughed. Priscilla was an accountant, and the idea of wearing bright colors during the weekday scared her.
“Any problems, just call my cell phone,” Amma said, not fully meeting Sweetie’s eye.
“Okay.” Sweetie put Henry on her shoulders and began to gallop around as he chortled. “We’ll be fine! Have fun!”
After about twenty minutes she pulled him off and set him down. “So, now what should we do?”
“Chocwate!” Henry yelled, putting his tiny fists in the air.
“Ah, I don’t know about that. …” Sweetie put her hands on her hips. “What would Mommy say if I gave you chocolate at this hour?”
“Yes, Feetie! Good job!” Henry yelled, his fists still victoriously in the air, adorable belly poking out from under his Weekend Forecast: Movies with a Chance of Pizza T-shirt.
Sweetie laughed. “All right, who am I kidding? You have me wrapped around those little fingers. Come on.”
She got him a mini Kit Kat bar out of the pantry. “So now what?” she asked. “Wanna play some Chutes and Ladders? Candy Land?”
“Yo Gabba Gabba!” Henry yelled, holding the Kit Kat bar high above his head this time.
“Not surprised, young Hank,” Sweetie said, taking his hand as they made their way back into the living room. “But you might want to consider expanding your palate one of these days.” Henry shot her a look. “Only if you want,” she said, holding up her hands in surrender. She turned the show on for him and he settled into the couch, his eyes already glazed. She opened the Kit Kat and handed it to him.
Sweetie sat next to him and watched for about ten minutes before her phone buzzed. It was a text from Kayla, Izzy, and Suki, a picture of the three of them at the concert. Sweetie could barely make out their faces in the dark, but they looked like they were having a blast. She tapped in a SO JELLY and then sighed. She wasn’t even a big fan of Piggy’s Death Rattle, but she would’ve liked to go anyway, just to do something different for once. Something unsanctioned by Amma. Not that Henry wasn’t great. She watched him, all zoinked out, and smiled a little. He was a cutie. But she was almost seventeen. She wanted to do something … rebellious. Something for herself, something to prove that Amma was wrong.
She felt a tug of hurt and anger as she recalled their last conversation. Amma thought Ashish was too good for Sweetie. She was afraid the very sight of her fat daughter with a thin boy would cause people to throw rotten tomatoes at her and shriek with cruel laughter. What the actual …? Sweetie knew people could be cruel; she’d been dealing with it her whole life. But she was finally getting to the point, thanks to the team and her body, where she felt like she was so much more than the size label sewed into her pants. It was still hard—it would always be hard. But she had found a modicum of peace within herself that Amma was somehow bent on taking away.
Sweetie pulled up the article on her phone, the one featuring Ashish Patel that Kayla, Suki, and Izzy had been looking at yesterday. There he was, soulful brown eyes the same color as his mother’s, staring back at her. His muscles bulged; his stance was cocky and confident. His sweaty hair hung low on his forehead. Why was this boy automatically better than her? Why did Amma assume Sweetie didn’t have as much to give as he did? Especially considering Sunita auntie had apparently told her that Sweetie’s weight didn’t matter to her or Ashish?
On impulse, she texted Kayla.
Trey from Richmond is there too right?
Yeah why
Can you ask him
for Ashish Patel’s cell number
Sweetie pursed her lips and waited for the inevitable onslaught.
What???? Why????
I’ll explain tomorrow promise
K you better it’s 6505550108
Thanks bb
Sweetie sat back. She glanced at Henry, but he was still entranced by all the psychedelic Yo Gabba Gabba magic. She had eighteen minutes before the show was over and this window of opportunity (and her cojones … er, her ovarios) vanished. She pulled up a new text message to Ashish’s number.
Hi this is Sweetie Nair
Should she clarify? What if he had no idea who she was? But surely Sunita auntie would’ve told him who she was. …
Hi
She stared at the message: Hi. What did that mean? Did he know who she was? Was he playing it cool until he could figure it out?
Our moms had lunch together yesterday
Yeah I know
She stared at his messages, frowning slightly. Why was he being so cryptic? Ugh, but she wasn’t exactly giving him anything to go on either, and she was the one who’d texted him. Just tell him what you want, Sweetie. Which brought up an interesting point: What did she want?
Meet me at the Piedmont track tomorrow at 9 am, she typed in before she could even think about it. And bring your running shoes
My what
Running shoes
K running shoes 9 am Piedmont got it. Are you gonna tell me why or?
Not really
K see you then
There's Something About Sweetie Page 6