Whenever Achchan began speaking about himself in the third person, you knew he was getting emotional. Sweetie tried not to let the guilt completely engulf her. She wanted to bury her face in his chest and wail, I’m really going on a date with Ashish Patel! And if it were just Achchan and her, she probably would.
But the thing was, she couldn’t be honest right now. She knew how she felt, but she didn’t know how to convince her parents—and Amma especially—that she was right about her body, that she didn’t need to be thin to be happy, that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her. And until she could articulate those feelings and articulate them bravely and well, Sweetie knew, she’d have to keep the whole Sassy Sweetie Project under wraps.
Achchan patted her arm. “Are you okay, Sweetie?”
She glanced at him sideways. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Everything fine with Kayla and Suzi and Icky?”
Sweetie laughed. “It’s Suki and Izzy, Achcha.”
He waved a hand, like, I’m too old and too set in my ways to learn that.
“Yeah, they’re all fine. Everything’s fine. I promise.”
Amma glanced up from her magazine but didn’t say anything.
“Okay then,” Achchan said after a pause. “You got your cell phone? Call if you need anything.”
She put her arms around Achchan’s neck. “Thank you, Achcha. I will.” She clambered off the recliner before the lump in her throat became actual tears in her eyes. “I really should go, though.”
“Sari,” Amma said. “Just text me when you arrive there and before you leave.”
Usually Sweetie felt a little bite of annoyance at Amma’s stringent rules. How many times had she been over to Kayla’s? Was there really a need to text every single time? But this time she was too guilt drenched to feel annoyed. “Sari, Amma. Pinne kaanaam.”
“Bye.”
Sweetie took off in her car before she could change her mind. Come on. You said you wanted to be Sassy Sweetie. Don’t be Stupid Soggy Sweetie now. So she kept her foot on the gas pedal and kept going.
Ashish’s house was imposing, even though she’d been here before, just last weekend. Back then she’d been in sort of a fog, worried about what his parents would say, wondering what the whole thing was about. But now … She tipped her head back and took in the gigantic mansion, which looked like it belonged on some Scottish moor somewhere. (Wait. Did Scottish moors have castles? Whatever. It was humongous.)
She took a deep breath, adjusted her dupatta, and walked up to the heavy-looking, ornately carved front door. She raised her hand to ring the doorbell, but the door swung open before she could.
Ashish stood there, smiling at her. His hair was perfectly mussed, his kurta and pants neatly pressed and, by the looks of it, starched. His brilliant smile held just a hint of anxiety around the edges, and he tugged repeatedly at his embroidered sleeves. “Ugh, why am I wearing this again? Oh, right, because my parents basically held me hostage until I agreed to.” The idea of Ashish Patel not being totally comfortable either made Sweetie feel tons better. “Oh, wait. I meant, hey, nice to see you. Come on in.”
Sweetie laughed. “Thanks.” She walked in and looked around. The circular table in the center of the foyer held a huge vase full of fresh roses. The scent hung in the air, mouthwateringly sweet.
“So, fair warning,” Ashish said, his eyebrows high. “My parents—”
“Sweetie beta!” Sunita auntie came clip-clopping through the open archway, her face bright in a full-on thousand-watt smile.
Ashish’s face froze, his back to his mother. He mouthed, “Good luck,” and then they both faced the onslaught together.
Sunita auntie came fully equipped with her puja thali—a silver tray on which were balanced various powders and other accoutrements. Sweetie had seen Amma with the same kind of thali during various special occasions (such as before final exams), and she knew what was coming. Ashish stood silently with Sweetie as Sunita auntie asked Lord Hanuman to look after them on this auspicious outing. Kartik uncle stood off to the side, watching everything with a face that gave nothing away. He’d be a tough one to win over, Sweetie knew. If, you know, she were looking to win Ashish’s parents over, that is.
She felt a little bad for Sunita auntie, actually. She was obviously hoping for something miraculous and straight out of a romance novel, but she didn’t know of Sweetie’s and Ashish’s hidden agendas.
A maid came and took the thali away, and then Sunita auntie slipped an arm through Sweetie’s. “Come in, beta, come in. We didn’t get a chance to properly welcome you last weekend, and for that I am truly sorry.” The men trailed behind them as they walked in and took their seats in the mysterious second living room/den. Ashish sat beside her on the sofa, and his parents sat in armchairs across from them. “Your salwar is just so beautiful!” Sunita auntie continued. “Where did you buy it?”
“Oh, thank you! My mom got it for me on a trip to India last year. I couldn’t go because of track, though.”
“That’s such a pity! It is so important to visit our ancestral home often. It helps us stay connected to our roots. Don’t you agree?”
Sweetie glanced at Ashish, who was rolling his eyes so hard she was afraid they’d pop right out of his head. Turning back to Sunita auntie, she said, “I do, actually. And I do try to go every year. If I didn’t, I think my Amooma—my grandmother—would have withdrawal.”
Sunita auntie trilled a laugh. “Same with Ashish’s grandparents! Photos are just not the same, are they?”
“No, they aren’t.”
For a slightly awkward moment, everyone just looked at one another in silence. Then Kartik uncle grunted to Ashish: “Jeep has gas?”
And that’s how Sweetie knew—he wasn’t nearly as scary or intimidating as he seemed. Underneath he really loved his son. “Jeep has gas?” was just another way of saying I love you and I worry about you.
“It does, Pappa,” Ashish said.
“Okay then.” Kartik uncle reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed Ashish a bundle of cash—how much, Sweetie couldn’t say, but the top bill was a hundred. She tried not to stare. “Take this.”
“Pappa, it’s okay, I have some money left over from my last allowa—”
“Just take.” He thrust the money at his son.
Ashish took it quietly. “Thanks, Pappa.”
Kartik uncle grunted in response. Sunita auntie clasped her hands, her eyes shining. “Well, I don’t want to take up too much time. …”
Ashish and Sweetie stood in unison.
“Thik hai, Ma,” Ashish said. “We’ll see you both later?”
His parents nodded. Sweetie could tell from the barely suppressed energy in the room that it was all Sunita auntie could do not to hover and shepherd them to the door, maybe even smooth out Ashish’s cowlick and kiss him on the cheek. Somehow she resisted. Sweetie was impressed; Amma could never show such restraint.
Outside, birds chirped in the trees beatifically. The trees whispered in the wind, and the fountain in the distance gurgled its silver song. Everything looked and sounded perfect: sunny and bright, cheerful and melodic. Maybe you couldn’t buy happiness, but you could definitely buy something adjacent to it. Dealing with hardships had to be easier when you lived on what was basically a movie set.
Sweetie walked to Ashish’s Jeep, but he shook his head and led her around the house to a series of garages instead. In one of those sat a shiny red Porsche, perched prettily on its shiny wheels. “I thought we’d take this instead,” Ashish said. “Seems a little more datelike to me. I mean, if you’re okay with it.” He dropped his gaze and ran a hand through his hair as he said it, like he was afraid she’d think he was being silly.
Sweetie’s heart squeezed in her chest. It was really sweet of him to make an effort, even though this wasn’t a traditional first date in the strict sense of the term for so many reasons. “It’s perfect,” she said, and Ashish grinned, bright and happy.
At the same time Ashish said, “You look really pretty today.”
They both looked at each other for a second in awkward silence, waiting for the other to continue. Then they both burst out laughing. Sweetie pointed at him. “You first.”
“Okay.” He grinned that half-grin thing he did when he was feeling especially cocky. The one that did strange things to her heartbeat. “I think you look really beautiful today.”
She gave him a suspicious look. “You said ‘pretty’ the first time. Why the change?”
Ashish laughed. “Does it really matter?”
“Oh, yes, it does. ‘Pretty’ is a step down from ‘beautiful.’ So you were lying either the first time or the second time.” She put on a mock-serious expression. “Which was it?”
Ashish darted his eyes around like he was terrified. “Uh … I meant you’re both pretty and beautiful? So, like, pretty to the beautiful power?”
Sweetie snorted. “That was a really bad save, but I’ll let it go this time.”
“Thank you. So to answer your question, I’ve been to Pavan Mandir mayyyybe twice in the last year.”
“Seriously?” Sweetie couldn’t imagine that. Her parents made the trek every other week, and she usually went along, unless she had something track related. “Why not? Are your parents not religious?”
“Oh, they are. Ma especially. But they gave up that battle in favor of other, bigger ones. I’m actually pretty sure that’s what this whole first-date-at-the-mandir thing is about. They’re forcing me to go. Parental units one, Ashish zero.”
Sweetie frowned. “No … I don’t think they’re trying to one-up you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She paused, afraid she’d overstepped. “At least, that’s just my opinion.”
Ashish darted a glance her way. “Oh? Do tell. I’m curious to hear what you think of all of this.”
“Well, I’m no parent, but … I think it’s probably hard for Sunita auntie and Kartik uncle. You seem … pretty disinterested in Indian culture. I mean, you made it a point not to date Indian girls at all before me. So maybe they’re not trying to get one over on you by making you go to the mandir for your first date. Maybe they’re just trying to create, I don’t know, like, a positive association for you or something. Maybe they’re hoping you’ll have fun and then you’ll see it isn’t so bad. Maybe to your parents, you not liking Indian culture feels like a rejection of them?” Sweetie stopped, sucking on her lower lip, afraid she’d make him mad with some of the stuff she’d said. “But obviously that’s just what I think. And I don’t know you or them very well at all.”
Ashish was quiet for a while. Sweetie began to get more and more nervous that she’d totally wrecked any chance of a salvageable first date, when he turned to her, smiling, before turning back to the road. “I think you may be right. My mom actually said something to that effect—that maybe I think my culture’s uncool because they’ve pushed it on me and I think they’re uncool. Wow.” He paused, thinking. “It’s kind of sad. I never want them to feel like I’m rejecting them.” Turning to Sweetie again briefly, he said, “I’ve lived with my parents for seventeen years and I would never have come to that conclusion. But it feels right now that you’ve said it. I wonder if you actually understand them better than I do.”
Sweetie laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s easy sometimes to have a clear perspective as an outsider. Know what I mean?”
Ashish looked at her again, and this time she saw respect and something that looked a lot like admiration in his gaze. She tried not to flush. “Yeah, I do. You might be one of the wisest people I’ve ever met.”
“I don’t know. … What about Oliver? He seemed pretty wise. So does your mom.”
“Yeah, okay. But definitely in the top three.”
“I’ll take it.” Sweetie grinned, more pleased than she let on.
CHAPTER 17
Pavan Mandir was a big, white, open-sided temple set on a hill that overlooked Frye Lake. Pavan meant “wind” in Hindi, and the temple got its name because it had no real walls or doors, just a series of beams and pillars that connected its ceiling to its floor. The wind off the lake swept in with abandon, leaving the temple slightly chillier than the day outside.
Sweetie loved it with all her heart. She had good memories of coming here throughout her childhood, letting the wind try to make off with her dupatta while her parents paid their respects to the Shiva lingam, the sacred stone, inside. The air always felt more cleansing in here, and no matter what worries she came with, Sweetie always left with a peace of mind that lasted all day.
They got out of the car and walked up the steps, before taking off their shoes to go inside. As soon as they set foot in the temple, the wind began to blow. Sweetie’s hair floated around her, and giggling and holding on to her dupatta, she smiled up at Ashish. “I love it here.”
He was watching her with an unreadable expression, his eyes intense and serious. She was just beginning to wonder what was going on when he smiled too. It was like the sun had suddenly burst out through thunderclouds; even Sweetie’s bones felt warm.
They moved forward together to pray, and after taking the prasad offering from the pujari, they walked off to the side to look out over Frye Lake. The view was incredible: Wispy white clouds were smeared across the brilliant-blue spring sky, and the lake looked like a giant glittering diamond under the sun. They stood by a pillar, just watching and breathing in the air, for a long moment. A bird called in the distance, and another answered it in sweet song.
“This is actually really beautiful,” Ashish said.
Sweetie looked to see him gazing down at the water, his expression thoughtful. “It’s restorative,” she said carefully. “I like to imagine my stress in a box that I leave at the steps here.” Sweetie tied her dupatta like a sash at her hip so it would stay put. She smoothed her hair back into a bun, aware that Ashish was watching her every move. “I’m kind of glad my parents made it a bimonthly-ish habit for me.”
“That’s good.” Ashish had a slight smirk on his face, but he spoke quietly. “I’m rethinking my position on this.”
Sweetie smiled. She sat on the edge of the floor, her gaze still on the lake. “Let’s sit here for a while, then,” she said, sensing that Ashish needed this more than he was letting on.
After a pause he joined her. “Okay. Maybe just for a little while.”
They walked back to the Porsche in silence. It was weird, but Ashish felt … lighter. His chest felt less tight, like the bands around it had loosened just a bit. There was a surprising comfort in being around his family’s religious culture too, in hearing the familiar words of the priest’s incantations and smelling the sandalwood incense. Like being in a place that inherently understood him and one in which he could be still and be himself.
Ashish wasn’t sure if he believed in God or not, but he couldn’t deny that that particular temple felt really cleansing. It was the way the gardens at home looked after a lashing rainstorm … bright and colorful, dewy and fresh. All the dust and dirt they’d been collecting got washed away, and now Ashish knew how the gardens must feel. His dust and dirt had been washed away too—at least temporarily. Another plus? The stuffy embroidered kurta he’d been forced to wear wasn’t even chafing his skin as much as it usually did.
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard as they slid into their seats. “I know we’ve already been to the mandir and we aren’t c
ontractually obligated to do anything together past that,” he said in a slightly scoffing tone so Sweetie would see that he didn’t care very much about what he was saying at all. “But do you want to go to lunch? I know the people who own this great restaurant. Besides, we’ll be in public, so I think we’ll be okay.” His heart thumped a little unevenly as he waited for her response. Weird.
She smiled at him, completely guileless, and his heart pattered out a few more uneven thumps for good measure. “Why, I’d love to, Mr. Patel.”
He took her to Poseidon, a restaurant not too far from Pavan Mandir. Pappa’s business partner and good friend owned it, which meant the Patels were on a VIP list, which in turn meant they could get a great table pretty much whenever they wanted. The food was delicious, too. (Okay, and it didn’t hurt that Zagat had called it “the most romantic seafood restaurant on the West Coast.” This might not be a completely traditional first date, but dang it, he still had standards.)
“Wow.” Sweetie looked up at the Grecian-inspired pillars and the enormous fountain in the courtyard, which was a statue of Poseidon holding his famed trident. “This is amazing. You know the owners?”
“Ah, peripherally. He’s really my dad’s friend. I’ve only seen him a handful of times at events.”
They climbed up the wide steps and walked in. Gentle music greeted them in a foyer that boasted yet another Poseidon fountain (this one smaller) and an array of frondy plants in ornate pots. The skylight let in a dazzling amount of sunlight. The maître d’, a dapper, short black woman in a suit, greeted them warmly. “Hello and welcome to Poseidon! Do we have reservations today?”
“We don’t,” Ashish said, stepping forward. “But I believe I’m on the P and T list. Ashish Patel.”
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