There's Something About Sweetie

by Sandhya Menon

  So when he said, “How could I not?” he meant, How could I not love someone as miraculous, as perfect as you? But he also meant, How could I not expect things to go 100 percent wrong in the end in spite of falling for you? Ashish had a track record, and it wasn’t a good one. Ashish was, in fact, terrified that every relationship of his was doomed to utter and spectacular failure, and that this one with Sweetie was no different.

  But how could he say that to Sweetie? He wanted to laugh at the thought of it. Talk about an anti-aphrodisiac. Talk about killing things before they’d even begun.

  So Ashish held his doubts and his mojolessness close to his vest, and he stood there, all alone in his cold, dismal pessimism. And then he pushed it all aside because he was here with her in this moment, and he was determined to enjoy it, dammit. Whatever happened in the future, whether he got his closure or not, Ashish was here with Sweetie now, and that was an incredible gift. He pulled her closer and kissed her deeper.

  They lay in the cool grass together. They’d kissed so long, Sweetie’s cheeks were slightly raw from being scraped by Ashish’s stubble. She didn’t care, though. The only thing that mattered was the feeling of his hard chest under her head, the feeling of his strong arm around her. She played with his hand as she looked up at the hazy sky and smiled.

  “Ashish,” she said.

  “Hmm?” He sounded sleepy and happy, exactly like she felt.

  “What’s it like having a brother?”

  “Hmm.” He turned his head and kissed her temple. “I’m not sure how I feel about you thinking about my brother while you lie in my arms. Why do you ask?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to have a sibling. I mean, I have my cousin Anjali Chechi, but it’s not the same. She lives so far away, and we only get to talk on the phone. But I always thought it’d be so awesome to have someone there to bounce ideas off of all the time. To just have to talk to. Being an only child is lonely sometimes. And annoying. All your parents’ focus is always on you.”

  Ashish laughed. “Yeah, I actually know a little about that. Now that Rishi’s gone, my parents’ laser beams are always swiveled and locked on to me. Actually, I shouldn’t complain. That’s sort of how I ended up here, with you.” He kissed her cheek and she thrilled at the casual touch. “But … for the most part, Rishi is a really great big brother. I went through this phase of thinking we were the most poorly matched siblings on the face of this earth. You know, he’s totally a golden child and I’m … er, what’s darker than a black sheep? A black hole? I was always the black hole of my family.” He laughed. “But Rishi’s a good guy. His heart’s in the right place, and I know he’ll always be there for me, no matter what.”

  “Hmm. Will I ever get to meet him?”

  “It’s funny you mention that. He wants to come to my big game in May. I can introduce you two then.”

  Sweetie grinned up at the sky. “I’d love that. And I can introduce you to Anjali Chechi at my birthday party.”

  “That would be awesome,” Ashish said. “How do you think your parents’ll react to the fact that we’ve been dating behind their backs?”

  “I don’t think they’ll be too happy, but … it’ll be my birthday party. They can’t get too mad, right?”

  “Ah, Sweetie Nair,” Ashish said, pulling her closer to him. “No one could get mad at you.” And then he kissed her again.

  As he got in his Jeep, Sweetie sighed. “So. I’ll see you next Saturday?”

  “Yep.” He smiled and chucked her gently under the chin. “Just one week to go. I’ll miss you.”

  She glanced down at her feet and smiled. “Me too.” Then, looking up at him: “So, we’re going to Gita Kaki’s house then, right? Who’s she?”

  Ashish sighed. “It’d take an entire month to fill you in on Gita Kaki. Let’s just say she’s extremely … eccentric. And, um, just be prepared for some bizarre conversation. If you still want to go out with me after that, I’ll consider it a big win.”

  Laughing, Sweetie leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him again. It would never get old, being able to kiss him at will. “It’ll take more than a batty aunt to keep me away, Ashish Patel.”

  His eyes shone and he beamed at her. “Good.”

  She watched him drive away until she couldn’t see the Jeep at all. She missed him already. So far Sweetie had thought she was falling for Ashish Patel. When, though, should she begin to admit that “falling” had changed to “fallen”?

  CHAPTER 24

  Sweetie sat back against her headboard, freshly showered and in her Hello Kitty pajamas. Once a month on a Friday night, she and Anjali Chechi FaceTimed with each other. They couldn’t get together to talk regularly, so this was the next-best solution they’d both devised. To Sweetie, these conversations were more than just chatting. They were a lifeline. When she’d had enough with Amma’s constant haranguing and her self-esteem was hanging in shreds around her, seeing Anjali Chechi’s caring face and hearing her tell her about her successful life had kept Sweetie from screaming and jumping out the window to run away from it all.

  “Hey,” she said as Anjali Chechi’s smiling face popped up on her screen.

  “Heyyyy, Sweets,” Anjali Chechi replied. Her full face would never be considered conventionally beautiful: She still had scars from the chicken pox she’d gotten when she was little, she had a double chin, her hair was frizzy and untidy, and her eyes were too wide set. But to Sweetie, her face was home. It symbolized love and acceptance, and the feeling that things would work out just fine.

  She relaxed and grinned.

  “You look happy,” Anjali Chechi observed. She never missed a thing with Sweetie. “I’m guessing this has to do with that boy you told me about?”

  Sweetie felt her cheeks heat and she bit her lip and nodded. “Ashish Patel. We’re going on our third date tomorrow.”

  “Third date! So things are getting serious?”

  Sweetie adjusted herself against her pillows. “They are for me … and for him, too, I think.” She beamed at just saying the words out loud. “We get along really well. Like, I think he’s really cute and everything, but I also feel like I want to get to know him as a person. It’s just like being with a good friend who’s known me for years when we’re together.”

  Anjali Chechi smiled. “That’s so important. I’m really happy you’re finding that, Sweetie. So Vidya Ammayi still doesn’t know?”

  “No, Amma’s clueless. But we’ve decided to tell her at my birthday party. You’ll be there for moral support, right?”

  “Do you even have to ask?” Anjali Chechi made a Come on face.

  “Thanks.” Sweetie sat up. “And you’re coming to my last meet as usual, right?”

  “Again, I repeat: Do you even have to ask?” Anjali Chechi laughed. “You’re going to kick everyone’s butts this time around again, I assume?”

  Sweetie raised an eyebrow. “Do you even have to ask?”

  They laughed.

  “The thing I’m currently nervous about, though, is my big performance next Thursday.”

  “Ah. Band Night?” Sweetie had texted Anjali Chechi all about it.

  She nodded. “I picked the songs, and they turned out to be … love songs. I wasn’t trying to do it, but it just happened. Do you think that’s too cheesy?”

  “Did your band members have a problem with it?”

  “No. They said I have the right kind of voice for love songs, so they’re cool with it. But now I’m all embarrassed. Going up onstage in front of all those people …” She surreptitiously wiped her hands on her pajama pants. “What if they laugh at me?”

  A small crease popped up between Anjali Chechi’s eyebrows. “So what if they do? You’re getting up there and singing because you have a beautiful voice and you believe in yourself. What are they doing? Sitting in the audience passing judgment? That takes absolutely no courage.”

  After a pause Sweetie took a breath. “Yeah, you’re right.�
��

  “Besides, you’re going to have friends there too. And people who might judge you at first will totally see what you’re capable of once you begin to sing. Don’t you think they laughed at Adele before they realized she would command their respect?”

  “Yeah. I’m still nervous, but you’re right.”

  “It’s normal to be nervous.” Anjali Chechi’s face relaxed into a smile. “Remember the story of my first surgery rotation?”

  Sweetie snorted. “You bumped the instrument table with your hip and then tripped over your own feet and almost landed facedown on the floor.”

  “Exactly. And I was so nervous people would judge me because I was the only fat medical student in that room and that automatically meant I was lazy or a bumbling fool, right? But guess what? I’m an orthopedic surgeon now. And anyone who judged me or laughed at me that day?” She shrugged. “Don’t even remember them. Do your own thing, Sweetie. The rest will fall into place.”

  Sweetie relaxed and smiled. “Thanks, Chechi. You’re the best.”

  The doorbell sounded, and a few seconds later Amma called her name. Hmm, weird. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Frowning, Sweetie turned back to the screen. “Uh-oh, I’ve been summoned.”

  “Go, go,” Anjali Chechi said. “I’ll be seeing you soon, right?”

  “Right! And remember the thing for my party?”

  “I remember.” Anjali Chechi grinned. “I’m overnighting it tomorrow.”

  “Excellent. See you soon!”

  Sweetie ended the call, plugged the phone into her charger, and walked out into the living room to see what Amma wanted.

  As soon as she rounded the corner into the living room, Sweetie wanted to run back into her bedroom and change. Tina auntie and Sheena sat on the living room couch, dressed absolutely beautifully in what Sweetie was fairly sure were designer clothes. Their hair was perfectly styled, and they each had a faceful of makeup on. Whereas Sweetie’s hair was still wet and hung in limp strands down her back. She adjusted the top of her Hello Kitty pajamas self-consciously, remembering how the buttons gaped.

  Tina auntie gave her the once-over, before following it with an icy smile. “Hello, Sweetie. Ready for bed already?”

  “No. I just like to change into pj’s after practice.” She went to sit by Amma. “Hi, Sheena.”

  Sheena did the chin-thrust/nod thing. “What’s up?”

  Amma said, “Tina auntie was wondering if you wanted to share a limo with Sheena to prom, mol. It’s in two weeks, isn’t it?”

  “A week from tomorrow,” Sweetie mumbled. She’d been trying hard to forget about it, honestly, and Kayla and Izzy were really good at not bringing it up around her. Suki thought the whole idea was idiotic and was boycotting it on principal. But Sweetie wanted to forget about it for different reasons. Firstly, Amma would never let her wear the dress she wanted. Sweetie would probably have to go in a long-sleeved, high-necked top and a skirt that brushed the floor. And secondly, no one had asked her.

  She frowned. Wait. Why hadn’t Ashish asked her? Sure, they went to different schools and had their proms on different days, but why hadn’t he even brought it up? He seemed like the kind of guy who went every year, whether it was his prom or not. This was the first year that Sweetie was really eligible.

  “Do you have someone to go with?” Tina auntie asked, and the look on her face very clearly said, Of course you don’t, you poor, sad, fat child.

  Sweetie squirmed a little. “Um, not really. I don’t actually want to go at all.”

  Like she’d predicted, Tina auntie and Sheena both looked horror-struck.

  “Why not?” Sheena asked slowly, like Sweetie was an unpredictable hedgehog who might fling all her quills at her or something.

  Sweetie shrugged. “It’s just … it’s not my thing.”

  Sheena looked at her with open pity now. “I can tell my friends to dance with you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Sweetie felt a hot wave of humiliation. But then it died down. And then she wanted to laugh. Because seriously, Sheena thought she was being nice. Like, she was so totally clueless that she thought implying no one would want to dance with Sweetie because she was fat and then offering to bribe her friends to do it was a good thing. Sweetie coughed to cover the laugh that wanted to burst out. She thought of Anjali Chechi bumping into the instrument table with her wide hips. She thought of who Anjali Chechi was now. And she smiled her most pleasant smile at Sheena. “That’s very … kind of you, Sheena. But it won’t be necessary. As I said, I don’t want to go. So.”

  “But, mol, it might be really fun,” Amma said. “You can ride in the limo.”

  Sweetie straightened her shoulders. Amma wanted her to go because it’d help the friendship or whatever she had going on with Tina auntie. She was desperate for Sweetie to try to bridge that gap for her, but that wasn’t Sweetie’s job. It wasn’t her job to make other people feel comfortable. “Sorry, Amma. But I meant what I said.” Then, turning to Tina auntie, she added, “Tina auntie, no, thank you. I don’t want to share a limo with Sheena.” She stood. “I have some homework to do, so I’m going to leave now. See ya.” Waving, she turned and left as they watched in shocked silence.

  Amma came into her room about twenty minutes later. “Why were you so rude, Sweetie? They were only trying to be nice.”

  “I don’t think I was rude,” Sweetie said, closing her book. She stuck her feet under the blanket at the foot of her bed. “In fact, I made sure to not be rude. But …” She took a breath. This time she wouldn’t let the words gum up. “But I’m not a charity case, and I don’t want to be treated like one.”

  Amma sat beside her on the bed. “You should go out with Sheena. She’s a nice girl.”

  Sweetie held her gaze steadily. “I already have my friends.”

  Amma looked frozen, like she didn’t know how to say what she wanted to say. “But, Sweetie … those girls are kind of … wild. They’re tomboyish, no? Not Izzy, she’s sweet. But Kayla and Suki are … are feminists, Tina auntie told me.” She leaned forward when she whispered the word “feminists.” “Sheena’s a much better fit for you.”

  Sweetie bit on the insides of her lips to keep from laughing. “Amma … I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m a feminist too.”

  Amma stared at her, her eyes wide in horror. She didn’t notice when the red floral dupatta of her salwar kameez slipped off one shoulder. “Sweetie! Feminists don’t get married. Stop that nonsense.”

  Sweetie did laugh then, openly. “Amma, what the heck are you talking about? Feminists can do whatever they want. They just want equal rights for women.”

  “Ayyo, bhagavane,” Amma said, shaking her head. “Teenagers.”

  Leaning forward, Sweetie put a hand on Amma’s. “Why do you think we see things so differently all the time?”

  Amma frowned. “What?”

  “We fall on opposite sides on almost everything, Amma.” She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “We look different and we think differently and …” She shrugged. “It breaks my heart a little.”

  Amma looked at her steadily. “It breaks my heart too. But what can we do? You’re the only daughter I have. And I’m the only mother you have. I suppose we must find a way to get along.” Patting Sweetie’s thigh, Amma got up to go.

  “If I never lose weight but still end up happy in life, will you be happy for me?” Sweetie asked, ignoring the note of desperation in her voice.

  Amma paused, one hand on the doorjamb. Over her shoulder she said, “If you don’t lose weight and still end up happy, I will thank God for working miracles.” Then she left, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  A tear spilled over onto Sweetie’s cheek, and she brushed it away with a fist. There were few things that made her feel lonelier than conversations with her own mother.

  Ashish and his parents sat in the gazebo, twilight twinkling around them. Pappa was “doing the barbecue,” as he called it, or as Ashish thought of i
t, burning veggies on sticks and pretending it was kebab. Chef drew the line at grilling, though, so they were on their own.

  “So beautiful,” Ma said, taking in the scenery. The gazebo and entertaining patio were perched on the top of a small hillock on their property, so they had expansive views of their carefully sculpted five acres and the western hills in the distance. When Ma realized about two years ago that they only used the space for summer parties, she instituted monthly Friday-night grill-outs. Pappa was on board because he got to buy a giant spaceship of a grill, and Rishi had been on board because … well, because he was Rishi. But now that he was off putting out art history fires in college, Ashish was the only one who had to spend one Friday night every month eating charred bricks masquerading as veggie burgers and pretending to like them.

  He glanced at Pappa, smugly turning over the veggie kebabs, which already smelled like scorched plant flesh. Actually, this—hanging out with them here—wasn’t that bad. He remembered trying to get out of these family nights every chance he had up until even a month ago, but right now Ashish couldn’t remember why. His parents … his parents weren’t so bad.

  Ma looked over at him and smiled. “What are you thinking of, beta?”

  Ashish shook his head and sipped his ginger beer. “Nothing. You know, I haven’t said it yet, but, um … thank you. Thank you both.” At Pappa’s quizzical look (his face surrounded by a cloud of smoke), Ashish added, “I’m having fun with Sweetie. On the dates you picked.”