by Marie Lamba
It’s past 2 a.m. I shut the book, shut off my light and lie here, but it’s no use. I’m wide awake. I should really get to sleep. I can’t sleep too late tomorrow because I’m starting my pet-sitting gig, watching Mrs. Schnapps’ dog while she’s in Spain for a few weeks. It shouldn’t be too hard. I mean, how much trouble can a little apricot poodle named Poopsie be? I’m not sure how much Mrs. Schnapps is paying me, because I felt too weird to ask. I didn’t even ask the exact date she was getting back.
I roll onto my side and stare at the red glow of my digital clock. Now all I can think of is that kiss. How Dalton pulled me close and gave me one of those I’ve-waited-all-my-life-for-this kisses you see in the movies. My knees trembled. Everything went out of focus. I shut my eyes, and when I opened them, for the briefest of seconds I saw Jake Gyllenhaal pull back and smile at me. He had that same smoldering expression he has in the poster, and a white billowy shirt opened down almost to his waist, and this look in his eyes that said, “I am yours.”
After I had blinked my eyes a few times, Jake morphed into Dalton, the white shirt into his white untanned chest. But the look in his eyes was the same. Yikes. All I could think was, don’t look at me like this. It’s just a kiss. That’s all.
I said I had to find Megan, and left. She was sitting on the edge of the pool in a sort of vegetarian bliss, snacking on fried tofu she’d brought in a plastic baggie from home. When I told her what I’d done with Dalton, before I could even get to the “just a kiss to make him happy and nothing more” part, she clapped and said, “Yeah! Sang, you are a total woman of action. You found the guy and made your move. Now you just have one more step and your ‘fall in love plan’ is complete. Just say those three magic words, right?” Then she hugged me.
Okay, I thought, so I made not only Dalton, but Megan happy too. Who knows? Maybe even Gary would jump for joy at the news.
“You know, I always knew you and Dalton would be perfect for each other,” Megan said. “He really deserves this. Especially after what he went through.” She raised her eyebrows. “You know.”
I did know. I had made him miserable, but not on purpose. It was back when I didn’t realize he liked me. He asked me out and I just freaked and said I couldn’t. Or I shouldn’t. Or something stupid like that.
Thinking of this, I felt ashamed of myself. I didn’t mean to, but here I was leading Dalton on again. I didn’t feel that way about him. End of story. I would have to tell Dalton the truth. IMMEDIATELY.
But somehow I didn’t. I didn’t even tell Megan. Everyone was so happy, you know?
Now I roll over and face the shades on my window, which are slightly aglow from the streetlight outside. I tell myself maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe if I give Dalton a chance… What about all the zillions of arranged marriages in India? Don’t some of them turn into true love? For example, my favorite taoji and taiji. They barely knew each other when they married, and yet whenever I’ve visited New Delhi, I couldn’t help but feel their love for each other. Like in the way Taoji Ravinder teased her about being on the phone too much, or Taiji Parveen tut-tutted about the sorry state of his turban, adjusting it until it looked just right.
Get a grip. This is not an arranged marriage, or anything that serious. I will tell Dalton. I swear. And he will hate me forever.
Feeling miserable, I roll onto my back. In the darkness I stare toward the ceiling and think about Jake Gyllenhaal. It’s cool how he can recreate himself in a movie. Become anyone he wants. All it takes is costuming, acting skill, some movie magic, and a hot body of course.
I wish I could recreate myself—become somebody more exciting. Heroic. In love. I imagine myself in that incredible red dress, only it’s longer like the ones in Austen’s Sense and Sensibility or in her Pride and Prejudice. And suddenly there I am in the final scene of Pride and Prejudice. I’m striding across the grand lawn of Fonthill Castle, which in real life is only a few blocks away from my house. Doylestown actually has two castles. Not kidding.
Hm. You’d think living in a town with two castles would mean my life was a happily ever after fairy tale…
Cue back to the castle’s grand lawn, which is swathed in early morning mist. I’m striding away from the castle and striding toward me is the mysterious and handsome Mr. Darcy. I’m all heaving bosom and blushing cheeks. He’s all knee-high boots, leather pants and passion-filled eyes. We rush to each other and embrace. I smile at him. His features shape shift from Jake Gyllenhaal to Gary to Dalton to Poopsie the poodle. Poopsie says, “My darling, I love you,” and tries to lick my cheek.
AAAH!
I sit up, my heart pounding. The clock says 2:45 a.m. God, I hate dreams like that.
I take a few deep breaths and rub my eyes. That’s when I notice light in the hall coming from under my parent’s door. I get up and tiptoe to my door. I listen closely, and sure enough, I hear worried murmurs from their bedroom. I catch words here and there. “We can’t…” And “Every last cent…”
Okay, I have to know what’s going on. I raise my hand to knock on their door, just when I hear Dad say, “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars!”
I recoil from the door. I crawl back under my covers and hug my pillow tight.
Chapter 4
First thing Saturday morning and already Dalton is trying to Facebook chat. I stare at the screen.
Dalton Dreyfus
When can I see you?
I know I promised I’d level with him. But an entire day has passed since the kiss and still I have not leveled with him in any way, shape or form. In my defense, I haven’t exactly seen him yet. Maybe I could go on not seeing him forever. Or maybe I could just type in the miserable news and get it over with.
I tell myself that anyone who uses Facebook to break up is cowardly scum. UNLESS they are just saving the other person from a really embarrassing moment. In that case it’s actually nice.
My fingers are poised over the keyboard. I know what I need to say: I like you as a friend, but that’s all. I’m horrible. You’re an amazing kisser. Forgive me?
I bend my fingers, but I just can’t type the words.
Dalton Dreyfus
You there?
Unfortunately, yes. Deep sigh.
Sang Jumnal
Can we meet?
*****
I slowly open the door to Mrs. Schnapps’ house, expecting her toy poodle to come barreling toward me. I haven’t had much experience with dogs, but isn’t that what they do? There’s an eerie silence. “Here Poopsie Poopsie Poopsie,” I call, shutting the door behind me. All around the foyer there’s plenty of poop, but no Poopsie. I grit my teeth and tiptoe through the minefield to the safety of the kitchen. On the counter are cleanser, paper towels and a mound of plastic bags. “Mrs. Schnapps, you’d better pay me well.”
I clean up the mess and toss the bag into the trash outside while rethinking my grand pet-sitting business scheme because that would be a LOT of poop. When I return, Poopsie comes racing toward me from her hiding spot, all waggy tailed as if she was the most innocent toy poodle in the world.
“Don’t talk to me,” I say. “I’m really pissed at you.”
Poopsie rears up on her hind legs and scratches my knees.
“Stop that.”
She cocks her head to one side and looks absolutely adorable.
“No fair.” I cross my arms.
She runs into the living room and comes back with this ratty stuffed animal that looks like a dust bunny with eyes. She tosses it at my feet.
“I am not touching that thing, so forget it.”
Poopsie pokes my knee with her cold black nose and I crack a smile.
“Okay,” I say. “But only once.” I toss the toy down the hall. Poopsie springs after it, her toenails skidding on the wood floor. She brings it back and I toss it again. Again. Again. After a few dozen tosses, Poopsie is panting and no longer cares about her mangy toy, so I take her for a little walk around the yard and then fill her water and food bowls. I pic
k her up and rub her pom-pom ears. “No more surprises, okay?” She licks me in the nostril. We’re the best of friends. “Okay, I’ll see you later.” I set her down.
Poopsie does her head tilt thing again like she’s trying to understand. It must be tough having a brain the size of a walnut. I wave bye and she tilts her head the other way, suddenly seeming sad and lonely. I leave and lock the door, feeling sad myself. Poor Poopsie.
When I get back into my house, it’s poor me. In just fifteen minutes I have the dreaded meeting with Dalton while he’s on break from his deli job at The Little Store. That’s how long it’ll take to walk there if I move fast.
I look at my clock. I should really get going. I hear Doodles opening drawers in her room. I’d better check on her. You know those ten year olds. Always fusing their fingers together with superglue, or cutting their hair with pinking shears.
“What’s up?” I ask. She’s sprawled out on her rug beside a large white poster board, a red marker in her hand.
“I’m making signs,” she says. “To sell ice pops. I’m gonna put all the money I earn in there.” She points to a glass cookie jar she swiped from the kitchen. “You can put your money from Poopsie watching in there too. When it gets full, we can give it to Mom and Dad.”
“Oh. Great.” I should tell her not to bother. I mean, one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS. “So, you’re going to be like the ice cream man?”
“Without a truck. We’re going to be rich.” She smiles.
“Oh. Sure. That’s great, kiddo.”
Back in my room, I pace and gnaw on my thumb. How could this happen? How could my parents owe so much money? I wish I could talk to Hari about this, but he’s working at his new job at Coffee & Cream. Plus he’s like Doodles. He feels so great about helping out. What if I tell him the truth? Maybe he’ll insist on quitting college.
I look at my clock. Twelve minutes till Dalton time. I really really should go now.
The phone rings! I pounce on the cordless beside my bed. It’s my grandmother, and she’s a real talker. This could take an hour. I smile. “Hey, Grandma. What’s new?”
“Nobody in my neighborhood,” she says.
My mom’s mom lives in a retirement community in Seattle called Festive City, but according to her, it’s more like “Fussy City.” “God help you if you have a weed!” she’d say. I recline on my bed, ready to hear all about her cranky neighbor Phyllis.
She says, “Is your mother there? I have that flight information for her and I need to confirm some details.”
I sit up. “You’re coming to visit? That’s great!” I immediately wonder if Grandma’s visit will happen the same time as Raina’s. Grandma has never really meshed with the Indian side of the family. Indians instantly include everybody in their family. Uncles treat nieces and nephews like their own children. Cousins are like brothers and sisters. Even in-laws are treated as the closest and dearest of relatives. I think this freaks Grandma out. To her, in-laws are more like strangers you have to be extra polite to. So she usually keeps her distance, even not visiting for the holidays if she discovers an Indian relative will be coming too. Her excuse has always been, “I just can’t understand the accent. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”
“I’m not coming, dear. Raina is,” Grandma says now.
“I know, but…what?” Wait. How does Grandma even know Raina’s name? She barely gets my dad’s right.
“Can’t you hear?” She’s shouting now. “Is this better?”
I pull the phone away from my ear. “Much.”
“Trying times,” she says. “What would Phyllis say if she could see inside my house right now? Suitcases and clothes everywhere.”
“Suitcases?”
“Suitcases,” she screams. “Still, Raina seems like a lovely girl. Though I don’t really understand her much, it’s the—”
“Accent,” I say. “I know.”
“When they asked if I could keep Raina, along with some of their luggage for a few days while they worked out their accommodation details, I couldn’t say no. You know, considering.”
“Considering what?”
“CONSIDERING!” she screeches. I hear her mutter, “What a dreadful connection.”
Mom pops her head in my room. “Who’s on the phone?”
“Grandma,” I say.
Mom snags the phone, goes into her bedroom and shuts the door. I look at my clock. Only ten minutes left till I have to meet Dalton. There’s no way I can make it to The Little Store in that time. It’s all the way by the cemetery. If I had my license and a car I’d be there in a flash, but as it is the only set of wheels I have is…crap. My bike. I can make it in five minutes if I ride.
*****
“So why does my grandmother have my Indian cousin at her house? And my grandmother mentioned trying times,” I tell Dalton. I think about telling him about the whole money thing, but it feels like some solemn family secret. “Why don’t my parents just tell me what’s going on?”
“You should ask them,” Dalton says. I met up with him at The Little Store, where I’d locked up my bike. Now we’re strolling through the Doylestown Cemetery. “How about here?” he says, waving to a white marble bench.
“Sure.” We both sit and he hands me a bottle of lemonade from the large brown bag he’s carrying. “Thanks,” I say. “If you had a choice of telling someone something that will make them really unhappy, or keeping it to yourself so they won’t get hurt, which would you do?”
“Hmm. Tough one,” he says, digging through the bag.
“Dalton, the thing is, we—”
“Here.” He hands me a sandwich wrapped in white paper. “Liverwurst, mayo and lettuce on white toast.”
“Oh.” I sigh.
“Don’t you still like that?”
“I do.” It is secretly my favorite sandwich, but I haven’t brought liverwurst to school since eighth grade when Trish Crowdly wrinkled her nose and informed me my lunch smelled like someone crapped on my bread. I never brought in liverwurst again. Was Dalton at my lunch table back then? “Thanks, Dalton. This is very sweet.”
“Hope you don’t mind the surroundings.”
“It’s quiet,” I say, and he smiles at me. His left dimple and my right dimple share a moment before my smile fades. I unwrap my sandwich.
“So what were you saying?”
Unfortunately (or fortunately), I’ve just taken the world’s hugest bite out of my sandwich. So all I can do is point to my mouth and shrug.
“Okay, then let me talk.” He takes a swig of his iced tea and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s like this. When you kissed me the other night, you changed my life.”
I don’t know what to say, so I take another bite.
“Seriously, Sang. You have made me the happiest guy in Pennsylvania, maybe the entire East Coast.”
Chew chew chew.
“I will take such good care of you.”
Oh God. Chew chew chew.
“I will treat you like a princess.” He looks at me through those wire glasses of his. “Sang, I’m crazy about you.”
Swallow and gulp.
The next few seconds are slow-mo. He removes his glasses, puckers up and leans in. At the last moment, I turn my head away. Lips hit ear. He pulls away, eyes wide open.
Now everything happens really fast. “Oh,” he says. Nothing more. Replaces his glasses. Stuffs his lunch into the bag.
“Dalton, I’m so sorry. It’s just—”
He holds up his hand. Looks devastated. “I get it, Sang. Stupid me. Again.” He stands. “Gotta work.”
I should be happy. The horrible moment is over.
Dalton’s head sinks. He starts walking away.
I’m wretched. I’ve hurt him. He’s the sweetest guy on the planet and I’m an absolute monster.
I jump to my feet and shout, “LIVERWURST.” This echoes around the gravestones.
Dalton stops.
No.
The next moment is superhero fast. Dalton drops the bag, whips off the glasses, rushes to me, grabs me, and kisses. He kisses like you’d expect a superhero to kiss. Like Spiderman upside down in an alley. Like mild-mannered Clark Kent transformed into Superman Superkisser. Like the Prince of Persia at the castle’s edge, his arm tightly around my waist.
We sink onto the bench and continue to kiss. He pulls away and gives me this slow sleepy smile, and just says, “Sang.”
He hugs me and over his shoulder I see a stone cherub smiling at me. It’s sitting on a gravestone that says: ETERNAL LOVE.
I’m doomed.
Chapter 5
“Thank you, Chachi,” Raina says, accepting a glass of lemonade from my mom.
The word “chachi” sends a chill rippling along my neck and down my back. Granted, Mom is Raina’s chachi, and Dad is her chacha, or younger brother uncle. But to me, Chachi will forever be my nasty aunt.
Mom must be thinking the same thing, because she says, “Why don’t you just call me Aunt?” Raina looks worried, like she might have offended us, until Mom adds, “After all, I am your only American aunt, right?”
Raina smiles sweetly. “Yes, Auntie-ji.” ‘Ji’ is a way of saying honored one. “And thank you so much for dinner. Everything is so delicious.”