by Sonya Lalli
I thought about how Nani had instructed me to come home to move boxes that evening at precisely 7 P.M., but how we didn’t have anything in the garage she’d want to throw away or donate. I did have a date. By now, she was fed up with me refusing to meet the new men she’d been suggesting, so tonight, there’d be another ambush. There would be an Ajit or Sheev or Raj waiting for me at home, and there was nothing I could do about it.
“I wouldn’t like it.” He put his hand gently on my face, on my neck. “But you need to do what makes you happy, love.”
Dev made me happy. He would make me happy.
“You’re off on a date, then?”
And even though I hated myself for it, I knew that I would keep waiting. All I wanted was this second chance.
“No, Dev.” I shook my head. “I don’t have a date. I’m . . . still under the weather. And I need to go.”
I walked home in a trance. Two years later, Dev was back in my life, exactly how I had left him. Still threaded in ambition. Still a man who wanted me. Still a man who needed time.
DATE #5
“Raina, did you hear that?”
I looked up from my food. “Sorry?” I looked between Nani and . . . I’d already forgotten his name. I shook my head.
Nani touched her napkin to her lips, as if embarrassed on my behalf. “Neil was telling us about—”
“Auntie, it’s nothing—”
“What is this nothing business?” She sat up proudly in her chair. “You protected this country—like in the movies, like that man with brown hair—”
“You were in the army?” I asked him, trying to make an effort.
“Just so they would pay for dental school.”
“Clever.”
Nani pressed another naan into his hand. “More?”
“I’m good, Auntie.”
“Please. Eat more.” She lunged for the raita, ladled it onto his plate. “You’re too skinny.”
“Let me finish this, and then I’ll have more.” Neil wiped his hands on a napkin and touched her hand. “Auntie, please sit down and join us. I can’t eat until you eat.”
“Nonsense—”
“I insist.” He stood up and guided her to her own chair. “Don’t tell my ma,” he said, leaning in close to her as he helped her sit, “but this—Auntie—it’s incredible. Much better than her cooking.”
Nani arched her eyebrows at me. “So cute, Raina. And so sweet.”
I zoned out again. I’d been remembering that time that Dev almost proposed. Or could have. Two months before I’d left London, when we took a Sunday morning off from work, caught the 55 to Chinatown for dim sum. The sun was out, and in the February chill, we walked back, wound our way through Soho, Holborn, and then right through Hatton Garden. The Jewelery Quarter. Where men like Dev came to buy a ring.
We walked by one shop, and then another—endless windows of round cuts and princess cuts, gold and platinum. In the reflection of one of the windows, I caught him staring, and I looked down at my shoes.
“What if—”
“Do you reckon—”
“You first.” He pulled me out of the sidewalk traffic and against a shop wall. The wind had blown a strand of hair into my mouth, and he gently brushed it aside.
“No. You go.”
Was this it? I remembered thinking—hoping—as he looked at the sky, the brick walls, anywhere but me. He leaned in. He opened his mouth. And then, just when it could have happened—when, in a million times replayed over in my head, it should have happened—I felt a vibration through his touch, and he reached into his pocket.
It wasn’t it.
“I should take this,” he’d said, darting briskly across the street, his BlackBerry wedged against his shoulder, me half a stride behind him the whole walk home. And by the time we got back to his flat, and he set down his keys on the coffee table with a tired clang, the moment had passed. Our laptops were back open. And our lives resumed their usual course.
Nani’s voice roused me. “The one with Tom Hanks?” she asked. She reached over the table and spooned more dal onto my plate. Eyeing me, she knocked the spoon hard on the ceramic. “Raina, what do you think?”
“Huh?”
“Saving Private Ryan,” said Neil. “Great movie.”
“I haven’t seen it,” I said.
He clutched his chest. “You haven’t seen it?”
“No.”
“It is on the movie channel all the time,” said Nani.
“I’ll have to check it out.”
“You should.” Neil pinched off a piece of naan and dunked it in the saag. “Maybe we should watch it sometime . . .”
“Raina loves reading, too,” I heard Nani say. “Not just movies.”
I winced, and I felt Nani and Neil looking at me.
“Don’t you, Raina?”
I nodded, avoiding their glances. Did Nani see Neil as the picture-perfect son-in-law and father of my children? A man who would rouse me from my own limp life and, magically, make everything okay? Nani wanted me to fall in love with him, leap after him. Skip over Mom’s generation and turn right into her. She wanted this kitchen table full, full of hungry, smiling people—a fantasy no one in her family had ever been able to fulfill. Neil was exactly what she wanted. But wasn’t I finally ready to admit to myself I didn’t want her to choose for me?
“What do you like to read?” Neil asked.
I moved my food around with my fork. “You know. Whatever’s around.”
“And who’s that written by?”
I looked up. He was smiling at me. His perfect, genuine smile. Straight teeth—unlike Dev’s, pale white and splintered—hidden beneath a smirk. Was Dev still at the party? I wondered. Why wasn’t he at our kitchen table?
“Well,” I said finally, looking at Neil. “I have a lot of favorite books.”
“Pick one.” Neil leaned toward me.
“My friend Zoey just lent me The Catcher in the Rye.” I shrugged. “I never read it when I was young. I liked it.”
“That’s one of my favorites.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of people like it.”
Neil grinned, and I caught him looking at my neck. I saw that familiar flaring of heat, and I winced.
“Neil,” said Nani. “I can make you chai?”
Was it only that afternoon that Dev had finally pressed his lips against mine the way he used to? A moment of blinding exhilaration, and then the metal doors parting, the fluorescent light pouring in. I squeezed my eyes shut. But what about Nani? I loved them both so much. Too much, as Shay liked to say. Loved them more than I knew how to understand. Why couldn’t they fit together somehow?
“Sure, Auntie. Would you like some help?”
“You sit. I will make.”
Nani stood up from the table, and the moment she turned around, I grabbed my phone from my back pocket. I checked the screen, and there it was. A message from Dev—from thirty-eight minutes ago.
Raina—I need to know you’re all right. Are you feeling better? The party is shit without you here.
Just then, another e-mail popped up.
I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.
Dev wanted me. I knew he still wanted me.
Why had I run—again? Why hadn’t I stood there, face-to-face, and told him that he had to choose? That it was time for him to pick me—this time really love me—or let me go?
“Are you okay?” I heard Neil’s voice. “Raina?”
What was I doing here? With Neil? I needed more time. My breath came uneven. Jagged. I felt my body flashing hot and cold.
Nani’s voice, drawing closer. “Ill again?”
“I’m sorry.” I stood up so hard my chair flung backward. “I can’t do this now.”
* * *
I could hear her saying good-bye to
what’s-his-name at the door. Making excuses for me—that I was still ill, overburdened at work. After a moment, the front door thudded shut, and when I heard her start to climb the stairs, I shoved her list back into my purse where I’d kept it all these months. I heard the door creak open, the hum of the light as she switched it on.
“I made ginger tea.”
I felt her sit down on the edge of my bed; the shifting of her body weight as she released a sigh. “You should have told me you were still feeling ill. I would have postponed.”
Postponed something I hadn’t even agreed to? That she and Auntie Sarla, and probably even Shay, had concocted together? So there was no more single Raina to worry over?
“Tell me, where are you feeling ill?”
“I’m not ill.” I tugged at the covers and wrapped myself tighter. “I’m a lot better today.”
“You didn’t eat much.” I felt Nani’s hand on my back, and I resisted the urge to pull away. “I wrapped your plate and put it in fridge.”
I didn’t answer.
“Okay, so you didn’t like Neil. Maybe he is a bit boring, nah?” She laughed. “I have found another. His name is Chirag. He—”
“Will you just cut it out?” I barked into the pillow, because I couldn’t look at her. “I saw my profile on IndianSingles.com. I know where you’re finding them now. Did you really have to put up a marriage ad for me?”
I heard Nani sigh again. “I am sorry, my sweet.”
“Well, you should be.”
“I should have asked first. I can take it down, nah? It was silly idea your Auntie Sarla gave me. We can look elsewhere. Not online, then. I’ll find others.”
It suddenly occurred to me that she wasn’t going to stop. This was it. Until I got married, this would be my life.
If only I could marry Dev. He was Indian. He would understand that I was almost thirty, and that there’d be pressure on us to get married quickly. We were two years older, and we were still in love after living an ocean apart. Now, wouldn’t he be willing to meet Nani? I had to trust that he would be ready for our future.
“Sarla says she knows a nice boy in—”
“Nani. Please.” I was choking. I couldn’t breathe. “Please, please, stop.” I was crying now. “Just stop. I know I agreed, but I can’t—can’t take this anymore.”
She didn’t reply, and my face burning with shame, I buried my face deeper in the pillow. How could I tell her? Would she understand why I was waiting for Dev?
“Raina,” I heard Nani say after a moment, her voice wavering. “I must ask you something.”
“What’s that?” I grumbled.
“Again, at dinner you mentioned this Zoey girl. You mention her often.” Nani paused. “Is she more than friend to you?”
I opened my mouth to answer, and then realized what she meant. Was she asking me if I was in a relationship with Zoey?
“I have seen things in movies, you know. And on Ellen.” Her hand, momentarily frozen, had resumed its comforting massage on my back. “And I was thinking it is so common now, nah? It is very normal. And I thought that maybe, maybe this is why you are resisting marriage. Maybe I am not finding you the right match because . . .”
She trailed off, and the silence hung thick in the air. I could hear her breathing, the hum of the lights. The sound of a car driving by. The distant tick of the cuckoo clock echoing in the kitchen. Seconds passed, and it occurred to me that Nani didn’t just think I was gay: She was okay with it.
“Is this why you’ve been unhappy with me, my sweet?” Her voice came out tentatively, and I felt her lean down and kiss me on the back of the head, her other hand brushing stray hairs away from my cheek.
What had just happened? Was it really possible that the idea of me being gay didn’t upset her? When she was so traditional about other things in her life? My breath was trapped in my lungs, and my heart pounded. I knew I should say something. Letting her believe I was gay couldn’t be right. But for some reason, already it made more sense than the truth. If I were gay—just for a while—there’d be no more dates. No more pressure or ambushes. There’d be time. There’d be Dev.
I should have told Nani the truth. I wanted to—everything, all of it—but I couldn’t.
I didn’t know how. So I didn’t say anything.
IndianSingles.com guy w/ Tom Hanks obsession
(Ned? Neil? Nigel?)
ELEVEN
Within days of Nani offering me an excuse for my behavior, strangely, I was beginning to feel like my old self. I’d started sleeping through the night. Running. Eating normal meals, and not bags of chips for dinner. It was as if all the pressure was off my chest and I could finally breathe. No forced dates and looming marriage deadline. No worrying about Nani, or whether Dev would be ready before Nani shoved me down the aisle toward some guy whose name I could barely pronounce. Finally, I had time.
“I don’t see how this is a good idea,” Zoey had said, when I finally worked up the courage to tell her.
“You think this is a bad idea?”
“No. Not necessarily.” She scratched her head. “But it’s not a good one. Letting your nani believe you’re gay to get out of a few bad dates? It’s actually the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”
“A few? I was practically getting an e-mail every morning with her top ten matches. Organized by height, weight, income tax bracket—”
“All right. I get it. There was a lot of pressure.” She bit her lower lip. “Does anyone else know?”
“About Dev?” I shook my head. “No—”
“Raina, no.” Zoey rolled her eyes and, her voice lowered, said, “Does anyone else know that you’re a ‘lesbian’?”
“Kris does. He came over that evening, and I kind of had to tell him.”
“And what did he say?”
“Called me a brat and then poured us both a whiskey.” I shrugged. “He’s never been that interested in my life.”
Zoey nodded slowly. “So the damage is minimal. Good. It’s not too late to undo it.”
I looked at the floor.
“But you don’t want to undo it, do you.” She paused. “Raina, why are you doing this? I want you to admit it to me.”
“I . . .”
“If you have to lie about him to the people you love—can he really be worth it?”
Was she right? Zoey knew me well, and I usually trusted her judgment.
Dev had taken me for lunch only the hour before—a full forty-five minutes between meetings with our BlackBerrys on silent. Reminiscing at the corner table over pesto and chardonnay, it was as if nothing had changed. He was the man that I had fallen for—and I was still the woman in love with him. Every time he e-mailed, whenever I heard his voice passing by in the hall, my mouth curled into a smile. Dev was back in my life—and I was happy again. Couldn’t it be as simple as that?
Now that Nani’s matchmaking arrangement was off the table, every morning there was that same flutter in my stomach. A feeling of delight, rather than the weight of constantly disappointing the person who meant the most to me.
Sure, Dev traveled constantly, and was just as likely to be in New York, Chicago, or Los Angeles, but he was part of my life again—and I was in his. In every passing moment, I grew more and more sure that this was it. I knew that the last two years would only be one chapter of our story. Dev needed time to fully commit—and finally, we had it. The Bollywood struggle behind us, it was time for the third act.
“He’s worth it,” I said. He had to be.
* * *
The moment I hadn’t denied to Nani that I was gay, everything changed. Harder than her questions I didn’t know the answers to, more disconcerting than a fresh list of potential husbands, was her concern. Her empathy. Accepting who she thought I was seemingly defied everything she had grown up to stand for. It was as if ten years of t
he Ellen show had changed her into a woman I hadn’t realized she’d become. And while it impressed me, it was downright baffling.
Shouldn’t she have been angry? No one in our community was gay, or at least publicly out of the closet. It just wasn’t something Indian people did. No matter how progressive she’d become in recent years, how was this acceptable to her?
The idea of me with another woman did not upset her; rather, she couldn’t wrap her head around why Zoey and I were just friends. Didn’t I care about her? Wouldn’t Zoey make a great partner for me? Nani wouldn’t let up, and I started to avoid her, and visited her less and less often.
It was harder to put on the act face-to-face, and until Dev was ready for a real commitment—until I could face her with the truth—I didn’t want to see her. I didn’t know how I would “come out” again, or how she would respond. But as I wrestled with my relationship status with Dev, the few hours we spent together every time he was in town never culminating in more than a hug, sometimes a kiss, I couldn’t bring myself to think about what would happen next. I couldn’t even imagine what I would say, or how long—another week, or month—I would have to keep up the charade.
But surely, after he’d settled into his new job, he and I would meet Nani as a united front.
* * *
“Just a few months now! Can you believe?” Auntie Sarla’s voice boomed from the back seat of my Jeep.
“Coming quickly, Shaylee!” said Nani, reaching forward and patting Shay on the shoulder. Shay glanced over at me, grinning, shaking her head from side to side in mock excitement.
I turned up the heat, and wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck as we waited at a red light. The four of us had spent the day running wedding errands together. Shay, who it felt like I hadn’t seen in months, and I barely had time to catch up as Nani and Auntie Sarla remained fixated from the back seat on discussions of tiered cakes and Hindu priests, chiffon lining and perfectly timed flower deliveries. The whole time, Shay listened to Auntie Sarla plan her wedding with glazed disinterest, piping in only to change the radio station during the drive from one vendor to another, or to mock Auntie Sarla’s accent.
