Grown-Up Pose

by Sonya Lalli

  Was it possible to be grateful and feel fullness from each aspect of your life and still feel like you were missing something?

  Anu stood up and stared out the window. It was darker now, and the clouds were so thick, she yearned to reach out and touch them. Mold them with her fingers, her palms, and transform them into something else.

  chapter five

  KUNAL: Your mother is trying to call again. Is there problem? Beti, she is growing upset and you are putting me in bad position.

  (forty-five minutes later)

  KUNAL: Anu, I know what it means to be left “on read.”

  Come here. Give me a kiss.”

  Anu glanced out the car window. She had instructed Ryan to park as far away from the entrance as possible, and the coast being clear, she gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

  “Remember. Don’t kiss me in front of any Indian people.”

  He grinned as he stretched his right arm into the backseat, fetching his umbrella.

  “I’m serious,” she said. “Some of my parents’ friends will be here. If anybody asks, you’re Tom’s friend, not my date.”

  “Tom’s friend, check. Which one’s Tom again?”

  “Um, the groom.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “And you’re sure you don’t mind pretending we’re not together tonight?”

  “Why would I mind?”

  She hesitated, digging her fingers into her cuticles. If Ryan had been the one hiding their relationship, wouldn’t she mind?

  “I get it, babe. We haven’t been dating that long. You don’t want”—he waved his hand like he was swatting away a fly buzzing around his face—“all the old ‘aunties’ to know. By the way, have I mentioned how hot you look in Indian clothes?”

  Anu rolled her eyes and opened her purse. She pulled out a stick of black eyeliner and flicked down the visor. Glancing into its small mirror, she carefully smeared a spot of black in her hairline just above her ear. Turning to Ryan, she did the same to him.

  “What was that?”

  She laughed, looking at him. “I guess it doesn’t camouflage as well beneath blond hair.”

  He looked at himself in the rearview mirror, pulling it down toward him. “Is this some kind of brown voodoo?”

  “Uh, no. It’s called nazzar. . . . It’s this thing my mom does whenever one of us is dressed up or something fortunate happens.” Anu watched his face, but she couldn’t read it. “She’s very superstitious and thinks a black mark gives you an imperfection . . . and wards off the evil eye.”

  Ryan snorted. “The evil eye?”

  “I know, I know . . . ,” Anu said. “It sounds stupid, but it’s just eyeliner.”

  “If it’s just eyeliner, why do you do it?” He stroked her forearm with the tips of his fingers. “You’re not superstitious, are you?”

  Anu tucked the eyeliner back in her bag, snapped the gold clasp shut. Was she? Until that moment, she’d never really thought about it.

  “I don’t know. I guess . . . not.” She turned back to Ryan. “Sorry, sweetie. Do you want me to take it off?”

  Ryan took another look at his reflection and then gave himself a big wink. “Nah, I reckon I look pretty good in eyeliner.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Inside the hall, Anu left Ryan with Jenny, who was setting up a vase of blush pink peonies on the guest book table. It could be a disaster, the two of them together; on the other hand, maybe their spending time together was all Anu needed to get Jenny on her side. It was still two hours until the guests were due to arrive, and Anu found Monica upstairs behind a door marked “power room.”

  There had been twenty women—only half of whom Anu actually knew—helping Anu get ready the day of her own wedding, but she found Monica all by herself, half dressed in her bridal lengha. A suitcase was open in the middle of the floor, and there were a chair and a mirror set up where she assumed Monica would have gotten her hair and makeup done.

  “Your sisters aren’t here?” Anu asked hesitantly. “Mon, we could have been here hours ago. You said it was going to be just the three of you this morning.”

  “I didn’t realize,” Monica said flatly, “that my sisters think it’s more important to get themselves ready.”

  Anu reached for Monica’s hand, but she flicked it away.

  “Can you tell me what this thing does? Jenny had no clue. You remember, right?” Monica thrust a garment at her—sparkly, thick silk—and then grabbed for another one hanging behind the door. “What did the woman say? You wrap it where?”

  Anu fumbled with it, racking her brain from the bridal appointment a few weeks before.

  “And do you know the difference between a lacto-ovo vegetarian and a pescatarian?”

  “I think—”

  “And it’s started raining?” Monica gestured a vulgarity at the window. “What the hell!”

  Anu wrapped the silk around Monica’s waist, fumbling with hooks to see if it fit, but then Monica pushed her hands away.

  “Anu, am I making a mistake? Should I have just married an Indian guy?”

  “Mon . . .” Anu turned to face her. Monica had asked her and Jenny variations of this same question time and time again. Unfortunately, it had never mattered to Monica’s family that Tom treated her with respect or had bent over backward to understand their cultural and religious traditions; the only thing that mattered was that he was white.

  Anu’s heart was breaking for her best friend. Monica’s sisters lived in their own world, and her parents had made it clear that they might or might not even show up for her big day.

  Taking a deep breath, she grabbed Monica by the hands. “You’ll look gorgeous, even if we put this thing on wrong. If the vegetarians are being picky, they can eat rice. Rain on your wedding is a good omen for marriage, or so my mother tells me, and”—Anu caught her breath—“you and Tom are perfect for each other. So no, you should not have ‘just married an Indian guy.’”

  Monica shrugged, crossing her arms in front of her. She looked beautiful and bridal, and Anu wished she could do or say the right thing to cheer her up.

  On an impulse, she grabbed her phone and loaded her favorite Spotify playlist. She raised an eyebrow at Monica just as “Wannabe” came on.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What?” Anu started dancing, gyrating, mouthing along to the lyrics. Like every other girl their age, she and Monica had been obsessed, dreamed of being one of the Spice Girls.

  Except she and Monica were going to be the Spicy Girls.

  Singing along, for the first time, Monica cracked a smile, and just then they see a text on her phone. Monica’s parents had arrived.

  * * *

  • • •

  Anu had meant to avoid Ryan during the cocktail hour for the sake of appearances, but she couldn’t even find him in the first place. The wedding ceremony now over, she grabbed a flute of prosecco and started mingling with Monica’s and Tom’s families, the aunties and uncles she recognized, and then her friends and acquaintances from high school and college.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen most of them, yet because of Facebook, she knew exactly what was going on in their lives. Who had gotten engaged at the summit of Mount Haleakala on vacation in Maui, who had painted their master bedroom eggshell white, who had popped a balloon full of baby pink confetti at their gender-reveal party.

  Once upon a time, Anu had had dozens of friends—and her schedule had been full of coffee or movie dates, party invites or casual brunches organized on a whim. Now if Jenny and Monica were busy, Anu stayed home and baked gluten-free cookies for Kanika’s class, watching Netflix or The Late Show with Stephen Colbert.

  She couldn’t remember why she had lost touch with so many of them, and feeling bad, Anu quickly found herself making up an excu
se to move on. She circled the room and joined Jenny, silent and sulking by herself at the bar. A few moments passed, and Jenny still hadn’t said anything. Was she mad at Anu for bringing Ryan?

  Determined to dispel the awkwardness, Anu turned to her. “A twenty-one-year-old kicked my ass in yoga yesterday. I haven’t felt this good in years.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “I’m thinking about joining a studio on West Broadway, actually. Why don’t you come with me sometime? We could go after work.”

  “Don’t we spend enough time together already?” Jenny raised her eyebrows at Anu. It was true. They did spend a lot of time together; they worked in the same clinic.

  “Come on. I know you think it’s airy-fairy, but honestly, at minimum it’s great exercise.”

  “It’s not exercise. And why would I pay twenty-five dollars to roll around on the floor and stretch with a bunch of—”

  “Watch it . . .”

  “Lululemon-sporting, plant-based-cappuccino-drinking soccer moms who spend thousands of dollars a week getting lip fillers and balayage treatments?”

  Anu suppressed a smile. “You get balayage treatments, Jen.”

  “That’s not the point!”

  Anu turned to face her more fully. What had started out as a peace offering had somehow turned into one of their battles. “Try it, Jen. One class. For me?”

  “Will I get to say ‘nuh-maas-tay’ with a horribly offensive accent?”

  “If you want.”

  “Will you go running with me after?”

  “Joke all you want, yoga can be challenging. You’re going to be too tired to run after.”

  “Maybe . . .” Jenny shrugged. “OK, sure. Why not? And who knows? I might meet a guy.”

  Anu grimaced, shaking her head. “No, you won’t.”

  “How are you so sure?”

  “There are only three types of guys who go to yoga, and none of them is your type.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Anu gave her a look. “Type one: beardy white guys who can do the splits standing up and like to spend their holidays at ashrams in India.”

  “Pass.”

  Anu giggled. “Thought so. Type two: middle-aged men who recently suffered some sort of health scare and are now determined to be flexible.” Anu bent her arms into a stiff-eagle pose, and Jenny burst out laughing.

  “Hard pass. And the third type?”

  “Are married,” Anu said flatly. “They’re dragged there by their wives.”

  A few moments passed. Jenny turned quiet again, and Anu hoped she wasn’t thinking of a certain married man named Blair.

  “I wonder if he ever told her about me,” Jenny said after a while, resting her forearms on the bar. Anu winced, feeling bad she had inadvertently brought up the man who a few years earlier had bashed Jenny’s hearts to bit.

  “It’s not your fault,” Anu said, even though Jenny never believed her. “You didn’t know.”

  Jenny shrugged and then turned to face toward the crowded hall. “Shit,” she said suddenly, bolting upright. “He’s here.”

  The way Jenny said “he,” Anu knew before she even looked. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she turned around and saw Neil walk confidentally into the crowd, a small carry-on suitcase in tow behind him.

  He was wearing the same suit he had worn to their own wedding reception, but with a lighter shirt, a different tie. Was Priya back to doing his shopping?

  “He made it back,” Anu heard Jenny say, following him with her eyes as he crossed the room toward the coat check. She looked ahead and for the first time in hours saw Ryan. He was standing right in Neil’s path, with a group of Monica’s friends.

  Neil and Ryan hadn’t ever met. They probably didn’t even know what the other one looked like, yet here they were together. Her two worlds—one past, one future—colliding.

  * * *

  • • •

  Priya and Lakshmi had planned everything about her weeklong wedding celebration. Neil had been hard at work as Google’s newest junior developer, and Anu—nose deep into her clinical practicums—had been too stressed to care whether they served naan or poori at the sangeet, if her bridesmaids’ saris were melon or apricot orange.

  But Monica looked so happy up there standing next to Tom, their eyes and hands locked together. That was how Anu and Neil used to look. Their marriage hadn’t always been so bad.

  With Ryan, could she do it all over again?

  After dinner, Anu found herself painfully sober on the dance floor, doing her very best to keep a smile on her face. Most of the aunties and uncles had left, and almost everyone under the age of forty-five got completely smashed; Monica always knew how to throw a party.

  Ryan was at the bar again, and she tried not to feel annoyed that he had assumed Anu would be the one to drive them home. She set down her half-drunk prosecco glass and slipped away, maneuvering around the tables toward him. It was dark, and it was too late to turn around by the time she spotted Neil in her path, slouching at a table by himself. His legs were spread wide, a bottle of beer dangling between his pinkie and ring finger.

  She had to walk right by him, and she slowed her steps. Smiling, she stopped short just in front of him. “Hi.”

  “Hello.”

  She wanted to ask him about how his presentation had gone in San Francisco, the one he’d been preparing for six months and how he’d managed to get away early. Did she have the right? Would he even tell her if she asked?

  “It’s nice to see you,” she said finally. He looked up at her as if he couldn’t quite believe her. But wasn’t she telling the truth? That, despite everything, she was genuinely happy to see him.

  She gestured to the chair next to him, and when he didn’t say no, she sat down.

  “How was the ceremony?”

  “Beautiful.” She nodded. “Monica cried. Tom cried. Everyone cried. It was really nice.”

  Was he also thinking about their own wedding day? Remembering what it had been like for them?

  Sipping from the beer bottle, Neil looked over his left shoulder. “So you brought him.”

  “I’m sorry. I would have warned you if I knew you were coming.”

  He shrugged.

  “Are you OK?”

  “Why do you ask questions you don’t want the answer to, Anush?”

  She winced. Why did he still have to call her that? Why did his nickname for her still hurt so much?

  “Do you want me to go?” she whispered.

  “Sure, I’m used to you leaving.”

  She stood up, cupping her right hand over her mouth. “Look . . . I know you’re hurt. . . .”

  He stared at her, and it was so cold, it was as if he wasn’t looking at her at all.

  What was she supposed to say? She didn’t want to feel responsible for his feelings anymore . . . but it was still not easy to see him hurting.

  “I . . . I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  Why was she sorry? Their marriage was broken, and now it was over. What did she have to feel sorry about?

  He stood up, too, set down the beer bottle with a thud. She’d forgotten how tall he was, how small she felt standing next to him.

  “You should stay,” he said, brushing past her. “I’ll go.”

  chapter six

  Eleven years ago

  Hello, Uncle. Hello, Auntie.”

  “Hello, Neil,” she heard her parents say in unison.

  “How are you this evening?”

  Anu crept down the carpeted stairs a few steps as Lakshmi prattled away about the mattar paneer simmering on the stove, the latest plot twist in her favorite Hindi soap.

  “Your mother likes watching the show, too, nah?” Lakshmi asked. “You must tell her. If she is lonely on your nights out with Anu, she must come
over. We can watch together.”

  “That’s very nice. I’ll tell her, Auntie. Thank you.”

  Anu chanced another step and then sat down on the staircase. She lowered her head just a bit and peered through the banister. Neil was wearing dark jeans, a collared shirt, and the brown leather jacket he rarely wore. Lakshmi, more than a foot shorter than Neil, was standing just in front of him; even though her mother hadn’t left the house all day, Anu smiled, noticing her mother had put on lipstick.

  “You can stay and eat with us, no?” Kunal asked. He was standing a few feet back from Lakshmi, his arms crossed tight.

  “Uncle, I made a reservation. . . .”

  “Surely, there is no punishment for canceling.”

  “Kunal,” Lakshmi tutted, “let the children go eat.”

  “Yes, they are children, and they should eat with their parents.”

  “Do not listen to my husband. He is very grumpy he is stuck with me this evening.”

  “Uncle,” Neil said, “that’s nothing to be grumpy about. Auntie looks so pretty.”

  “All right, then I will go with Anu to the restaurant. And you can stay here with my pretty wife.”

  Neil laughed, and just then he locked eyes with Anu. She sat back startled, and when he didn’t reveal her presence, she leaned back in.

  “Before I forget,” Neil said to Lakshmi, “I brought you these.” He held out a box of chocolates, the brand they sold at the fancy department store right by campus. Lakshmi beamed as she took it.

  “Neil, are you here to see Anu or her mother? Be careful how you answer. I can be a very jealous husband.”

  “Well, I figured I first need to win over Auntie if I want to see Anu.”