by Saumya Dave
“Yup, I’d look just like Priyanka, without the plump lips, thick hair, and toned body,” Natasha says. “But Mom’s right. I’m not interested in having a wedding like Suhani and Zack’s.”
Everyone laughs as if Natasha is a little girl saying a word for the first time.
“We know that’s what you think, beta.” Mom narrows her eyes. “Everyone knows. You can’t keep your thoughts to yourself. Ever.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“Natasha, beta, you’re so funny,” Anita says in a feeble attempt to defuse the tension. “Remember when we all thought you’d be a comedian?”
“Uh-huh,” Natasha says. “And that’s actually what I still want to do.”
She’s giving you a window! Natasha thinks. Just tell them all now.
She had been reading about her favorite female comedians lately, how they were courageous enough to try to fail and create something of their own. She needs that now: courage.
“Who was that actress you wanted to be like?” Anita Auntie says. “You used to read her books and watch her shows. . . .”
“Mindy Kaling,” Natasha and Karan say in unison.
“Oh, she’s done thinking about all that,” Mom says with a wave of her hand, as if Natasha’s childhood dream is an unpleasant smell.
“Actually, she’s not even just thinking about it anymore,” Karan says. “In a couple of weeks, she’ll be compet—”
“Karan, no.” Natasha kicks his foot under the table.
Luckily, both of their moms are too distracted by Priyanka Chopra’s Instagram feed to notice the conversation cutting off. Mom shows Priyanka’s latest selfie to Anita Auntie as they both nod approvingly at her eye makeup.
There’s no way they can know about Natasha’s upcoming comedy competition. In just two weeks, she’ll join twelve other aspiring stand-up comedians at the Midtown Comedy Center’s Comedy Competition. The top four will be selected by a panel of judges and move on to the next round. The winner gets a standing open mic spot at Midtown Comedy Center. As if preparing a routine wasn’t mind-wrecking enough, the venue also required each comedian to hand out fifty flyers in order to guarantee a slot. Natasha and Karan had spent three boring hours at Lenox Mall trying to get people to take a hot-pink paper that read come to stand-up comedy competition night! Only ten flyers were distributed and Natasha saw someone use theirs as a place to spit out their gum.
“What were we talking about? Oh right, Natasha is at a real job now, which is good.” Mom darkens her phone screen and widens her large, almond-shaped eyes. “You know, we had to grow up so quickly, coming to America and all. So many things we weren’t able to do or think about, so our kids would have a better life. And now they’ve realized they need to grow up, too.”
Oh, Mom and the two rituals from India she refuses to part with: kohl eyeliner and guilt-tripping.
Suhani’s high-pitched voice echoes through the house. “Hel-lo!”
Thank God, Natasha thinks. Suhani and Zack are here, which means Natasha has a chance to escape.
“They’re here!” Dad says with an enthusiasm that’s always been just for Suhani but has recently heightened now that they’re both officially psychiatrists. She’s his star now. In his field. She’s even a third-year resident at his hospital.
Zack enters the dining room holding a bottle of Prosecco, which he hands straight to Natasha. His brown wavy hair is brushed to one side, which makes him look even more like Andy Samberg than usual. He isn’t conventionally hot, but from the first time Suhani brought him home, Natasha could see how his easygoing attitude, sense of humor, and polished-but-not-trying-too-hard style gave him a level of sex appeal.
“Hey, you,” he says as he gives Natasha a warm hug.
“Hey, I need a nap already,” Natasha says.
Zack chuckles. “I’m not surprised. Just hang on for another hour or so. You’ll be fine.”
Natasha smiles. She got a brother-in-law who understands her. Everyone was worried how Mom and Dad would react when Suhani started dating a Jewish guy whose start-up was located at one of those cool coworking spaces and not some douchebag Indian doctor that they surely always envisioned for her. But it only took a few months for Dad to respect Zack’s knowledge of finance and Mom to be charmed by Zack’s charisma. The similarities between Jewish and Indian cultures also helped.
Well, all that plus the fact that Zack and Suhani have the perfect relationship. Unlike the other guys Suhani dated, Zack took pride in her ambition, in her need to constantly achieve and be more, do more, have more. He boasted about his “hot, go-getter wife” whenever anyone prompted him. Even when they fought, they found a way to speak to each other respectfully and come back together. And ever since they’ve been together, Suhani has been lighter and freer, a nice contrast to how intense and brooding she was growing up.
Natasha hears Suhani’s soft, catlike footsteps getting louder. She always thought residents were supposed to look worn down and ragged, with unkempt hair and extra weight around their middles. But looking at Suhani only makes Natasha aware of her own frumpiness. She can’t decide if being next to her sister makes her want to put on makeup or drown in tequila shots.
Suhani’s red nails accentuate the three-carat princess-cut diamond on her left ring finger. She’s wearing a sleeveless blush-pink knee-length dress. Despite the ninety-degree Atlanta summer heat, her hair is sleek and shiny without a hint of frizz. Just thinking about Suhani’s morning routine of showering, blow-drying, toning, moisturizing, priming, and then applying makeup is exhausting. Women like Suhani are so fabulous that they remind you how not fabulous you are.
What would it be like to be her? Natasha wonders. To be beautiful, admired, accomplished, an Indian auntie’s dream. Or really, everyone’s dream. People are happily under her spell, as if she’s some petite desi fairy who spreads magic wherever she goes. Babies always smile at her. Bartenders give her free drinks. Natasha’s two best friends from college, Ifeoma and Payal, often refer to Suhani’s Instagram for outfit inspiration.
“Nani,” Suhani says as she wraps Natasha into a hug.
Nani means “small” in Gujarati and was what Suhani called Natasha the day she came home from the hospital in a white receiving blanket. Their parents love telling the story of how Suhani had begged them for “a baby sister I can take care of” every day for years before Natasha was born.
“Glad you made it.” Natasha inhales a mixture of peony and jasmine flowers. She can feel her sister’s shoulder blades jutting out through the thin fabric of her dress.
Everything about Suhani seems the same at first. Despite the fact that her makeup is all intact, the dullness in her eyes and the droop in her narrow shoulders give away that she’s exhausted. Still, she’s one of those women who always looks glamorous, even when tired, whereas Natasha throws on whatever clothing is closest /fits/has been recently washed.
Suhani squints at Natasha. “What’s wrong?”
Natasha considers smiling and saying she’s fine, but that would be useless. She can’t bullshit her sister. Throughout their lives, Suhani could take one look at Natasha and tell she was lying about anything. A shitty report card, a hidden container of weed, a regretful hookup.
Natasha rolls her eyes. “I’m just a little over brunch.”
Suhani laughs. “Is it really that bad?”
“I don’t know,” Natasha says, and then, after seeing Suhani raise a skeptical eyebrow, adds, “It’s not that bad. I just always feel like an outsider. Like everyone’s waiting for me to screw up in some way.” She regrets the words the second they come out. Suhani won’t get it. Nobody will. Nobody understands that Natasha can be at her loneliest with the people she loves the most. Family, the place you’re always supposed to belong, can be the same place that shows you you never really will.
“You know that’s not true. You just have to get out
of your head for a little bit, not overthink things,” Suhani says as she reads Natasha’s facial expressions. “Just have fun and be with all of us.”
“You’re right,” Natasha says, and, seeing a chance for a quick escape, adds, “I’m going to grab something from upstairs.”
She runs up the wooden staircase and breathes a sigh of relief once she’s safely in her room. Posters of Jonathan Taylor Thomas and Shah Rukh Khan are plastered across the walls. The bottom row of her bookshelf is lined with Beverly Cleary’s Ramona novels, Natasha’s favorite series since she was in the third grade. She and Suhani still sometimes call each other Ramona and Beezus.
She falls onto her unmade bed. Her sheets smell like the lavender fabric softener Mom’s used since she was in elementary school.
“Natasha! You’ve been upstairs forever!” Mom’s voice jolts Natasha awake. She looks at her phone and realizes she fell asleep for almost half an hour. Shit.
“Sorry! Coming down!” Natasha yells.
She splashes cold water on her face. The first thing she notices when she leaves her bedroom is the absence of sound. Where did everyone go?
“Hello?” Her voice echoes off the high ceilings.
The wooden steps creak as she makes her way downstairs. Everyone left? Thank God.
But when she goes back into the dining room, Karan is standing with a bouquet of roses. His laptop is open on the dining table and there are pictures of them flashing on the screen. Right now, it’s one of when they were eleven years old, in front of a roller coaster at Six Flags, strawberry Popsicles dripping in their hands.
“Hey, what are you do—”
“Natasha, I love you. I always have. I know things have been tough for you lately, but I’m here for you. . . .”
The rest of Karan’s words blur into the background. They become one with the straw tablecloths from India and the Peruvian brass candlesticks. She picks up bits of him saying he wants to be with her, that he always has.
Her throat becomes dry and tight. She watches the entire moment as if she’s suspended above it, somewhere near the spinning ceiling fan.
The words Karan is about to say linger over them. Panic seizes every inch of her chest. She takes a deep breath and tells herself to stay calm. Her nerves won’t have to ruin the moment if she refuses to let them.
Karan reaches into his right pants pocket and kneels down. “Natasha, will you marry me?”
There it is. The question she’s heard so many times in movies and shows. Even though she figured it would someday be asked of her, for some reason, she doesn’t feel the way she thought she would. Instead of excitement, there’s a pang of fear, and something else, something she can’t quite recognize.
As Karan opens a slim velvet box, she sees that he even went to the effort to get a box that would be concealed in his pants. Her gaze shifts to the round sapphire on a platinum band. He knows she wouldn’t like a diamond. Hot tears spring to her eyes. She doesn’t deserve someone so thoughtful. She never did.
“I, um, I . . .” Natasha stammers.
Karan shifts his knee. For some reason, the hope on his face pushes Natasha to give him the only thing she can: honesty.
“No,” she says, her voice clear. “I can’t.”
“Excuse me? What?” Karan shakes his head as though he’s been woken up mid-dream and is now trying to process reality.
“I’m sorry,” Natasha says. “I can’t marry you. There’s no way I’m ready for that now.”
“Why are you saying this?” Karan’s face falls, which is all it takes for her to hate herself. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Me? I should ask if you’re kidding! This is totally catching me off guard.”
“That’s sort of the point.” Karan lowers his voice, a sure giveaway that he’s mad.
“Yeah, but I mean, this is so random. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but shouldn’t we at least talk about this? You really want to get married? Married?” Natasha asks, like she’s learning the word for the first time. “And now? We’re so young. . . .”
“Yeah, I guess we are.” Karan frowns. “But I know this is what I want. I always have. We literally played together in our diapers. And I’m ready to start our lives together. Our real, adult lives. And you’re the one who said I need to be more exciting and spontaneous.”
“Yeah, I meant in little ways, like getting late-night McDonald’s on a whim.” Natasha shakes her head. “This is not McDonald’s!”
A heaviness lingers over them like a cloud. She tries to see things from his perspective. Maybe he really is ready to start his adult life. He just got the job as senior accountant at Buckhead CPA and moved into a high-rise on Peachtree Street. They picked out furniture from IKEA and took some of her parents’ hand-me-downs. Oh my God, was all that because she was supposed to move in there? How could she have missed the signs that he was planning this?
“I’m sorry, I really don’t see myself as a wife right now, or even soon. I was going to tell everyone I’m moving back home today . . . to focus on my comedy full time.” Natasha struggles to find words that seem good enough.
“You’re moving back home? And making comedy your job?” Karan shakes his head. “Why?”
“Because. I want to. There are a lot of things I plan to do before I even think about getting married.”
“But if you know you want to marry me someday, then what’s the problem with doing it now?” Karan raises his eyebrows.
Natasha wants to tell him that employing his high school debate skills isn’t going to get him far in this type of situation. But she stares at him and says, “Because I just don’t want to. And I definitely don’t think it would be right if I said yes just because I felt forced. C’mon, you’re my best friend. We don’t need to rush this.”
More pictures flash on the laptop. Their families at Baskin-Robbins, Karan pushing Natasha on a tire swing, both of them sitting in the nearby laundromat next to a massive container of Tide. Karan has always been a part of her family. And he’s right. This has always been the plan between them and, maybe even more so, between their families.
“You’ve seemed so out of it lately. And it’s affected us,” Karan adds. “I thought this would make you feel better.”
“If you think things are off between us, then we need to work on it, not use a proposal as a Band-Aid for any issues. I’m sorry, but I can’t say yes.”
She considers walking toward him, holding his hand and telling him she loves him. She expects him to understand, like the rejected guys in her favorite southern romance movies. They always had the perfect I’ll-be-fine attitude (and hair). She pictures Patrick Dempsey at the end of Sweet Home Alabama or James Marsden in The Notebook. Those guys must have had pretty decent lives after they were let down.
But Karan slams the laptop lid. “You know what? I’m done.”
“Done? Done with this conversation?” Natasha says.
“No. I’m done with this.” Karan gestures to the space between them. “It’s always so complicated with you. I thought I got used to it but, man, you’ve always got something going on.”
“Always? Really?” Natasha crosses her arms.
“Yeah. I can’t ever get through to you. You know sometimes, you start crying and freaking out over things and then never let me help you. It’s a lot with you, Natasha. It really is.”
“I get that I’m a lot,” Natasha whispers. She didn’t need Karan to tell her that. She’s known that for her entire life. And so has he. Since when was it an issue? “But can we at least talk about all this?”
Karan keeps staring at the hardwood floor. “I don’t think there’s anything to say.”
“But if you cou—”
“Goodbye, Natasha.” Karan slides the laptop under his arm and walks away.
“What’s the problem here?” Mom interrupts as she steps int
o the room. “Just say yes!”
“Mom!” Natasha says. “What are you doing in here?!”
Three lines emerge on Mom’s forehead. “We’re all waiting back there for you to move things along already! Hurry up!”
“Don’t tell me to hurry up!” Natasha says as the other eavesdroppers collect around Mom—Dad, Karan’s parents, Suhani, Zack, and Anuj. Goddamn it, that’s why they are all so excited today.
Karan’s parents are standing on the side, quiet, their stunned faces turned toward the floor. What would it be like to have such placid parents? Would she have been more normal if she came from a family like his?
Anita Auntie clears her throat. “We should leave. Now.”
“Anita, wait,” Mom says.
Anita Auntie shakes her head. “I think we should be with our own families right now.”
Our own families. Seemingly innocuous words but really, a message: our families are separate.
And just like that, brunch is over.
Two
Suhani
Can you believe the nerve of that girl? After everything she’s put me through. Who does she think she is, doin—”
“Mom,” Suhani interrupts. “Can you stop talking about Natasha? For just one minute?”
“How can I do that?” Mom asks, as if that’s the most absurd suggestion in the world.
“Ugh, I don’t even know why I try.” Suhani shakes her head.
Mom and Natasha can never keep their emotions to themselves. Suhani, on the other hand, might be wounded—broken—on the inside, but even her husband won’t always be able to tell.
Her husband. Husband. She’s still getting used to the word. It’s so adult. So real.
Five years ago, Suhani didn’t know what a healthy relationship even looked like, and now she has a husband. On their first date, set up by mutual friends during her fourth year of med school, Suhani couldn’t pinpoint why exactly she was attracted to Zack. He was the first white guy she’d ever been with, so a part of her was worried it had to do with his novelty. But over time, she saw that it all boiled down to the content, self-assured way he carried himself. How he smiled at strangers and made small talk with Uber drivers. His dapper but relaxed style. His dad jokes and pride in not just calling himself a feminist but also acting like one.
