“Set me up with a girl you think would be good for me. Rishi wasn’t much older than me when you set him up with Dimple.”
“Yes, but he was out of high school,” Ma said. “Now is the time to focus on studies and basketball—”
“Ma, I never focus on studies, and basketball is going to be a part of my life through college, too.” Ashish shrugged. “Unless you want me to ask Dana Patterson, the cheerleader, out.” Like he could even do that in his current demojoed state. But they didn’t know that.
Ma’s eyes widened and she looked at Pappa, making frantic hand motions that, Ashish supposed, he wasn’t meant to see.
“So you’re saying you’ll … date someone we pick for you,” Pappa said. “I want to make sure.”
“Yes, exactly. And I know I’m too young for this to be an arranged marriage or whatever, but it’s the same thing with Rishi, right? I mean, he and Dimple probably won’t get married till she’s done with grad school at least. But if the girl and I don’t get along, you have to both promise to never give me another relationship talk again. For as long as any of us are alive.”
Ma and Pappa looked at each other across the table and then at him. They were both smiling. “Okay,” Ma said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “But you are going to lose, beta.”
Pappa nodded seriously. “You are going down to downtown,” he said in his thick Indian accent, and Ashish couldn’t help but laugh.
CHAPTER 4
“Hand me the pink. I want pink because this poster’s going to be really pink,” Pinky said, reaching over Elijah for the paint.
“Say ‘pink’ again,” he said, handing it over.
“Pink,” she said automatically, beginning to paint in the lettering on her poster. Her hair was up in a multicolored pile on her head, and tendrils of green and purple and blue blew lightly in the breeze.
Ashish squinted down at the poster. They were all sprawled in the garden portion of the backyard, sheltered by a grove of trees. “So what’s this protest for again?”
“They’re developing that section of Bennington Park where Bennington Lake runs. Their plan is to drain the lake.” She looked up at them, brown eyes wide in outrage. Her nose ring winked in the sunlight.
They all stared back at her, completely blank.
“So?” Elijah said finally.
“Um, it’s where beavers live? Not to mention all the other wildlife they’re totally gonna murder just to build another playground or whatever. It’s unconscionable.” She went back to stabbing the poster with her paintbrush.
“Right, right, unconscionable,” Ashish said, itching the back of his neck. To think he’d actually wanted to go out with Pinky at one point in his life. Thankfully, they’d both realized, before it could happen, that they were too much like brother and sister for that to ever work, but jeez. He’d dodged a bullet. She’d probably make him sign a petition every time they hooked up or something. Her zeal was actually kind of hilarious because her parents were both the most buttoned-up, conservative people he’d ever seen. Seriously. They made Rishi, the rule-following traditionalist, look like a commune-living hippie.
Elijah and Oliver looked at each other, shrugged, and went back to helping her paint her THIS IS NATURE’S PLAYGROUND, NOT YOURS!!!! sign. Oliver had drawn an angry beaver family in the corner. (Ashish hadn’t known beavers could be made to look angry. Oliver had gotten really creative.) They were all used to Pinky’s ways. In kindergarten she’d organized a sit-in as a way to get more story time. It had worked until snack time rolled around and most of the kids lost interest.
“So what are you disaffected youth up to today?” Pinky said. Taking a moment to pause in her painting to glare at each of them, she added, “Since you’re all too busy to come to the protest with me.”
“E. and I are celebrating our two-year, two-month anniversary,” Oliver said, and he and Elijah leaned over the poster to kiss.
“Don’t smudge the beaver!” Pinky yelled, pushing them apart.
“That sounds so dirty,” Ashish said.
Oliver raised an eyebrow at him. “Or you just haven’t been with a girl in forever.”
“Love is for losers,” Ashish said. “Uh, no offense.”
“On that note,” a female voice said behind them, “Ashish beta, may I speak with you?”
Ashish spun around to see Ma dressed in a light silk top and pants, her sunglasses pushed up on her head. He smiled, his heart softening. Something about his mother radiated gentleness and kindness, and in spite of himself, he responded to it. Not in the devout-son way Rishi did, but still. “Of course, Ma.”
“Hi, Mrs. P.!” Pinky called, not looking up. “You don’t want to go protest at Bennington, do you?”
“Not today, beta,” Ma said. “But if you stop by the kitchen before you go, Chef can send you off with a picnic basket.” She’d always had a soft spot for Pinky.
“Wow, thanks, Mrs. P.,” Pinky said, smiling up at her.
“And for you boys on your date, too,” she said, beaming all maternally at Oliver and Elijah. “I couldn’t help but hearing—congratulations!” Ma thought they made the cutest couple.
“Thank you!” Oliver and Elijah chorused.
She walked off a few paces and Ashish followed her, realizing that if she’d heard Oliver and Elijah, she’d also heard his beaver comment. His cheeks flushed. Ashish was a rebel, but he wasn’t shameless. He didn’t want his parents to know his mind was in the gutter 98.9 percent of the time. It was a fun gutter, but still. This was Ma.
Ma turned around and—thankfully—didn’t mention any beavers. “Now, I wanted to tell you, when I set you up with this girl, I don’t want any mischief. This is Pappa’s and my reputation, not just yours, Ashish. Not to mention Sweetie Nair’s reputation in the desi community. Vidya and Soman Nair don’t want to deal with that.”
He stared at her for a moment, not understanding. “Wait, wait.” He took in her high heels, her red lipstick, her going-out bag that cost over $10,000 (he’d seen the receipt on the counter when she bought it early that year). “Are you on your way to talk to her parents right now?”
Ma laughed. “Of course not!”
Ashish relaxed. “Oh, okay, because I—”
“I’m just going to talk to her mother. And if it goes well, then Pappa and I will go talk to both parents.”
Ashish’s smile did a slow fade. He knew because he felt it melting off his face. “Um, what now?”
“Her mother sells baked sweets at the farmers’ markets every week! In fact, we’ve bought some sweets of hers before at the Indian market on Pearson. You really liked the gulab jamun, as I recall.” She paused. “Or was that Rishi?”
“Ma, please, focus.”
She looked at him again but didn’t seem particularly concerned by the panic he was sure was in his eyes.
“You’re doing it today? I thought I had some time before you and Pappa went off on some kind of matchmaking rampage.”
Ma took his chin in her hands. She had to practically climb a ladder to do it, but she managed. The heels helped. “Beta, pareshaan kyon ho rahe ho?”
Ashish sighed. “I’m worried because you’re running off to do this thing and I sort of just said what I said on a whim. I mean, it wasn’t even really my idea. Samir was the one who thought I should ask you and Pappa for advice, and then I did it out of pique, and now …” He took a breath. “It’s all happening way too fast.”
Ma squeezed his arm. “So you want me to wait?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
He looked at her. Huh. What was he waiting for, exactly? Yeah, he’d lost his mojo. But was it magically going to just return the longer he waited? Was he somehow just going to start playing basketball with energy and enthusiasm again like a flip had been switched? Was he suddenly going to twirl Dana Patterson into his arms and ask her out? Ha. To be honest, the only reason he wanted to wait was because he was … scared.
He was scared of what i
t meant that the only girl he’d ever truly loved had dumped him without a second thought. He was terrified that he was seventeen, had been in nearly a dozen relationships, and yet no one had completely given her heart to him. He was starting to believe he might be romantically unlovable on some deep, fundamental level. The thought made him physically shaky.
Oh, dear God. He, Ashish Patel, had somehow turned into a giant wuss.
Ma’s voice jolted him out of his abyss of horror. “You’re going to date a girl sometime, correct?”
He nodded, still not quite able to find his voice.
“So why not date a girl Pappa and I choose for you? Why not see how this plan works out? What do you have to lose?”
He looked into Ma’s steady, calm, kind gaze and realized he really had nothing to lose. And if he wanted to fight that whole demojoed, unlovable, wuss thing, this was his chance. “Okay.” He straightened his shoulders. “You’re right.”
Ma chuckled as she hitched her purse on her shoulder and turned around. “I’m always right, beta. When will you learn?”
Ugh. Why was it so hot in freaking April? Stupid climate change. Sweetie fanned herself with the stack of flyers that advertised Amma’s business. All she needed was for Tina auntie to see her sweating like a pig. That was another bullet point on Tina’s auntie’s hit list: girls who sweat. Apparently, Tina auntie and Sheena only got “dewy,” which was much more feminine and alluring than the salt baths Sweetie usually took. Of course, Sheena didn’t do anything more athletic than lounge on a pool float, which might explain that.
“Customers!” Amma said, sitting up straighter and putting her magazine away.
Sweetie put her stack of flyers neatly on the card table and arranged the jars and boxes of sweets. She’d added little bud vases today with sprigs of baby’s breath from their own garden, which Amma had really loved. Maybe next time she’d buy some burlap and tie the boxes with those for a vintagey look.
“Hello!” Amma said to the young white couple in their midthirties—a woman with a soft, slightly rounded face and a man who looked like he spent his weekends biking and drinking that awful green sludgy drink beloved by health nuts everywhere—who’d stopped by to look at the sweets. “Would you like a sample?”
“I’d love one! My husband and I are total Indian food fanatics,” the woman said, reaching for a peda. She popped it into her mouth and immediately closed her eyes. “Oh my God, this is so good!” She elbowed her husband. “Try one, Daniel.”
He laughed and took one reluctantly. “Oh, man. I’m going to be working this off all weekend, but okay.” He had pretty much the same reaction as his wife, just about swooning over Amma’s baking, which didn’t surprise Sweetie one bit. “So, so good.”
“So? Should we get a box?” the woman said, already reaching for the biggest one.
“Definitely.” The man, Daniel, beamed at Sweetie and then at Amma. “Your daughter looks like she enjoys your baking, which is just about the biggest compliment any chef can get, am I right?” His wife laughed.
Sweetie froze. She didn’t dare look at Amma, who was similarly unmoving beside her. The man continued to beam obliviously at them, super proud of what he imagined, Sweetie was sure, was a fantastic compliment. This was the worst: when people tried to be helpful or kind or nice in some way but just ended up making her feel awful. Just like the horrendous “such a pretty face” compliment, which implied that if only Sweetie could stop being such a cow, other people could enjoy her beauty more. This guy thought mentioning Sweetie’s size was a compliment to Amma’s baking, but … no. All it did was call attention to the fact that he thought it was okay to comment on Sweetie’s body because she was fat, and that she’d obviously gotten that way by stuffing herself full of sweets.
“Okay, just one box?” Amma asked, breaking the horrible spell.
“For now,” the woman said, laughing. “I’m sure we’ll be back for more, though.”
When they were gone, Sweetie sat back down, still refusing to look at Amma. “Where’s Tina auntie?”
Amma paused slightly at the topic change before responding. “She and Sheena wanted to look at the stalls. Sheena’s planning on a retro prom outfit, and she wanted to get the perfect necklace.”
At least there was that. Tina and Sheena (ew, even saying their rhyming names in her head annoyed Sweetie) would’ve totally relished the moment that had just transpired. To be honest, someone was always commenting on Sweetie’s body in some way, so there was always an opportunity for them to gloat and feel superior. Sweetie counted her victories when she could.
“That man is stupid, Sweetie,” Amma said. Sweetie glanced at her, but Amma was busy rearranging the boxes, her small frame swathed in a bright-blue salwar kameez. Her hair was in a loose ponytail that fell all the way down her back.
“Yeah, but he’s saying what everyone’s thinking. Every single person who walks by this stall probably thinks I should stop eating your sweets. So I guess they’re all stupid.”
Amma turned to her, her eyes bright. “They are all stupid. People are stupid and thoughtless. That’s why I want you to lose weight. So you don’t have to deal with those remarks.”
Sweetie shook her head, her brain ready with what she would say if only she were a little braver, a little less scared of letting Amma hear her true voice. That’s the thing, Amma. I don’t want to change just to keep other people quiet. I don’t think I can change and just suddenly look like you, but that’s not even the point. The point is I don’t want to. I like who I am. I just wish you could see that.
“Hello!”
They spun around to see a fashionable Indian woman about Amma’s age, dressed in a very expensive-looking silk outfit. Her Gucci sunglasses shaded her eyes for a moment, but she pushed them up on her head and smiled. Her dark-honey-colored eyes reminded Sweetie of warm, rainy summer days somehow. They were full of a cozy comfort.
“Hello,” Amma said, nodding. “Would you like a sample?”
“I’d love one!” The woman reached over and grabbed a kaju burfi. “Mmm, so good! You know, we buy your sweets every month from the Indian market. And, of course, for Diwali!” Smiling, she brushed off her hands and pressed them together. “Namaste, Vidya. I’m Sunita Patel. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at a birthday party for a mutual friend last year—Tina Subramanian?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Amma pressed her palms together too, as did Sweetie. “Namaskaram. This is my daughter, Sweetie.”
Sweetie smiled. “Hello, auntie.”
“Sweetie.” Sunita auntie regarded her warmly. “You go to Piedmont, no? I’ve seen your picture in the papers for your excellent running records. And of course, your parents couldn’t stop talking about you at the party last year.”
“Thank you, auntie,” Sweetie said. Please don’t ask how I manage to run, please don’t ask how I manage to run, please don’t ask how I—
“So.” Sunita auntie looked over their table. “I will take … all of this.”
They stared at her and then glanced at each other and then looked back at her. “All of it? Are you sure?” Amma asked.
Sunita auntie chuckled. “Believe me, I have a teenage son at home and another one who visits frequently.”
As Amma made change for Sunita auntie’s $500 (seriously, who carried that much cash around?), Sunita auntie said, “So, now that I’ve selfishly taken all your delicious treats, what will you two do?”
“Oh, maybe go home and start cooking some lunch!” Amma said, laughing. “You know how it is with teenagers. You have to cook early or they start moaning and groaning!”
Sweetie glared at Amma—she didn’t think she moaned and groaned that much—but Amma didn’t seem to notice.
Sunita auntie obliged with a laugh, but somehow Sweetie got the idea she didn’t spend much time bent over a hot stove. “Well, if you’re up to it,” she said, “I’d love to take you both out for lunch to Taj. My treat!”
“Oh.” Amma looked at Swe
etie all happily, her eyebrows raised. Taj was one of those famous Indian restaurants where celebrities went to eat and every meal required middle-class families to mortgage their houses beforehand. Sweetie could tell Amma was besotted with Sunita auntie already, just like she was besotted with Tina auntie because of her “glamorous” ways. Sweetie had known Sunita auntie for only about two seconds, but she thought Sunita auntie was the much more glamorous and classy one of the two. “That would be so nice! Let me ask Tina if she wants to come.”
Drat. Sweetie sighed surreptitiously. She had been looking forward to enjoying a meal at Taj, and now she’d probably have to listen to snickers and passive-aggressive comments the entire time instead. Eating was so fraught when you were fat: If you ate something unhealthy, thin people would say it was no wonder you were fat. But if you ate something healthy, they’d roll their eyes, laugh, and say, “Yeah, right.”
After they packed up their stall, Amma and Sweetie made their way to the parking lot. Amma texted Tina auntie, who said she’d meet them there. The sun was full-on out now, blazing with a viciousness that made Sweetie want to fall to her knees and beg for mercy, but Sunita auntie seemed to be of the dewy persuasion. As they approached a large, shiny pearl-colored SUV with tinted windows, a man in a driver’s uniform leaped out and rushed over to them.
“I’ll take your packages, madam,” he said, taking all of the plastic bags from Sunita auntie’s hands.
“Thank you, Rajat,” she said. Turning back to them, she asked, “Would you both like to ride in my car?”
“No, we’ll follow you. We have to put our things away in the car anyway,” Amma said, glancing at Sweetie. Sweetie could see the fangirling going on there. Amma was from a very poor family, and the slightest show of wealth had her completely starstruck. Which was weird because they were pretty well off too—Achchan was an engineer. But for some reason Amma didn’t seem to see that.
“Sunitaaaa!” The high-pitched voice came from behind them. All three of them swung around to see Tina auntie power walking with Sheena in tow.
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