There's Something About Sweetie

by Sandhya Menon

  The world shrank. There was only her.

  Sweetie stood at the top of the stairs, her eyes closed, her lips moving like she was praying or talking to herself or something. She wore this bright-yellow Indian outfit—Ashish thought it was called an Anarkali, but he wasn’t sure—which was basically like a long, ankle-length dress with fitted pants underneath. The top of the dress was a halter, and the area around her throat and chest was covered in tiny diamonds that caught the light and shimmered with the tiniest movement. Her bare arms were smooth, fists clasped at her sides. That amazing mint-scented hair was in loose curls, hanging past her shoulders like a shiny black waterfall.

  Ashish stared. He shouldn’t; he knew that. She was obviously having a private moment before she came downstairs. But he couldn’t help it.

  She was a goddess. She was … pure beauty. Pure love. She was everything he’d never wanted but had to have.

  She was everything, period.

  She was terrified, period.

  Out-of-her-skin terrified, actually, if you wanted to get technical. It literally felt like her heart, her muscles, her bones, all of her internal organs, wanted to exit her body and make a run for it. Just to not be there.

  Why had she decided to do all of this on the day of her party? Why?

  She opened her eyes, resigned to going downstairs and torpedoing … oh, everything.

  She opened her eyes and looked right into Ashish’s. And the world shrank.

  He was staring at her in absolute wonder. The way you stare at a double rainbow. The way the earth stares at the sun. The way that squirrel outside had stared at the peanut-butter-covered pinecone she’d set out for it last winter. Reverentially, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

  Sweetie smiled, and he actually grasped the banister, like she’d almost knocked him over.

  Right. This was why she was doing all of it. Ashish Patel. He was not the only why, but he was a big part.

  Sweetie descended the staircase toward his waiting arms.

  “Hi,” she whispered, walking up as close to him as she dared.

  He stepped closer, smiling down at her. “Hi.”

  Her heart stuttered. He looked amazing. That shirt with those eyes—OMG. And he smelled … mmm. Lemons and something spicy. “You look—” she began just as he said, “Pulchritudinous.”

  She paused and then laughed. “What?”

  “It’s an SAT word I’ve always had trouble remembering. It means ‘beautiful,’” Ashish murmured, his eyes roving her face in a hungry way that made her bones all jellified. “But I don’t think I’ll forget again. You …” He shook his head. “You have the power to reduce me to vapor.” He trailed a finger lightly down Sweetie’s arm and she shivered, unable to look away. “My heart is yours, Sweetie Nair. Completely.”

  There were a million people around them. Her parents were tucked away somewhere. Children shrieked; a glass shattered. The sound system was playing a remixed version of “Sheila ki jawani,” one of the most horrendous Bollywood songs ever created. And still, somehow, Sweetie felt drunk with the magic of first love.

  She took a breath. Touched Ashish lightly on the chest. She imagined she felt his heart thumping feverishly against her fingertips. “Obviously,” she said, her face completely serious, “I love you, Ashish Patel.”

  He smiled. “Obviously I love you too.”

  “So what’s the plan?” he asked, once she’d led him to the unoccupied study. She left the door open because she didn’t want any of the nosy uncles or aunties telling Amma that her daughter had ensconced herself in a closed room with a boy. Or worse, for Amma to find them like that.

  “I’m just waiting for Anjali Chechi to get here,” Sweetie said, twirling a lock of her hair around her index finger.

  “Your favorite cousin, right? The orthopedic surgeon?”

  Sweetie smiled, pleased that he remembered. She’d mentioned Anjali Chechi only once or twice before. “Yeah. And her husband’s really cool too. You’ll like him.”

  “So they’re sort of like buffers between me and your parents?”

  “Human shields, more like,” Sweetie murmured.

  “Hey.” Ashish put a hand on her arm. “Whatever happens, it’s all going to be okay. I promise.”

  She smiled and stepped back a little.

  He frowned and took his hand away. “You all right?”

  “Yeah.” She laughed, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Um, I’ve just always had a thing about my arms, you know? I never leave them uncovered.”

  Ashish looked at her steadily. “You’re beautiful. And your arms are beautiful.”

  She studied his expression and realized she believed him.

  “Sweetie!” They both turned to see Achchan walk in, grinning widely. “How’s my birthday girl?”

  Sweetie laughed as he put an arm around her and kissed her cheek, his mustache prickling her skin. “It’s not my birthday for another two weeks, Achcha.”

  “Right, right. Today is all about the presents, your favorite part!” Then he took in her outfit, his eyes widening. “Beautiful!”

  Sweetie smiled and tugged at her Anarkali. “Thank you.” Achchan was clueless. He had no idea of the entire mini war Sweetie and Amma had waged about this. “Oh, and, Achcha, I’d like you to meet Ashish Patel.”

  Achchan’s eyebrows wrinkled, like he was sure he’d heard that name somewhere. But he shook Ashish’s hand anyway. “Hello, hello! Do you go to Sweetie’s school?”

  “No, uncle. I go to Richmond Academy.” Sweetie felt a swell of pride at Ashish’s firm, confident handshake.

  “Ashish is their star basketball player,” Sweetie said, putting a hand on his arm and then taking it off quickly when she realized what she was doing. WITH. ACHCHAN. RIGHT. THERE. “But he’s too modest to say that.”

  Ashish laughed, looking down at her with so much admiration and pure love, her bones filled with helium and she almost floated off into the stratosphere. “That’s funny coming from the track star of Piedmont.”

  Achchan looked from Sweetie to Ashish and then back at her again, a slight crinkle between his eyebrows, like he was trying to figure something out. Sweetie looked steadily at him, her heart pounding. If he asked her, she’d tell him the truth.

  “There you are!”

  Sweetie turned at the familiar-as-her-favorite-Hello-Kitty-pajamas female voice to see Anjali Chechi come bouncing in, Jason Chettan close on her heels. Anjali Chechi was always full of a kinetic, effervescent energy. Even her curly hair was exuberant—it reached out in all directions from her head like it just couldn’t bear to be contained, even though she’d tried to tame it into a bun at the nape of her neck.

  Her grin was at a thousand percent as she gathered Sweetie in a hug and then held her at arm’s length. “Oh my God,” she said, her eyes shining. “You’re a vision. Seriously.”

  Sweetie smiled shyly. “Thank you for getting this for me.”

  Anjali Chechi waved her off. “You were the brains of the operation. I was merely the muscle.” She turned to Achchan with a smile. “Namaskaram.”

  “Anjali, Jason!” Achchan said, beaming. He thought of Anjali Chechi as his adopted daughter. “Have you tried the chili prawns appetizer? They’re serving them in small glasses! Let me show you.”

  Anjali Chechi laughed as Achchan led her away.

  Jason Chettan put his thumbs in his pockets. “So, uh, has your mom seen you in this yet?”

  Sweetie sighed. “Not yet. I’m sort of hiding in here. This is Ashish, my … friend.”

  Jason Chettan reached out and grasped Ashish’s hand. He was short, only five feet five, and Ashish towered over him. “I know that description’s not completely true, but we can stick with that for now.” He winked.

  Ashish grinned. “At least we have you for support. Sweetie tells me this is going to get intense.”

  Jason Chettan whistled low and long. “Oh, yeah. Vidya Ammayi is … ah, let’s say very particular about the way she sees things.�
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  Sweetie groaned. “Speaking of … I should go say hi and get it over with. I want to give her space to freak out about my outfit before we tell her about us.”

  Ashish reached out and squeezed her hand. “Okay. We’re telling her after lunch?”

  Sweetie gulped and nodded. “Yep. Exactly ninety minutes to go.” She looked at Jason Chettan. “Will you keep Ashish company while I go make the rounds?”

  “Of course.” Jason Chettan grinned. “He probably needs a lot of lessons on how to stay alive while dating someone in this family.”

  Sweetie swatted him on the back, gave Ashish a Love you, see you in a few to prepare for battle look, and left the study.

  It took Sweetie twenty-two minutes to walk around the house before she found Amma because she kept getting stopped. She didn’t even have a chance to go out into the backyard and see the giant peacock ice sculpture. People wished her a happy birthday and asked her about her grades (the ubiquitous Indian question), her plans for college (ditto), and her plans to lose weight (tritto). Each time her answers were the same: “Thank you,” “They’re great,” “Not sure yet,” and “None whatsoever.” The aunties and uncles seemed dissatisfied with the fact that running hadn’t helped her lose weight and that she didn’t seem particularly interested in doing so, but Sweetie would smile, press her hands together, and move on after five minutes.

  Finally she ran into Amma in the kitchen, telling a waiter to shelve the appetizers so guests didn’t lose their appetite for lunch.

  “Sweetie, mol, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, bustling up to Sweetie. And then she stopped.

  Sweetie’s heart raced as she watched Amma’s face slacken as she took in Sweetie’s outfit, a slow drag from top to bottom and back again. “What is this?”

  Sweetie straightened her shoulders. “My Anarkali. The one I told you I wanted.”

  “Go upstairs this minute and change.” Amma’s voice was a hiss, low and biting. “This is not how we behave in front of guests.”

  “Amma, I’m not changing,” Sweetie said. Her heart was pounding so hard, her voice actually wobbled with the effort of trying not to hyperventilate. “I’m wearing this. You don’t have a problem with Sheena wearing halters.”

  “Sheena doesn’t need to cover her body,” Amma said, looking around frantically. “Sweetie, people are going to laugh at you. They’re going to make fun of you.”

  It was the same old conversation, the same path they’d walked thousands of times since Sweetie was little. She knew why Amma was so insistent. She was genuinely afraid for Sweetie. She wanted to protect her. She thought differently from other parents, the ones who showed off their imperfect kids flamboyantly and proudly, with no regard for what society might think of them. To Amma, those parents were in the wrong. She’d never understand how exposing your child to possible ridicule might be a strong thing to do or a way to give a middle finger to the world. To Amma, the world was cruel, and her only daughter had to be protected at all costs.

  Sweetie took a step toward her mother. “I don’t care if they laugh at me, Amma. Will it hurt my feelings? Probably. Will it make me cry? Maybe. But don’t you see? Covering myself up, telling myself I can’t show my skin because I’m not good enough to do that, is way worse for me. I can’t live like that. I can’t constantly feel like half a person because of my weight. I need you to see that. I need you to love me as I am. Please.” As she finished, her throat was tight and painful and tears dripped down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away.

  Amma stared at her. “You think I don’t love you as you are?” She looked away and shook her head slightly. Then, turning to Sweetie, she asked, “Have you been in the backyard?”

  Sweetie frowned, slightly confused. “Not yet. Why?”

  Amma took her hand firmly and began to lead her to the back door. “Varu. Come.”

  Sweetie followed Amma in a complete daze. What was she doing? They stepped outside and Sweetie saw the giant peacock in the corner, sweating in the heat. And then she turned.

  It sat proudly on a table, surrounded by ecstatic children. “The chocolate fountain,” Sweetie said softly. An enormous one too, just like she wanted. “You got it.”

  Amma looked at her steadily. “Yes. Because you wanted one. And because I …” She swallowed. “Sweetie, you are my daughter, my mol.”

  Sweetie heard what Amma was saying: I love you. You’re everything I care about in this world.

  She smiled, her eyes filling with tears. “Then please understand, Amma, that I am happy like this. I’m happy being fat. To me, ‘fat’ isn’t a bad word. It’s other people who’ve made it like that. It’s as much a part of me as being an athlete or Indian American or a girl. I don’t want to change it, and I don’t want to hide it. I’m not ashamed, even if you are.”

  “I am not ashamed of you,” Amma said fiercely. “I could never be ashamed of you.”

  Sweetie looked at her feet and then back up at Amma. A small toddler girl pushed between them and went running off toward the ice sculpture. “But you didn’t want me to date Ashish Patel. Because I wasn’t thin enough for him.”

  Amma sighed. “The Patels are very different from us, Sweetie. When you deal with people like that, you have to be image conscious. Otherwise, the rumors are vicious.”

  “But that’s what I’m trying to say. That’s about other people. Sunita auntie wanted me to date Ashish. You were the one who said no. You have to let go of your fear of what other people will say, Amma. At least when it comes to me. Because when you try to hide me, it tells me you’re ashamed of me. That you think I’m not as good as other people’s kids.”

  Amma put her hand on Sweetie’s arm. “I have the best daughter. The best. I am not asham—”

  “Vidya!”

  There was a beat, and Sweetie’s heart swelled with hope. What? What had Amma been about to say?

  “Vidya. Hello!”

  Reluctantly, they turned to see Tina auntie walking up to them, wearing a turquoise sari.

  “Oh, hello, Tina,” Amma said, smiling. “I’m so happy you could come! Where’s Vinod?”

  Vinod was Tina auntie’s husband, who appeared to always be in a meeting. “In a meeting,” Tina auntie said, and Sweetie bit her cheek to keep from smiling. “And Sheena couldn’t come. She had another party to go to.” Turning to Sweetie, she said, “Happy birthday, Sweetie.”

  “Thank you, Tina aun—”

  “Oh.” Tina auntie pursed her lips as she caught sight of something behind Sweetie’s back. “Chocolate fountain?”

  Amma smiled. “Yes. Sweetie really wanted one.”

  Tina auntie’s lips got even thinner, until they were barely visible at all. “Want or not want, we must give our children what they need,” she said. Sweetie felt her cheeks heat up, half with embarrassment and half with anger. She knew what was coming. Looking Sweetie up and down, Tina auntie added, “Without proper coverage, it’s obvious Sweetie’s weight is—”

  Sweetie opened her mouth to excuse herself, but Amma spoke before she could. “Tina, that is enough.”

  Sweetie snapped her mouth shut and stared at Amma in shock. Tina auntie mirrored her expression.

  “You will not speak to my daughter or me that way,” Amma said, straightening her shoulders. “You are a guest in our home. Please do not overstep your bounds.” Putting an arm around Sweetie, Amma continued. “Come, mol.”

  As they walked away, Sweetie shook her head. “Amma … wow. That was … that was …”

  “Belated,” Amma said. “I should have been standing up for you a long time ago, Sweetie.” They came to a stop under a shady oak.

  Sweetie smiled tearfully. “It’s okay, Amma.” She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “And, um, I have something to tell you. I was going to save it for later, but …” She swallowed. Looked across the backyard. And saw Ashish watching. She waved him over.

  Amma turned to see him and then turned back to Sweetie, her eyes narrowi
ng, her earlier softness evaporating. “Enta ithe?”

  “I’ll explain everything,” Sweetie said quietly as Ashish came to stand beside her. “You might want to call Achchan over too.”

  Amma looked from Ashish to her, her face hard. “Let us talk in the study.” She turned and strode off without waiting for Sweetie or Ashish.

  CHAPTER 33

  Seeing Sweetie’s face fall as Vidya auntie strode away was the worst thing. She looked like one of those chocolate Easter bunny GIFs, where someone turns on a blow-dryer and melts its face off. Sweetie’s face practically touched the ground.

  “Hey.” He put a hand on her arm. “It’ll be okay.”

  She smiled at him, but he could see the effort that she was putting into it. “We were having such a good conversation, you know? We were really connecting. I thought we were, anyway. I thought she was finally seeing things my way.”

  “Maybe she still will,” Ashish said. “You know? This ain’t over yet.”

  Sweetie snorted. “You sound weird when you say ‘ain’t.’”

  “Do I? I can’t pull it off?” he asked as they began to walk inside. “Huh. I always thought I had sort of a Dean Winchester vibe.”

  Sweetie laughed. They passed by Anjali and Jason, both of whom were talking to an older Indian couple. Sweetie put her hand on Anjali Chechi’s back. When she turned, Sweetie said, “Study. Now. Please.”

  Kayla, who’d been grabbing a new mango juice at the bar, walked up to them. “Hey, hey.” Then, seeing Sweetie’s expression, she added, “Uh-oh. Is it time?”

  Sweetie nodded once. “She wants to see us in the study.”

  Kayla winced. “Ooh. Do you want me to come?”

  Sweetie sighed. “No. I think she wants it to be a private, family-only thing. Even Anjali Chechi and Jason Chettan are going to be pushing it.”

  Kayla hugged her. “Okay. Well, you tell me if you change your mind. I’ll hang around close by.”

  Sweetie closed her eyes and hugged her friend back. “Thanks.”

  Their grim party of four walked to the study and closed the door behind them. This being a regular house, there was barely enough room for all six of them to fit comfortably. Ashish stuck close to Sweetie, figuring she’d need the support. He wiped his palms surreptitiously on his pants. He had to admit, this didn’t look good. The way her parents were staring at him and Sweetie … it was like they’d done something way worse than dated for a month without telling them. Like they’d stolen all the penguins from the Antarctic or something. That’d be weird, though.