A Group of One

by Rachna Gilmore

  Dad’s arms come around us. I turn and hold him.

  He’s sweating and his underarm smells a bit, but I hold on anyway. He’s my dad and I wish … I don’t know. He should have told us more. He should stand up to Mom more, to Naniji even. But he’s not perfect, and that smell of him, it’s real, and this is how he is—only human. Flawed. Like me.

  Nina buries her face in his shoulder and starts to cry, and he pats her back. I pull away and take in a few deep, shuddering breaths.

  I look around.

  Naniji’s gone.

  CHAPTER 23

  I go into the hallway and stand at the top of the basement stairs. My hand shakes on the banister.

  A wave of anger washes over me. It’s a freaking pattern. Pushing people out. She did it then, to Mom, and now she’s doing it to us. Not good enough for her, not Indian enough. She has her say and then she runs away to the nice, cozy room we all slaved to fix for her. End of discussion.

  She’s not getting away with it. Not this time. I’ve been pushed out enough. I won’t let her do it, too.

  I start downstairs, my rage mounting with each step.

  Her door is shut. I knock, bang bang bang. I don’t wait for an answer, I fling open the door.

  She’s sitting there, on the wicker rocker, her mouth all tight and judgmental, her hands clasped, clutching to her views.

  I march in and stand in front of her. She has the same look of self-righteous anger she had when she first came here, and, yes, she’s formidable all right.

  I don’t even try to hide how mad I am. “You have no right!” I spit out the words. “You have no right to come marching into our lives and criticizing everything, because it’s not your life. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s not 1942 anymore—”

  Naniji’s eyes flash fire. “How dare you—”

  I drown her out. “What gives you the right to keep pushing us away? So you don’t like that I’m a regular Canadian. Well, tough. I am. But I’m still…” I choke, but carry on. “I’m still your granddaughter, and why can’t that be enough? I did it for you today, in school, I did it for you, but also for me. It’s the same as you screaming Quit India, why can’t you see that? I’m fighting for my place in the world, trying to get rid of that old colonial crap, and it’s just as revolutionary”—I hurl that word at her—“as what you did, and, anyway, if it means so damn much to you, why”—I hate how the tears fill my eyes and spill over—“why the hell didn’t you come visit before?”

  She starts back, like I’ve slapped her.

  Angrily, I wipe my face with the backs of my hands. I had no idea that was coming out; I didn’t even know it was there.

  She reaches for me.

  I move back, but she pulls me towards her and holds me.

  I don’t know how long I cry against her shoulder. She rocks me, her face wet against mine, her hand smoothing large, unhurried circles on my back.

  Then I pull away and look around for the tissues. She takes one and passes the box to me. I grab a handful and stand up, turn away from her.

  This isn’t how I’d wanted to do it.

  When I look at her again, she’s sitting still, in that way she has, but she looks shattered. She tries to smile but doesn’t make it. Her eyes are devastated. Defeated.

  I can’t bear it. I drop on my knees beside her and reach for her hand. I stroke it gently.

  She grips mine hard. She hesitates, then says slowly, “My God.” A long pause, then, “How you remind me … you remind me of how I was.…” She tries to smile. “So fierce, so independent. So certain.”

  I don’t know what else to say. She should have come before, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.

  Except, maybe, let her in.

  I say quickly, before I can change my mind, “I’m sorry about how I treated you when you first came here, Naniji, you know, about the violin. If you want, I’ll play it for you, and I’m sorry about all that other stuff, I’m—”

  She shakes her head and puts her hand on my mouth.

  I say, “But I’m glad you came, really I am, you should have…” I stop.

  She manages, “Better late than never, no?”

  I nod and sit back on my heels.

  “Naniji,” I say softly, “please come back upstairs. You need to talk and, and…”

  Naniji’s face closes again.

  “You can’t just leave it. Mom and Dad, especially Dad, you know, they do care, and … and you can’t … you can’t keep shutting us out.” I add desperately, “I promise I won’t open my mouth this time.”

  Unexpectedly, Naniji chuckles. “Somehow, Tara, I doubt it.”

  My jaw drops.

  “See?” She’s giggling, and I am, too, and then we’re chortling together.

  Finally, we stop.

  Naniji looks terribly tired. “All right. Let’s go up.” She sighs faintly. “All these old, old tensions. I know … I know some of it … Never mind. One of the things about getting older is you learn—this, too, will pass.” She smooths her hair. “First, I must wash my face.”

  I swing my arms restlessly as she goes into the bathroom. Okay, Tara, keep it cool, just take it easy.

  She’s in there a long time, a long time.

  At last she comes out.

  “Come,” she says simply.

  I see how she’s taking in a deep breath and how her eyes are apprehensive. Do or die. Another battle, but a different demon. Please, please, let it be all right.

  We go up the stairs. It’s funny, she’s not arthritic or anything, but she is in her seventies, and she’s slow coming up. I’ve never noticed it before.

  But, then, I’ve never climbed these stairs with her before.

  I match my pace to hers, and we go up together, step by step.

  CHAPTER 24

  They’re all sitting around the kitchen table. It’s still littered with plates and food.

  Mom’s eyes flicker anxiously to me.

  Dad gets up. “Mummyji.” He looks both anxious and defiant.

  She’s his mother. I see the love and pain in her face as she reaches up silently and holds him.

  I glance at Mom. There’s no Marmee. No self-righteousness. Her face is still and sad. My throat closes over.

  Naniji pulls away and smiles. She looks embarrassed. Her eyes lock with Mom’s.

  “Rohini,” she says.

  Dad says quickly, softly, “Mummyji, I’m sorry if it hurts you, but this is our life now. We … we live here, this is our home and … and I’d like you to accept that.” His mouth shakes unexpectedly. “I’d like you to accept my…”

  Mom turns crimson.

  Naniji goes to her. Mom gets up, and, awkwardly, Naniji puts her arms around her.

  Maya’s eyes are round, and Nina gapes.

  Naniji moves back and looks at Mom steadily.

  Please don’t let it fall apart again.

  “Tara…” Naniji takes a deep breath. “Tara said I should have come before.”

  Dad looks surprised.

  Naniji continues, “And she’s right. I…” She clears her throat. “I know this, it’s difficult, but…”

  Don’t blow it now, please, Naniji.

  Her eyes turn towards me, almost like she hears my thoughts, then back to Mom. She swallows. “Sometimes it’s difficult to change, but, I … I am thankful for how happy Raj is with you.…”

  Mom’s eyes fill.

  Naniji continues, “And the children, my grandchildren, they’re…” Naniji pauses, then says, with her irrefutable air of authority, “… wonderful.”

  Nina’s eyebrows fly upwards in an uncanny imitation of Mom. I smile faintly and bite my lip.

  “So, it seems, there’s much to be … grateful for, and, well”—Naniji looks at Mom, then Dad—“I know perhaps when you got married I may not…”

  Mom blinks hard and says thickly, “It’s … it’s all right, Mummyji. I should have tried more, too. I’m sorry.”

  I let out my breath. />
  Dad’s arm comes around Mom, his face a mixture of strain and relief. “Thank you, Mummyji,” he says quietly.

  Then Mom’s sniffing on his shoulder, trying to pull herself together, and Naniji’s stroking Dad’s back.

  I turn to Nina and make a face, anything to stop this stupid lump in my throat. She grins at me, her eyes very bright. Maya is watching, but, thank God, she isn’t crying.

  Mom lifts her head from Dad’s shoulder and blows her nose briskly. She turns to us and flashes her biggest, brightest Marmee smile.

  “I’m sorry, girls, if any of this has been, well, unsettling for you. And especially, you know, for any raised voices. Aren’t we, Raj?”

  Dad mumbles, “Er, yes, we…”

  Naniji’s eyes are startled.

  And it’s so Mom, it’s so ludicrous and blessedly familiar, that I have to choke down the crazy laughter that bubbles upwards.

  Mom turns to Naniji and asks graciously, as though they’d never screeched at each other, “Tea, Mummyji?” She offers it as the ultimate healing gift.

  I bite my lip. I have to get out of here before I blow it again. I slide towards the back door. Nina looks up. I wave and shut the door behind me. Alone in the darkness, I stand still and let myself grin.

  Then, cautiously, I make my way into the backyard.

  It’s chilly out here, dark except for rectangles of light from the Lings’ house, and from the Gauthiers’, and the light streaming from our kitchen window.

  I wrap my arms around myself and lie flat on top of the picnic table. It’s good to be by myself in the chill, clear night—the clean night.

  Exhaustion washes over me in waves.

  This morning seems like years away—light-years.

  Jeff. Was that really today? A ghost of pain curls inside me. But I can’t make myself care right now.

  I gaze at the stars. Billions. Trillions. Dots. Constellations are all in our heads, just a game of connect-the-dots. Up there, all they’d see is our whole solar system, reduced to a single dot. So simple. I feel on the brink of some essential understanding, but then it’s gone.

  “Tara?”

  I sit up. It’s Nina.

  “Hey, move,” she says.

  I make room for her, and she puts her arm around me. I put mine around her. It’s not that cold, but still.

  “Jeez!” says Nina. Then, after a while, “What did you do to get her to come up?” Her voice is a mixture of incredulity and admiration.

  I tell her about it.

  Nina lets out her breath. “Holy shit,” she says.

  We sit quietly for a while. Then Nina nudges me and points at the kitchen window. Mom’s filling Naniji’s cup, and Dad’s holding Maya, who’s saying something. Maya scrambles onto Naniji’s lap, and Mom turns around, her mouth moving; and Dad pushes the hair off his face, in that awkward way he has.

  It’s all been so awful; I don’t know who starts, but we’re giggling. It’s just nerves and hysteria, but suddenly it’s hilarious, seeing Dad waving his arms around, Mom talking animatedly, Naniji nodding, more restrainedly.

  “I don’t know what’s so funny,” gasps Nina between spurts of laughter.

  “Curry rice, very, verrry nice,” I sputter.

  And we’re both shrieking, doubled with laughter.

  Gradually, the spasms of laughter stop, except for the odd chuckle bursting out.

  Nina shivers. “Come on, let’s go in.”

  So we go in together, arms still twined around each other.

  Maybe sometime I’ll tell her about Jeff.

  CHAPTER 25

  The house feels strange as I go down to breakfast the next morning. Quiet. Mom’s humming softly as she stirs some frozen orange juice. She looks worn, but somehow way less tense than she has lately.

  She kisses me. “Morning, sweetie.” She strokes my cheek and looks into my eyes. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay.”

  From the basement comes the distant sound of a toilet flushing.

  “Sounds like your naniji is up,” says Mom. “I’d better put the kettle on.” She smiles, but her eyes are wary.

  It’s such a huge relief to be out in the crisp air with Erin, away from all those old complications. Back into my safe, normal life.

  “I’ve got a lot to tell you,” I start.

  She turns to me eagerly. “Jeff called.”

  “No.”

  She makes a face. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, it’s no big deal.”

  A slight pause before Erin says, “Okay, so what is it?”

  Her eyes widen as I get into it.

  When I tell her how I sounded off to Naniji, she lets out a crack of laughter. “That’s so you, Tara.”

  We arrive at school laughing.

  But my chest tightens as we go through the front doors. Was it just yesterday—that whole thing in class?

  I look at the faces as we head down the corridor, past the throngs of kids. It’s like I’m noticing things, seeing more clearly now.

  Faces caught up in their own little lives. Leela’s laughing up at Phil. Is she ever going to tell her parents about him? Fatima and Ifran are together, as always, with their Somali friends.

  The way I’ve felt the last few days, the way I felt after Samantha, is that how they feel? Only all the time? Is that why they hang out with other Somali kids?

  Lynne’s coming out of the gym with Ben, Mel, a few others.

  I feel a flood of panic. I want to go back to not noticing.

  Lynne’s eyes flicker as she sees me. She mumbles something to Ben, and his eyes swivel in my direction. They laugh.

  For a second it feels like I can’t breathe. Erin hasn’t noticed.

  I swallow.

  This is the world I live in.

  There’s Erin and Lesley, but also Lynne, who wants to live in her own familiar little world. She probably thinks there are way too many immigrants here, forgetting that we’re all, except the First Nations people, immigrants. When she sees me, she probably sees color, not Tara—sees different. I guess Lynne wants to keep it easy.

  Just like the crybaby inside me wants to keep it easy. Maybe it’s what too many people want.

  My heart twists. It’s obviously what Jeff wants.

  Only I didn’t expect it of him. I feel a surge of anger that surprises me.

  “Hi, Tar,” Lesley slaps my back, gives me a wide grin, and rushes on.

  I’ve never noticed before what a great smile she has. Silver linings.

  English is the last period today.

  I stride down the corridor. I want to get there early so I can sit well up front this time. It’s less distracting with most of the kids behind you.

  Nadia comes running up beside me and starts jabbering away.

  Through the kids milling around, I see Jeff. He’s standing outside the class like he’s waiting for someone.

  Probably Jessie.

  He looks straight at me. Why can’t Nadia shut up for once?

  “Tara,” he bursts out.

  I almost walk past, then stop abruptly. It’s my world. It’s up to me how I make it.

  Nadia continues on into the classroom, still talking. She hasn’t noticed I’m not there.

  “I want to talk to you, Jeff,” I say quickly.

  Jeff’s face is a mixture of relief and alarm. “Good, I want to talk to you, too.”

  We move around the corner and into a small empty classroom.

  “Jeff, you have to…”

  At the same time, he starts, “Listen, Tara…”

  We both stop.

  My heart is hammering unpleasantly, but I make myself look at him calmly and say, “I’m going first.”

  He flushes and shrugs. “Go ahead.”

  “About yesterday.”

  “Yeah, I want to talk about that, too.” His blue eyes are sharp.

  My stomach feels sick. I was right, he was mad, he didn’t get it. Suddenly, I’m furious.

  “Well, before yo
u get on your high horse, just listen for one damn minute. What I read yesterday, it’s part of my family, and I don’t exactly understand how, but it’s part of claiming my place here. But that doesn’t mean I’m jumping on some kind of ethnic bandwagon, or buying into that old conflict, and you’ve got no right to get pissed off about it.”

  He opens his mouth, but I say, “Just shut up and listen. I mean, did you even hear Tolly getting into the thing about regular Canadians? I had a big fight with my grandmother about it, because she can’t accept it, but the same thing applies to you.”

  He says, “What?”

  “Just because I read it doesn’t mean I’m any less Canadian. And it’s not about what your grandfather did or didn’t do, not here. It isn’t supposed to be our fight. It’s great that you’re close to him, but if you want to get all bent out of shape and make a big issue about it, then go right ahead and—”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Jeff’s face is indignant.

  “Yesterday, when you—”

  He interrupts. “Tara, would you just shut up before you make a complete and total ass of yourself?”

  My mouth falls open. I turn to leave, but he catches my arm.

  “Oh no you don’t.” He enunciates every word. “You’re not walking out on me after that little speech. Now, what are you talking about?”

  I take in a deep breath. “Yesterday. You were so mad at my story—”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, you were, I saw your face.”

  He laughs scoffingly. “Yeah? For the whole millisecond you condescended to look my way? You know, I’ve had it with your princess act.”

  “Princess?”

  “Yeah. You can’t just pick me up and drop me—”

  “I didn’t. You’re the one who—”

  “Then why the hell have you been freezing me out since the weekend?”

  “I haven’t…” I stop. “Okay, so I’m sorry about last weekend, but I thought you were still mad, and this isn’t about that, so don’t try and twist it around. It’s about…” My voice fades.

  He’s looking at me steadily, but there’s anger in his eyes.

  “Thanks a lot, Tara. It’s great to know you have such a high opinion of me. Listen. I was upset yesterday because your story was so awful. And … and,” he stammers, “because I … I thought maybe you were mad at me, about my grandfather, and I sort of got mad at you for…”