Year of the Chick

by Romi Moondi

  With the sun now set, the patio was glowing with pretty lanterns, candles, and strings of twinkly lights. Many of the revelers were relaxing in lounge chairs, with the rest tightly huddled in their personal party cliques. I heard the beginnings of applause, and joined in the clapping as I figured out the reason.

  It was the couple of the night, coming down the steps hand-in-hand.

  Adrian was everything I could’ve expected and more. Incredible build, dark brown hair, six feet tall, bright blue eyes and a wicked tan. I wiped a tear from my eye, not because I was overwhelmed by the romance, but only because this was officially the party of beautiful men, with everyone getting a slice except for me. But I forced on my smile as required.

  At least they have an open bar.

  ***

  “Do you know how much I LOVE the sound of crickets? Well actually I love the sound of anything when it’s mixed with a trickling fountain.”

  “You are such a freak Romes.” Jayla laughed but didn’t even open her eyes. It was nine thirty now, and most of us were sprawled out on various lounge chairs or even on the grass, with the speeches now over and our bellies full of food.

  “Hey Jay, how come Indian music at YOUR house doesn’t sound annoying?” Far from annoying, I actually liked this slow-paced Hindi duet.

  “You like it because you don’t have to like it. ‘Cause here you won’t be judged if you switch it to Madonna. You’d be surprised how much you like the Indian culture, when it’s not being shoved down your throat.”

  “But you’re marrying a white guy. With a hot Australian accent by the way. Isn’t that the opposite of liking your culture?”

  I opened my eyes as I heard her sit up fast.

  “Here’s the thing,” she said, arms folded and eyes now intense. “When you’re far away from Indian culture, and instead just absorbing a totally different vibe - like I’ve been doing with my WHITE dude in Australia - you start to see where you come from a little better. You know...seeing the forest from the trees? Like I’ve been begging my mom to teach me how to cook all her Indian food. But I barely have the time to even learn it anymore!”

  My eyes widened. “Are you kidding? Any time my mom tries to make me cook Indian food she starts off with scolding. You know, how I’ll never be a good wife because I can’t even make Indian food. Or she’ll complain that so many other Indian girls know how to cook, even though they’re younger than me. That’s how she BEGINS the lesson.” I sighed and rolled my eyes.

  “That’s because you’re being judged on a single standard. Marry a well-off Indian guy, or fail. I can see how it might be a turn-off.”

  “Which brings me to my only real question for you,” I said. “How are your parents smiling and laughing, when you’re about to marry a white guy, and spend the rest of your life living thousands of miles away?”

  Riddle me THAT.

  Jayla shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. “Believe me, they weren’t smiling or laughing when I told them. In the end though, it was down to a couple of choices: accept me, or disown me.”

  I smiled. “Wow, that’s my favourite ultimatum ever. Can I use that?”

  “You mean….can you use it on your parents when you tell them about JAMES?” Jayla raised an eyebrow.

  “Excuse me?”

  How the hell does she know about James?

  “Let’s just say that Laura and I had a little chat.” She winked and grabbed her glass of wine. “So is there anything else I should know about Mr. Caldwell, before I offer up my advice?”

  One deep breath and a huge run-on sentence later, I gave her all the details I could think of, ending with my latest concern on his visit or no-visit plans.

  “Okay, I’m ready to weigh in.” She took a sip of wine and leaned in close, so our faces were inches apart. “I went to Thailand with no expectations. Then I met Adrian, and we spent two incredible weeks together. Afterwards we went our separate ways, not expecting much to be honest.” She set down her glass and grabbed both my arms. “It should’ve been over, but the e-mails and phone calls began. That had to mean something, right? I was always honest about how I felt, and willing to put in the effort. I’m not sure we’d have made it if my pride had gotten in the way. Do you see what I’m saying?”

  I stared at her blankly. “Dude, I’m drunk. You have to give me the dumb-girl version.”

  She released one arm and patted me on the shoulder. “What I’m saying is...I don’t know your whole situation, but if you put in all your effort and stay honest, how can you go wrong? I just don’t think that James would’ve talked to you this long for nothing.” She squeezed my other arm. “So why are you suddenly afraid he’s avoiding you on a personal level?”

  I quickly nodded. “You’re so right! Plus he’s finalizing his script right now…I bet he’s just really busy. But try telling that to my bitch of a friend.” My blood began to boil at the mention of Eleanor, who I hadn’t said a word to in the last seven days.

  “Huh?”

  I shook my head. “Never mind. So here’s what happens now. I’m going to call James next week.” I smiled. “And he’s GOING to tell me when he’s visiting. I want a flight number, I want an itinerary…” I paused. “And I want my damn first date.”

  I stretched back out on the lounge chair. What a relief to have a friend with some real-world advice.

  If it worked for Jayla it has to work for me.

  “Hey...” Jayla trailed off and seemed confused. “Where the hell did Dave and Laura go?”

  I looked around the yard but couldn’t see them. “I’m sure they’re around. Maybe they’re inside. Or maybe they’re in a closet getting frisky.” And why wouldn’t they? It was one of the perks of being close enough to touch.

  Jayla’s eyes nearly sprung from their sockets. “Laura getting freaky at someone else’s party? I don’t think so.”

  Before she could finish laughing, Laura and Dave emerged from inside, hand-in-hand and looking rather flush.

  No way.

  “Hey guyyys.” Jayla wore a sly smile, and mouthed the word “slut!” to Laura when Dave wasn’t looking. I only pointed to her shirt, which was no longer tucked into her jeans.

  As she frantically tucked it in, Adrian emerged from inside, settling beside Jayla in what was now a stunning image: one hot couple to my left, one hot couple to my right.

  It was a fifth-wheel moment that left me with two final options:

  -To sell my soul to the highest bidder, or to make sure that James got his ass on a plane.

  But let’s not forget a third special choice: volunteer my genitals to science, and forget about this dating thing for good...

  Chapter Eighteen

 

  Three days after Jayla’s party, I was huddled in my chair on a Tuesday morning at work, trying not to fall into a pity-party trap.

  My positive vibes were being put to the test, as I couldn’t stop reading my unanswered e-mail to James.

  ----------------------------------

  Hey James,

  It’s almost bedtime and I still have my mind on the office! It seems like every day lately is a three-hour meeting I don’t care about, a mind-numbing project that takes too much time, or a discussion I don’t want to be involved in.

  It’s just hard sometimes to focus on your amazing writing tips, when I’ve got crappy-job-syndrome over here. Can’t I fast-forward to writing full-time just like you? ;-)

  I don’t know what I’d do without our conversations.

  You’re still visiting next month, am I right?

  Anyway I’m still free at lunch tomorrow for a chat, so give me a call at 12:15, I’ll be waiting in my usual spot.

  Romi

  ----------------------------------

  Was it the mention of the trip that had stopped him from replying? Was there something else wrong with the e-mail? Or maybe I was just being paranoid.

  OF COURSE I’m being paranoid!

  I literally shook my hea
d back and forth, as if to purge all the “crazy” from my brain. Once I was through I filled up my head with rock-hard logic: if you haven’t scared him away in FIVE months, he isn’t going anywhere now. So smile dammit!

  “What the hell are you smiling about?”

  I spun in my chair to find my work-dad Todd looking lankier than ever, in a buttoned shirt and beige dockers.

  “I’m smiling ‘cause I’ve got the power!” I didn’t care how lame it was to shake my fist, it was helping me find my resolve.

  “Jesus. Have you been reading self-help books or something? I’m worried.”

  “Don’t be worried,” I said. “Life’s just better when you strive to make it good. It requires effort, but also courage! And…it helps when you’ve got some fate in your back pocket.” I pointed to my butt and winked.

  Did I just point to my ass and wink at my boss? Who cares, it’s working. I’m feeling more confident already.

  “I guess this has to do with your Spanish lover-boy who pretends to be British. So is this loser ever coming to visit? Last I heard he wouldn’t seal the deal.”

  “He’s coming in October like I said. And I’ll be finding out the details today. OKAY?”

  I crossed my arms and glared at him.

  “Well it’s about damn time! Remember to bring him by the office when he comes. He needs my seal of approval.”

  “Oh suurre.” I rolled my eyes. “Bringing him by the office. That’ll be his number one tourist stop.”

  The more we discussed it out loud, the more and more real his upcoming visit became. I hoped Todd would hang around so we could talk about it even more.

  “Okay, I’m bored with you.” He sighed and took a look at his watch. “I’m leaving for an early lunch.”

  Todd strolled away without a second look, leaving me alone with another half an hour ‘til the call.

  I spun back around to face my monitor, and noticed that Amy had e-mailed. It was another invitation for lunch, for myself, Amy...and Eleanor. This routine had been going on for weeks, but Eleanor and I were still in the midst of our silent battle.

  Nobody tries to arrange me with their Indian friends, NOBODY!

  Like usual I declined the request and suggested a one-on-one coffee instead, leaving poor Amy right where she was: helplessly caught in the middle.

  ***

  I began my ritual walk through the aisles of “Erotica,” trying all the time to stay at peace. The end of summer had resulted in even less traffic in these risqué bookstore aisles, making this spot ideal for conversations in early autumn. Funnily enough it was September twenty-third, and only our second chat of the entire month.

  But I’m not here to focus on the negative!

  I stared at my cell phone clock.

  He was already a minute late.

  I grasped the phone tighter, like somehow the extra squeeze would be enough to make it vibrate.

  When he was five minutes late, a pit began to form in my stomach.

  At eight minutes late, I’d bent the front cover of “Alicia’s Escape.” I stuffed the damaged book of sexy tales in the corner of the bottom shelf.

  At eleven minutes late I wasn’t really sure what to do. He’d never been more than two minutes late for a call. Was it time to feel worried? What if he was dead? There was always the chance he had died, but how would I know? This macabre concept was the scariest part of our overseas relationship.

  Fear of his potential death made me wonder if perhaps I should call him instead.

  But if he’s still alive won’t that seem too obsessive? Wait…what if he’s avoiding me on purpose?

  I gasped at the thought. It was only one e-mail which he hadn’t replied to. And it hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hours.

  Relax, woman!

  Unless he was trying to avoid the touchy subject of his visit.

  No. He would never do that.

  Thirteen minutes late.

  The fifteen-minute rule was in place for our phone conversations, with now only two minutes left. Neither of us had ever mentioned such a rule, but when twelve-thirty hit (and I watched as it did), I turned and headed straight for the exit.

  I pulled my denim jacket closed and crossed my arms, making my way through the strong autumn wind in the direction of the office. The phone remained tightly clutched in my hand, which meant I wasn’t really sure about the time on the digital clock.

  And I didn’t want to know.

  I returned to my desk at a half an hour late.

  Had he e-mailed?

  No.

  My lunch was waiting in the fridge, but the simple thought of food repulsed me.

  I twirled my hair in hyper-fast rotations, trying to understand or make excuses for this crisis. I suddenly remembered how I’d stood him up once for a scheduled call. But I was very apologetic, almost sickeningly so.

  Which meant of course he would show me the same consideration in return.

  Which also meant I couldn’t cave.

  DO…NOT…WRITE!

  I opened up a spreadsheet I’d been avoiding all last week, using it now to distract myself from writing him an e-mail.

  The spreadsheet plan worked until two o’ clock, when Amy called me up for the coffee break I’d totally forgotten. That too was a good distraction, until I remembered that anything I told her would funnel back to Eleanor eventually. And so I became self-conscious of my words, because for Eleanor to know that James might have stood me up?

  No, I’d die before I’d prove her right.

  He’ll explain, and everything will be just fine.

  By four o’ clock all distractions had failed, so I started to type a new e-mail.

  ------------------------------------

  Hey James, how come you never called today?

  ------------------------------------

  NO!

  I deleted the e-mail and locked my computer for the day.

  Going home early.

  At twenty past five I was sitting in my car, a half an hour earlier than usual.

  I started to wonder…was there a sub-conscious reason for why I’d left early? Hadn’t I just bought myself some time for a call? Before my pride could scream out “No bitch, no!” I was already entering the pin for the phone card, and coming up next was his long-ass number.

  “RING.”

  Was this a bonehead move?

  “RING.”

  What if he’d actually died?

  “CLICK.”

  “James Caldwell.”

  A sudden wave of fear washed over me.

  I’m a psycho!

  “Hello, anyone there?” he said.

  Oh God.

  “Yes, sorry. It’s me Romi.”

  Silence hung in the air.

  Crap!

  “Hello. I wasn’t expecting you. Is everything okay?”

  You weren’t expecting me?! Well I was expecting YOU five hours ago!

  He clearly wasn’t dead or in any mortal danger, so I decided to be more direct.

  “I’m fine but I was starting to worry about you. You didn’t call this afternoon...”

  I closed my eyes and hoped for a big apology.

  “Ah yes, I’m sorry I didn’t e-mail you in time,” he said. “Something came up.”

  THAT’S IT? What’s “something” anyway? A whore?

  The blood started rushing to my face, with my heart now pounding in my ears. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Hello?” he said.

  I cleared my throat and began. “I’m here. But I’m having some trouble working this out.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Working out what exactly?”

  Oh sure, play dumb.

  “Working out how five hours passed from our scheduled call, but you couldn’t even acknowledge it? That doesn’t seem like you. I was worried that something might have happened.”

  “Look I said I was sorry.”

  Suddenly I could see what he was doing. He was letting
me get upset with as few of his words as possible. That way it was easier to label me “emotional.”

  Smart plan, wrong girl.

  “Please don’t jerk me around,” I said.

  There was a pause.

  “I’m not sure what to say to that, I mean look I have a life and job to take care of as well. So we missed a phone call. Is that the end of the world? Is that the size of it? All this touchiness because of one silly phone call?”

  He was going to force it out of me, and I wasn’t going to fight it. But I turned up the air conditioner a little before I said it.

  Take a deep breath.

  “What I mean is…are you avoiding me? Are you even coming to visit or have you cancelled? Because it’s almost October.”

  He sighed into the phone. A sigh? “Okay…you have to understand something. The trip was never a sure thing and I said that up front. So please don’t say ‘cancelled’ like I’m ruining promised plans. I brought it up in July for goodness sake. And I don’t believe I ever reinforced the idea.”

  Oh…my…god. He’s ditching me.

  It was taking all my energy to continue breathing evenly.

  “So you’re not coming to visit in October?”

  I closed my eyes and braced for it. The dreaded information I didn’t want to hear.

  “I wish you wouldn’t say it like that,” he said.

  Why was everything quickly turning into my fault?

  I didn’t say anything but I was getting close to tears.

  “Listen Roms, I said I wanted to visit because I did, that’s it. Why all the weird and different behaviour now?”

  WHAT?

  “No James, YOU’VE been acting different!” My voice was sounding whiny now, but I didn’t even care. “To me you seem more distant, like your interest in me has faded. Maybe now I’m just another one of your writing projects.”

  Once I said it out loud I was truly starting to believe it.

  “Roms you know I like you. But…sometimes I feel like you think I’m going to save you from your life.”

  I traced my finger around the steering wheel, concentrating hard to keep the tears away. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Well for the first few months,” he began, “you always made me laugh. There was really no comparison to that. But lately it seems that every other topic with you is ‘arranged marriage’ this or that. I’m not trying to belittle your culture, but sometimes you make me feel like I’m an answer to your problem. And that makes me wonder if you’re being realistic about our contact.”