A Holly Jolly Diwali

by Sonya Lalli

  “We did. But we spent it on other things. Like this house. At the time, the public schools in this neighborhood were the best in Seattle.”

  I bit my lip. They’d never told me that’s why they chose this area instead of the ones closer to the gurdwara, where their Punjabi friends tended to live.

  “You see,” Mom continued, “very early on, your father and I were so concerned about creating a life here, trying to be American, that we didn’t . . .” She paused. “We didn’t take care to connect you both to your roots. This is our mistake—”

  “And by the time we started to notice . . .” Dad started, and even though he didn’t finish his thought, I knew what he was getting at.

  It was only when Jasmine and I were approaching adolescence that my parents started getting stricter, came down on us for not behaving or speaking like good Indian girls. They made life particularly hard for Jasmine, who had been marching to the beat of her own drum since she was a toddler, and pushed her so hard that it had been inevitable that she would rebel.

  “It wasn’t a mistake,” I said finally, smiling at them. “It is what it is. It’s in the past.”

  “We could have done a better job—”

  “You couldn’t have,” I said, interrupting Mom. “There is no better or worse,” I said, curling my feet under me. “Or right or wrong.”

  Without getting sad, I fondly remembered how Sam had playfully pinched my nose and called me “an American” for thinking my life was better than my family’s in India. The way I felt about myself and who I was when I was around him, a guy who respected me and valued me and made me feel like I deserved love.

  “I love how you raised me,” I said to Mom and Dad before getting up to go to bed. “Because I love exactly who I turned out to be.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Here were the things I was doing to occupy myself during unemployment:

  Going for my dream job.

  I’d been relieved that the bank I’d interviewed at turned me down, and it made me realize that Sam had been right. Even though it might not work out, I at least needed to try going after what I wanted. But what did I want? What sort of company could I see myself working for? After hours and hours of researching my various options and potential career paths, I still didn’t have an answer, but at least I was a little bit further along into answering these questions.

  Getting off the couch and onto my piano bench.

  The last few years, I’d been very content to spend my evenings in front of the TV, my tired body sinking into the plush cushions as I got lost in some rom-com or Netflix original. But I’d been making a concerted effort to cut back on my bingeing and start playing at my keyboard again, and the more I practiced and the more the songs and skills came back to me, the more I wanted to play. Now, I didn’t even have to force myself. I was wailing away up there for hours every day, everything from Debussy to Bach to Vanessa Carlton. I was playing so much that my parents had not so politely requested that I occasionally plug in my earphones to “give their ears a break.”

  Diving headfirst into the Christmas spirit.

  The festive weeks between Diwali and Christmas were always my favorite time of year. It was time to sit indoors with a good book; Mariah Carey’s Christmas album; and a cup of cocoa, cha, or mulled wine. To get dragged along to some family friend’s Christmas party with a Punjabi twist, where the beardiest uncle would dress up as Brown Santa for the kids and hand out ladoo.

  It was the time to be cheerful.

  There was going to be no more whining, longing, or pining for Sam, or wishing things were better or different. Not when I had a million things to be thankful for and to look forward to, and a group of wonderful people already in my life. I had parents who loved me to pieces and, it turned out, had never judged me as hard as I’d always judged myself.

  I had Jasmine. We always loved each other as sisters, but now we were starting to love each other as friends, too. The resentment I’d been hiding my whole life had dissolved—completely—and it had left a space for so much more to bloom.

  I also had a great group of friends. There was Diya and now Masooma, who lived half a world away but still occupied my thoughts, my DMs, and my heart almost every single day. I had my crew in Seattle, who were like a second family, and two of them, potential roomies. Their other housemate was moving out in the new year, and they’d asked if I’d like to take her spot. I was thinking about it seriously, and my parents were very supportive of the idea. (A little too supportive, even.) We all knew it was time for me to put myself out there, and not just when it came to dating, which I’d be ready for sooner or later. But in life. I couldn’t use Mom and Dad as an excuse anymore to stay home and not try new things and experiences. And I no longer wanted to.

  A few days before Christmas, I dropped Dad off at work and then took his car downtown to go shopping. My family had been doing Secret Santa since I was in college, and for the first time in years, I had Jasmine, the only person in my family who was easy to shop for. I could glance at a table of books at Barnes & Noble and know exactly which one she’d pick up first, and the same went with makeup and clothing or even kitchen gadgets. I’d already bought us matching reindeer onesies, but I wanted to gift her something she could actually use more than once a year.

  I parked the car and wandered through the streets, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt. Although the weather was cool, the sun was miraculously out, and storefronts were decorated with red bows, wreaths, and twinkling lights, Christmas music blaring whenever I passed by a door. I thought back to Diwali as I skipped over a crack in the cement, and the way that holidays could bring people together and make us see the good and the light in that which was already right in front of us.

  The way, right now, it had even seemed to temporarily dull the pain of heartbreak.

  I ended up finding Jasmine the perfect pair of brown leather boots at a department store not too far from my old office, and on an impulse, I decided to do a walk-by. Now more than ever, I was happy I’d been laid off. It had forced me to take a plunge into something new. Still, I was curious about how it would feel being there again, a place where, until two months earlier, I’d spent most of my waking life.

  When I rounded the corner, I spotted my old window two floors up. Instinctively, I flicked my eyes ahead at Juliet’s coffee cart. I grinned. Romeo was in line.

  Nervously, I walked up behind him. He was much taller than he’d seemed from my window and more handsome, too. I was tempted to tap him on the shoulder and introduce myself, but that would have been weird, right?

  Hello. My name is Niki, and I used to watch you flirt while you ordered your coffee.

  Yeah. Pretty weird.

  “Hey, Jules,” he said, when he got to the front of the line. “How you doing?”

  “Hey, Tom.”

  So that was his real name!

  “I’m doing fine, yeah.” Juliet paused, smiling oddly. “The usual?”

  “The usual.”

  They went quiet as she took his reusable mug and started preparing his coffee. I took a step to the side to try to see their faces and get a read of things. Unlike before, Juliet’s gaze was fixated on the coffee rather than Romeo—I mean Tom. And he was . . . on his phone?

  What the hell had happened? Had the flirting and sexual tension fizzled out, or had I imagined everything?

  I stepped back in line, a little bummed out, but then I saw Juliet reach for her own phone. She giggled, and then flicked her eyes up at Tom.

  “Sure,” she said slyly. She put her phone away and then handed him his coffee. “I’ll go out with you again. I can’t say no to Thai food.”

  I pressed my lips together to try to remain casual. Yes! It had finally happened for them!

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Tom had his hands pressed against the edge of her cart, his body leaning forward. I held my breath, taking a
slight step forward so I could see them better.

  “Because I had a good time last night.”

  “Last night was good,” Juliet whispered. “But this morning, it was even better—”

  Damn, Juliet!

  I laughed, a little too loud, and when they both swiveled to look at me, I pressed my palm over my face and pretended it was a cough. Doing my best to seem oblivious, I bent down to tie my laces, and a moment later, they resumed chatting in low voices.

  There was hope for all of us! Not only for would-be couples in romance novels and movies and my fantasies, but right here IRL. I stood up, wanting to cheer them on and congratulate them on finally—finally—getting together.

  But again, that would have been a little bit weird.

  CHAPTER 38

  I went to sleep on Christmas Eve with a full belly and an even fuller heart. Our family celebrated Christmas the same way we did Diwali or Thanksgiving or any other special occasion that called for good food, music, family, and a few glasses of Dad’s Johnnie Walker Red Label.

  Jasmine would have Christmas dinner at Brian’s parents’, and so he had come over, and the five of us played board games like Twister and Scattergories and even one round of Cards Against Humanity, after which Mom, who I could tell found some of the cards hilarious, feigned modesty and made us put the game away. Even though evenings with Brian were always hit or miss, everyone actually seemed to have had a good time. Jasmine and Brian’s relationship was still majorly on the rocks, but even she was in a good mood tonight, and every so often, I caught her staring at me with a grin on her face.

  Jasmine slept over, and the next morning, she woke everyone up at the crack of dawn, blaring “All I Want for Christmas Is You” from the stereo. Mom, Dad, and I came downstairs to eggs and bacon frying and the smell of coffee roasting, and after eating breakfast, we opened our presents by the tree. Mom gifted me a stack of books I’d been eyeing and some makeup, and Jasmine loved her presents from me. We put on our matching reindeer onesies immediately.

  “So, what now?” I asked as we folded up all the wrapping paper and saved it for the following year. “Should we bake sugar cookies? Watch a movie?”

  “Why don’t we go for a drive?” Jasmine suggested.

  “Sure,” Dad said.

  “Good idea.” Mom slapped her thighs as she stood up from the ground. “Chalo. Let’s go—”

  “A drive?” I whined. We occasionally went for walks as a family, but it was pissing rain outside and dreary as hell. “Why?”

  “Why not?” Dad asked. He didn’t meet my eye but started whistling, grabbing his keys from the side table. “We should get out. We should stretch our legs—”

  “Stretch our legs by sitting in a car?”

  Nobody answered me, and so reluctantly, I dragged myself up from the floor.

  “I’m going to change, I think,” Jasmine said, pulling down the hood of the onesie, the antlers falling down by her neck. “Niki, join me?”

  “I’m good.” I smiled. “It’s cozy.”

  “But we’re going out—”

  “And we’re staying in the car, aren’t we?”

  Jasmine didn’t press me any further and ended up staying in her onesie, too. We filed into the backseat of my dad’s car the way we used to as kids. It was strange to be going out for a drive, which we’d never done just for the hell of it. I was surprised Dad didn’t complain that it would be a waste of gas.

  Everyone in the car was oddly quiet, and after ten minutes of almost near silence, Jasmine leaned forward and turned on the radio. “A Holly Jolly Christmas” was playing, and dorkily, we all started singing along.

  We stayed out for more than an hour, sticking to the coastline and the more scenic parts of Seattle. It was late morning by the time we got home, and I was ready for my second coffee of the day. I bounded up the driveway to make everyone a fresh pot.

  “Who has the key—” I stopped short as I reached the front door, my hand on the knob. I turned around. Mom and Dad were taking their sweet time getting out of the car, but Jasmine was right behind me.

  “It’s unlocked,” I said suspiciously.

  “Oh?” She didn’t look up from her phone, but there was a smirk on her face. “I must have forgotten to lock it.”

  I swiveled my body back around and slowly pushed open the door, half expecting a serial killer to jump out at me. The lights were out like we’d left them, but there was an odd flickering coming from below. I glanced down. In the center of our foyer, there was a single diya.

  “What the hell . . .”

  My stomach somersaulted when I caught sight of another glimmer, the light of a second candle down the hall. I followed it, walking slowly, until another diya came into view. And there was another one after that.

  My limbs shook as I followed the trail of diya, my breath catching in my throat when I saw they led up the stairs.

  Could it be? No. No . . .

  My heart was beating so fast I could barely contain myself, and I tripped on the last step and stumbled onto the landing. Up here, there were even more diya. And they were all leading to my bedroom.

  The door was open, and when I rounded the corner, I didn’t recognize my room. The lights were on low and there were diya on every surface—my bedside table, dresser, and keyboard. Even the floor, too. I took a step forward. There was a narrow path carved through them, leading to the window. The drapes were shut, but by the flicker of the candlelight, I could just make out his silhouette.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said, stepping out of the shadows. My gut twisted as he fully came into view. It was Sam from the Band, standing in my bedroom, in Seattle, wearing the same sherwani he’d been wearing on Diwali. Setting the scene of the night we met. His eyes locked on me, pulling me closer to him as my hands trembled, and I realized why he was here.

  “Merry Christmas . . .” I stammered. “When did you—” I stopped, took a deep breath. “Why did you . . .”

  I couldn’t finish that sentence, either, my body tense as Sam threw me a sheepish grin.

  “I flew in early this morning. Jasmine left the door open for me.”

  I hid a smile. Of course Jasmine was behind this.

  “And as for your other question.” Sam paused. “Simply put, I was a wanker, letting you go like that. And I’m sorry.”

  I crossed my arms across my chest, almost as if they would protect me from him. “Is that it?”

  “No. I also wanted to tell you that you were wrong.”

  “You mean you were wrong—”

  “No, actually,” Sam interrupted, “I was right.”

  I cocked my head to the side, studying him. That confident smirk on his face I’d first seen when he’d been playing on Diwali was back.

  “I couldn’t let you move to London for me on a whim. It was rash. And it wouldn’t have been good for either of us.”

  I nodded. I knew that now. I’d just felt so desperate to make it work at the time; it seemed like the only option.

  “But, Niki. Just because we don’t know how this will work, or even how long, doesn’t mean we can’t give it a go. It doesn’t mean we can’t have a little faith—”

  “But Sam. Come on.” I sighed. “You live in Mumbai, and I live here—”

  “Yes. So?”

  “And we’re both unemployed.”

  “How very millennial of us.”

  I smiled, biting my lip.

  “I shouldn’t have let you go.” Sam nodded stiffly. “But you shouldn’t have left. We have to try. We have to at least give this our best shot.”

  I let my arms fall to my sides, my body trembling. “You couldn’t have just called me to say that?”

  “You’re a romantic,” Sam whispered. “I knew a grand gesture wouldn’t go unnoticed.”

  I laughed, tears forming at the corners of my e
yes. He was wearing me down, and we both knew it.

  “And I did call you—”

  “Once,” I reminded him. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand. “And you never tried again.”

  “Everything at home is so complicated right now. My life is complicated, and I thought I needed time to sort myself out first, to be on my own. I didn’t think I deserved you yet.” Sam paused. “You were right about my dad. He’s not going to respect my choices until I do.”

  “And do you?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  I wanted to know what he meant by that, what his being back in Mumbai or him standing here in Seattle now meant for his future, for his relationship with his family. I wanted to ask him so many things, but first, I asked him, “What changed, then? Why did you really come, Sam?”

  A shadow crossed his face. “Masooma called. She said—”

  “Oh.” I cut him off, my jaw tight. “You’re here because you’re jealous.”

  “No. I’m here because I didn’t want to miss my chance.” He took another step forward. Now there were only a few inches between us. He reached his palm forward and gently clasped my wrist. “Niki . . .”

  My breath caught in my chest as I let him tug me toward him. “Yeah?”

  “I’m here because I’m in love with you.”

  I gasped, my knees buckling as he wrapped his arms around me.

  “You know that, don’t you?”

  I did know that he loved me. I loved him, too.

  Who knew what steps either of us would take next, and if they would send us packing in different directions or lead us down the aisle. But Sam was right; our love—this almost chemical, spiritual, and totally chaotic connection between us—was enough for right now. It was enough for us to give it our very best shot.

  “Say something,” Sam whispered. He pressed his body against me, and I could feel his breath on me as I tentatively let my forehead fall into the crook of his neck, fingered the embroidery on the neck of his sherwani. I’d forgotten what he smelled like and how much I missed him.