The Rearranged Life (21 page)

“Madhu’s family is coming for New Year’s Eve and day,” Amma announces.

“Why the sudden interest in having them for every holiday, Priya?” Nanna frowns.

“Our children should grow up near our culture,” Amma says innocently, but I know what she thinks.

My dad seems to be on the same page as I am. This is my mom’s reminder that I stay a good girl. “Priya, I think you may have overreacted to that conversation.”

“What are you talking about?” She smiles. “Besides, she and Nishanth are good friends, no?”

We all mumble our agreement, but the meaning behind the sudden invitation is clear: Nithya won’t consider other options if Nishanth does it for her.

On New Years Eve at precisely two in the afternoon, the Dhavalas roll up in their Lexus. Aunty and Amma act like they haven’t seen each other in years. This reunion is even more joyful than the one at the wedding, their closeness on display.

“Look at her sari!” Madhu Aunty gestures at Amma. “Aditya, you don’t buy me nice things like this.”

“Because he is too busy buying you nice cars!” Amma gives her a big hug.

“At least we get some credit from the other guy’s wife,” Aditya Uncle says to Nanna, their bromance reignited.

“Oh, my gosh! Your hair looks amazing!” Indrani cries at Anisha’s latest haircut, full of bangs and layers.

“So does your jacket. Ralph Lauren?” Anisha asks of the peacoat Indrani is rocking. Indrani eagerly confirms, and goes on about how she got it on sale, but it’s from the latest collection. Nishanth steps out from behind her, and comes to my side.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

This isn’t going to be awkward at all
.

“Nithya, you look magnificent,” Aunty says as I serve heaping plates of samosas.

“Thanks, Aunty.”

“I always thought blue suited Nithya very well. Look, Nishanth, you both even match!” Amma couldn’t be more obvious.

Indeed, Nishanth is wearing a blue dress shirt along with his khakis.

Madhu Aunty enthusiastically exclaims, “What a great coincidence!”

The feeling of being forced together is too much. After everyone is served samosas,
chaat
, and tea, I excuse myself, leaving everyone chattering downstairs. Nishanth’s eyes follow me as I leave the living room.

When I enter my bedroom, I make a beeline for the cell phone sitting on my desk. I open up my text messages. The last one I sent to James is on Christmas day.

Merry Christmas.

It’s been five days, and I haven’t heard from him. This annoys me. It never takes him more than an hour to answer back. Even after the disastrous Skype call, he had texted
Happy Thanksgiving.
What had changed now?

Wow, so the silent treatment?
I text him impulsively.

-Are you all in or not?
He texts back swiftly.

So you won’t talk to me until I decide? There isn’t an option of being friends in the meantime?

-Do you really think we can be just friends after all of this?

I had hoped so.

-I can’t, Nithya. It’s too hard. We can talk when you’ve decided.

That sounds like an ultimatum.

-Maybe it is. I don’t know. I can’t be just friends with you.

It’d be easier without this over our heads, huh?
I type back, realizing that this decision means it’s James or no James, not just dating or not dating.

Yeah,
he answers,
it would. It’s a lot to think about.

It’s like he’s telling me, ‘it’d be easier without you.’ Being Indian and being me are the same thing. We can’t be separated. That means this decision is also a part of me, the part of me that does what I always expected or does what I want.

And it is easier without this baggage in James’ life. Maybe it would be easier without me. Nishanth would understand if I had to make a decision where I needed to consider my family first. If he had to do the same, I would also understand. With Nishanth, this
wouldn’t
be hanging over our heads, whereas with James, it always would.

On cue, there is a knock at my door.

“Hey.” Nishanth steps inside.

“Hey!” For a second, the tension clears. It feels so good to see him, like the universe is marking the contrast between the boy I’m texting and the boy I’m looking at.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of his mouth.

“For what?”

“For handling Thanksgiving like a total shmuck.”

I giggle at his shamefaced puppy eyes. “You weren’t a shmuck. We just had some things to figure out.”

“Indrani yells at me a lot because I solve her math problems for her instead of letting her work it out… I guess I did it with you.”

“It’s okay, I haven’t done too much listening lately,” I confess. “You can sit down, by the way.”

He goes and sits on the bed, endearing in his good manners. His quiet confidence is different than James’, who would have had his feet up on my desk already.

“So how have you been? How’s school?”

“Straight As this semester, and Dean’s List,” I tell him with a hint of pride. “But let’s not get into how much help I needed in chemistry.”
And who helped me
.

“Congratulations!”

“Oh, and I got a couple interviews for medical school.” I cross my fingers.

“That’s amazing! We need to celebrate.”

“Hell yes! How was your semester?”

“Good! I’m excited to graduate in May. It’ll be a nice change of pace.”

“Well, we need to celebrate your almost-final semester, too.”

“Well… I did lose a bet. If you do want to celebrate, say, tonight, dinner’s on me.”

Is it a date? I want to tell him I still haven’t made my choice, but James’ words flash through my mind, that it’d be easier without this burden. There can’t be harm in seeing what it’s like with someone who doesn’t feel that way.

“Can I also celebrate the fact that I was right about walking all over you?”

Penn State won, 46-17, in an epic upset against Michigan in front of the fourth-largest crowd at Beaver Stadium. I don’t care much about the game. I’m just happy that despite my abysmal football knowledge, I have won.

“We can celebrate anything you want, as long as I’m with you.” The unexpected has my heart skipping a beat.

“Wait… it’s New Years Eve. How are we going to get a table anywhere?”

“I may have already booked a table at Jones.” He makes an
I couldn’t help it
face.

“How did you know I’d say yes?”

His eyes meet mine, and it dawns on me. “Calculated risk,” we say at the same time.

ait, you’re going out with my brother?” Indrani sounds dubious.

“He is kind of cute. In an old-guy kind of way,” Anisha clarifies.

“That’s gross. Can you never say that again?” Indrani makes a face in reply.

Both of them are in my room as I pick an outfit for dinner. Nishanth went downstairs and told our families we wouldn’t be joining them tonight. The enthusiastic “Have fun!” from my mom and “Sounds good, baby!” from his were loud enough to resound through the floor.

Since it’s a holiday, sparkles and shiny things are appropriate. I examine the closet, glumly noting that most of my go-to outfits are still in my apartment at Penn State, but then I’m struck with brilliance.

Anisha and Indrani gasp when I slide the white
anarkali
over my body.

“You look amazing, Akka!” Anisha tells me, her mouth dropping open in wonder.

“Like a princess,” Indrani concurs.

Everything from the shoulders to the waistline glimmers with paisley patterns of sequins and silver piping. The translucent long sleeves are decorated around my wrists with rhinestones. I forgo the leggings, allowing the swinging chiffon fabric to hit me mid-shin. With a pair of silver heels, my Indian anarkali has been transformed into a shimmery New Year’s Eve dress.

“You forgot pants,” Anisha says.

“It’s a dress now, idiot.” Indrani shows off her fashion prowess by reaching into my jewelry box and handing me chandelier earrings made of teardrop shaped glass.

“Perfect,” all three of us say.

“Have a good time!”

“Be safe!”

Our moms call out from the front door as Aditya Uncle hands Nishanth his keys. We wave at them as we leave for Jones at 8:00 p.m.

“Doesn’t it feel just like prom?”

“We are kind of spiffed up.” I smirk, noting his black suit and silver tie.

Nishanth looks every inch the CEO he wants to be. His hair is neatly gelled back, and his broad shoulders make it clear he is wearing the suit and not the other way around.

“You look really handsome.” I sneak one more glance.

“I had to look worthy of the prettiest girl in the room.” He grins.

“Please. This old thang?” I wave off his compliment but love it just the same.

Amma told us we could come back after midnight. Until now, if I’ve ever gone out with a group of friends that included guys, the rule was always 10:00 p.m. The white dress I’m wearing along with Nishanth’s classy suit makes me feel like we’ve traded in our Indian reality for an American wedding. But it doesn’t feel clandestine. It feels simple.

“Have you been to this place before?”

“No, but I’ve heard it’s amazing! Sort of a retro-feel.”

All the buzz about this place is right on the money. Stone climbs up the pillars and walls, invoking the heart of a cave. The moss-colored seat backs in the booths make me think of forests, and the glass paneling on the bar gives off reflections like still water.

“What can I get for you, folks?” the waitress asks. Her peppy energy makes me look forward to the night.

“The baked mac and cheese, please.”

“Make that two, actually.” Nishanth hands her the menu and chuckles. “Look at us. Twenty-four and twenty-two on New Year’s Eve, and we’re ordering kid’s food.”

“There is no age limit on macaroni!”

“When you’re right, you’re right. But look around.” He gestures at the other tables.

All the couples around us, with families scattered between, have steaks and chicken with waffles. Our choices are limited because we’re vegetarian, so I ignore that. Then I notice everyone has martinis and margaritas, the New Year’s staple. I’m still considering ordering a chocolate milk.

“You realize every other person looks over twenty-one and we look twelve, right?”

“You drove your dad’s car on this date.” I giggle, feeling younger by the second.

“You just called this a date,” he notes, without missing a beat.

“Yeah… I guess I did.”

“Well, then, here’s to a good date.” He holds up his water glass to clink mine against.

“Cheers!” I say, giddy.

We spend two hours at dinner. It’s filled with stories of Indian holidays gone wrong.

“I accidentally set fire to our curtains because I lit real diyas in our window over Navratri,” I admit.

“I broke Indrani’s finger when we were little, because I hit her so hard with a dandiya while we were dancing at Navratri garba,” Nishanth says, matter-of-factly.

“You broke her finger? How hard did you hit her?!”

“Well, she made me mad earlier in the day, so it might have been misplaced anger.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “It’s okay, she hit me with a cricket bat a few years later, and I had to get stitches.”