The Rearranged Life (36 page)

“Watch out, Nithya, he cheats,” Tristan warns me.

“You’re adopted,” James retorts.

“You just suck.” Max defends the older of his little brothers.

“When I kick your as–butt,” Tristan hastily corrects himself as Mrs. St. Clair looks up with a warning glare. “You’ll take it back.”

“Yeah, okay,” James says disbelievingly.

We begin to play, and watching them spar back and forth, I can’t help but think how sexy James looks. He peers at his cards, leaning over his knees, barefoot in sweatpants. His t-shirt, an old one proclaiming he attended the Brunswick School, is ratty enough that I can make out the faint outlines of his body through it. When he winks at me so only I can see, I bite my lip, knowing I’ve been caught. I examine my hands as though they are the most interesting things in the world, and my hair falls over my cheeks, hiding my flush.

“Are you okay, Nithya?” Max breaks into my thoughts. “It’s your turn.”

“Yup!” I recover quickly, and throw down my last card, a blue Draw Two, prompting a dirty look from Tristan. “Woo hoo, I win!”

“We let you,” James and Max say together, grumpy and competitive.

“Sure, you did. You guys keep playing. I’m going to get some water,” I tell them, sticking my tongue out.

“Can you get me a soda?” Tristan asks hopefully, as he puts down a Draw Four, and James mutters a curse word so his mom can’t hear.

I tell him yes, entertained by the level of seriousness the boys invest in this game.

Walking down the long hallway and hanging a right into the foyer and eventually the kitchen, the enormity of the house doesn’t cease to amaze me. Every detail and curve seems intricately planned out. The family room I just left is decorated with wood paneling and plush couches. The kitchen is bright, white, and full of light. Everything has been coordinated. Family pictures are placed just right to show off what a good-looking bunch the St. Clairs are. The juxtaposition to our haphazardly decorated home with its Indian-American mix-and-match style is palpable even when I reach into the fridge, which is neatly organized compared to ours at home, always full of Tupperwared dishes and vegetables scattered anywhere except the neatly labeled drawer for produce.

“—seems really sweet. I like her a lot.” Max’s voice fades down the hallway.

“She’s definitely better than the trash you brought around in high school,” Tristan chimes in.

Something shuffles, and Tristan exclaims, “Hey!”

I suspect something has been thrown at him. When Mr. St. Clair comments that I’m wonderful, James dryly asks his mom if she has an opinion since everyone seems to be offering theirs. I bite my lip, happy they seem to like me as much as I like them.

“I adore her. She’s smart and beautiful. Exactly the type I picture for you,” Mrs. St. Clair says. I don’t have the chance to bask in the bubbly happiness inside me before she adds hesitantly, “But…”

“What?” James prompts her.

“Well, when you all got home from the beach…”

“Mom.” Max’s voice has an edge.

“No, Max, let me finish. Max mentioned something about how her family isn’t happy you’re dating, James.”

The pulse in my ears is so loud, I’m surprised they haven’t heard the
thump thump thump
against the walls of the house. I try breathing as quietly as I can to hear what they say, but I know this is it. They are going to tell him it’s a waste of time or that it isn’t a good idea.
It’s been nice knowing you, St. Clairs.
I have to give them credit for being so kind. But who would want their son with a girl whose family doesn’t want him anyway? My belly hollows out, but in spite of myself, I’m curious.

“They aren’t,” James responds, cautiously.

“Why is that?” Mrs. St. Clair probes.

“Something tells me Max already filled you in,” James says, a steely undertone to his voice. I can’t tell if it is directed at his mother or Max.

“James, I didn’t tattle. It came up. Cut the attitude.”

I haven’t heard Max sound so big brother-like since I have arrived. In the hush, I can picture James’ eyes turning jade as he stares his brother down.

“Honey, we’re not out to upset you. Why are they not supportive?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” James says shortly, but Pandora’s box has been opened.

The silence leaves me certain his parents are giving him interrogatory looks.

“Their culture is different. They want her to be with an Indian,” James says finally.

“Are you going to cause a rift if you date her?” Mr. St. Clair asks, concerned.

“I don’t know. We haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Family is everything, James. Not to mention, cultures like hers can have serious repercussions for breaking their traditions,” Mrs. St. Clair tries to reason.

“You did it.” James’ tone is accusatory.

“To be fair, I didn’t have cultural expectations. My parents weren’t sure we’d be able to survive without much money. We didn’t have to worry about religion or traditions. Nithya’s family comes from a very different country.”

“Fine. I get it. But we thought this out before we started dating.” Frustration bleeds back into James’ voice.

“She did mention that, Mom. I don’t think this was a choice they made lightly,” Max puts in.

“I’ve got faith she will figure it out. She will fight if we get serious enough. I know her. Her family will come around,” James says firmly.

“Yes, but going against family is a tough decision to make,” Mrs. St. Clair tries again.

“You made it. You turned out fine.”

“Yes, but what if she decides to marry an Indian, after all?” Mrs. St. Clair points out.

“Mom–” James starts.

“Is she promised to someone?” Mr. St. Clair cuts him off.

“Arranged. And no.”

“Is she supposed to have an arranged marriage?”

It doesn’t take much to imagine James’ father in a courtroom cross-examining someone with a tone like this.

James is silent. They have their answer.

“James–” his mother begins.

“Do you like her?” James interrupts.

“Yes, we love her, but…” his father says.

“Then stop. We’ve got it. She’s got it.”

“Sweetheart–” His mom starts again.

“Mom. Let it go. They’ve got it.” Tristan backs his brother up now.

“We do like her, James. But I am really worried you’re going to get hurt,” his mother says gently. “I have been there before on a smaller scale, and it was still a lot of stress. How do you know she won’t break up with you?”

“The same way Dad knew you wouldn’t break up with him,” James snaps.

“James!” his dad says, his tone warning.

I have heard enough. I retreat to the end of the hallway where I examine my reflection in the decorative mirror and try to look unfazed. Judging what I see to be a passable effort, I head back, the water bottles in hand. I drop one as I approach the door.

“Oops,” I say, loudly, so they can hear me.

The mutters stop.

“Sorry it took me so long! I got distracted by those pictures in the living room!” I chirp, as I enter the family room.
You deserve an Oscar for this
.

“You missed the best part! My folks were just saying they love you,” James says. The pointed tone is so faint that if I didn’t know him so well, I wouldn’t have caught it.

“That’s sweet! I’ve loved being here too!”

The St. Clairs are equally Academy Award-worthy. They grin so genuinely, if I hadn’t heard their discussion, I wouldn’t have believed it happened. Touché, Team James.

he door creaks open as I lie in bed, and I’m on high alert.

“Shit, that was loud!” James whispers, and I drop my head, relieved.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper back.

“I feel like I haven’t gotten to spend time alone with you in years.” He rounds the side of the bed.

“It’s been two days.” I giggle.

“That’s long enough.” He lifts the covers as I scoot over to give him room.

“If your parents find us, you are so dead.”

“I’ll set my alarm, and leave before they wake up,” he murmurs, nuzzling my neck.

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“I’m just good,” he says cockily and kisses my lips.

Snuggling into the crook of his neck, I wrap my arm around his chest and my thoughts are finally quieter. A different kind of peace has settled over the room.

“Have you had fun this weekend?”

“It’s been amazing. So relaxing. You were right. We needed time away from our bubble,” I tell him.
With the exception of the last few hours.

“My family really likes you.”

“Do they?” I look up at him, imploring him for the truth.

“Yeah, they do. Why do you sound so doubtful?” He frowns, puzzled.

“I heard you guys talking when I went to get drinks.” I sit up and bring my knees to my chest.

“How much of it?” He slides up and rests against the headboard.

“More or less, all of it,” I tell him, softly.

“It’s none of their business.”

“It is, James. I don’t know that your family wants me to be with you either.”

“They’re worried you’ll want to marry an Indian if the pressure gets to you,” he admits.

“That’s a pretty big concern.”

“Look, you always try to understand people’s perspective, right? So why are you worried? Everyone is concerned. It happens. Besides, if your parents disown you, you can move in here and prove mine wrong.” He flashes me a playful grin.

“That’ll be the day.” I shake my head.

“Nithya, I know you. You don’t give up. And you’ve had two huge blows in the last month. It could have broken you, but you’re still here, worried about everyone else. I’ll do my best to prove to them I’m worthy of you. And I trust that you won’t break up with me because of this. It’ll work out,” he repeats, kissing me on the forehead. “Now, go to sleep. We have five hours until I have to haul my ass back upstairs.”

“Okay.” I giggle. “Sweet dreams. I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispers.

I’ll never get tiring of hearing that.