“Ruined? How the heck could anything be ruined for being in public with a friend?”
Nandini ignores the question. “There’s always something with you, Simran, isn’t there? There just has to be.”
“Seriously, Mom? You think this is fun for me?”
Neil: Thank YOU. I mean what I said.
Oh my god . . .
Okay, so maybe seeing Neil was fun. But still, she’s never understood how her family could believe that she does these things on purpose. It was like in seventh grade, when Kyle Wilkins asked her if it was fun to wear huge glasses. Yes, Kyle, yes, I love these hot pink frames that take over my face. Thank you so much for asking.
She texts Neil back: I mean what I said, too.
And then, without thinking, she inserts a heart-eyed emoji. It’s only after she hits SEND that she realizes her message looks flirty.
She’s about to send a clarification when Neil sends a winking-face emoji. Time to stop texting.
“Don’t give me your sob story about being misunderstood,” her mom says.
Simran hears her mutter something to her dad, and she says, “Look, Mom. You know me. You know I have guy friends.”
“I do,” Mom confirms. “But Kunal’s family sees things a little differently. At least, his mom does. She made it a point to imply that Dad and I must have raised you to think certain inappropriate things are okay.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Simran scoffs.
How dare Meghna Auntie imply anything about the way her parents brought them up? Simran knew Meghna Auntie had dropped passive-aggressive comments before about how Mom’s busy career (and the nannies who were always around) had to impede her homemaking duties, but those seemed more sympathetic and understanding. Nothing like this.
“I’m not going to change anything with anyone because of her. That’s just ridiculous.”
“Beta, you don’t have much of a choice. She . . . she called me back to suggest that the wedding be called off.”
“Are you kidding me? She can’t say that.”
But despite Simran’s defiant tone, she’s scared shitless. Call off the wedding? It was never supposed to come close to that. This isn’t the way she wanted to start her relationship as a daughter-in-law to Meghna Auntie. Everyone’s supposed to be happy right now.
“Well, that’s what she said. And I’m not going to have my daughter paraded around as immoral or raised with questionable values. If she thinks we need to prove to her that you come from a good household, we’ll do it,” Mom says. Simran can tell that as much as Mom’s pissed off at her, she’s even more upset at Kunal’s mom for saying these things in the first place. She just has to be careful now that she’s at home with Dad. He’d want her to please Kunal’s family.
“Is that what you did?” Simran asks. “Accommodate whatever your mother-in-law wanted when you were marrying Dad?”
Mom sighs. “My situation was different. But yes, that is what I did.”
“How was your situation different?”
“That’s not relevant right now.”
“Every time I ask you some specific detail about your engagement, you say it isn’t relevant. It is relevant right now.”
“At this point, our concern is you. Your engagement.”
“So that means I can’t even ask my own mom about her life?”
“Look, beta, things are always hard at first. There’s this . . . loneliness . . . that comes with being a woman and starting something new where all these expectations are placed on you,” she reminds Simran, her voice softening as she dodges her question. “Whether it’s with a husband, mother-in-law, new job, anything. Just have patience, and it’ll eventually get better.”
Classic immigrant mentality: take pride in putting up with difficulty.
“You know Nani passed her stubborn streak to both of us,” she continues. “But even with that, when I was growing up, Nani told me to do anything I had to in order to be accepted. That’s just how things are. There’s no need to make things so difficult. Believe me, it’s only going to hurt you in the end.”
“Well, unlike what you suspect, I hate making you upset. Or worried. This is supposed to be a happy time,” Simran says.
When there’s no response, she adds, “Mom, I’m not like you. I’m not all dutiful or selfless or able to become someone different on a whim. I don’t know when to hold myself back, even if it’s the appropriate thing to do.”
In elementary school, when their family met a renowned Hindu priest who refused to speak to girls, Simran threw a fit (a screaming fit, to be exact) at the sexism. She couldn’t shut the hell up and let him be. The same thing happened again when she learned Hindu women aren’t supposed to enter a temple or kitchen when they’re menstruating because they’re considered impure. Now she still can’t do what she’s supposed to.
“I know you’d never intend to be hurtful, beta. And all of these other things, they’ll fall into place, with time,” Mom says. “Trust me, if Nani was here, she’d tell you I wasn’t always this way.”
“Actually, I was going to ask if you’ve heard from Nani. We spoke last week for a few minutes and she said that the pipes were being fixed. But I’ve called her twice this week and there was no response. Do you think she’s busy with the girls at school?”
“I’m not sure. She hasn’t called me back, either,” Mom says. “We need to confirm her flight information for your engagement party.”
“Do you think something’s wrong? I haven’t checked her Facebook page lately.”
Nani’s latest obsession (outside of Dr. Phil and any thriller with the word “girl” in the title) is social media. She shares inspirational quotes on her profile every day and is now attempting to use emojis. Unfortunately, she hasn’t figured out that the emoji is supposed to correlate with the message, so her latest upbeat, optimistic quotes have been accompanied with red angry faces.
Simran tells Mom to hold on while she checks Nani’s Facebook profile. Nothing posted for five days. The last time they didn’t hear from Nani was when she fell, broke a hip, and didn’t tell them for one month. They found out from her neighbor. Ever since Nana passed away, she has what Mom calls “pathological independence.”
“No, I’m, uh, sure everything’s okay,” Mom says. “At least, let’s hope it is. I’ll call her again today.”
* * *
— —
Kunal’s reaction isn’t any better.