Pratik Uncle smiles. “I’m just sorry we didn’t do anything like this earlier. Not that I can count on Kunal to be on top of these types of things.”
Kunal offers a nervous laugh and keeps his back straight. Simran wants to give him a hug, assure him that he hasn’t done anything wrong. Kunal’s dad has always had a way of bringing him down. While her mother’s words have a similar way of stabbing, she and Simran share a friendship that Kunal and his dad lack.
“Well, if these are the plans, then we’d better get started,” Mom says, staring at her feet, the color draining from her face. “Let me get you all something proper to eat.”
“Also, we have a list of some of the Hindu traditions that our family has in every puja. I’m sure you and Meghna can go through those together and decide which ones are most appropriate,” Pratik Uncle says.
While Dad and Pratik Uncle talk, Simran stretches toward Mom. “What about the thing you wanted to talk to us about?”
She puts her hand on Simran’s wrist. “It was nothing.”
“Really? It seemed like something.”
“There are more important things happening now,” Mom mutters. “There are always more important things.”
“Ranjit, Pratik Bhai.” She clears her throat. “About those traditions for the engagement puja, of course, we’ll want to respect the wishes of our families. But I think it would be right for Simran to decide what she is or isn’t comfortable with. I’m sure Meghna Ben would agree with me that it’s not fun to be a bride and have no choice in anything, right? It certainly wasn’t fun for us.”
“Nandini, we can finalize those little details later,” Dad says.
Translation: Let’s not sound too forceful in front of them. They’re still the in-laws, the ones we have to look good in front of.
“Yes, of course,” Mom says, her voice polite but firm. “I just wanted to say that while the kids are here.”
Simran always expected her mother to micromanage every detail of the wedding, making it more about her as Simran’s part became smaller and smaller, like a house you drive away from but still watch in the rearview mirror.
But now, for the first time, Simran sees another side of the woman her mother is, two versions sitting side by side. She’s the woman who encourages Simran to call her future mother-in-law three times a week. She’s also the woman who pushes Simran to have a career, something of her own. The woman who visits Dad’s family every evening but also refused to quit her job, even when it may have been the easier thing to do.
Maybe her mother is also in a constant battle. Simran wonders how many times Mom was trying to protect her and she misunderstood. She wonders if men always held her back, in one way or another, and if her choices simply came down to what was best for Ronak and Simran instead of what would have fulfilled her.
Simran stands up and races to the kitchen. She needs to get out of here. “Mom, I’ll get the snacks. You stay here.”
“I’ll help you,” Kunal says as he stands up.
“No, it’s okay,” Simran says, rushing ahead of him. Before he catches up with her, she yells, “I just have to get something from my room!” and leaves him in the kitchen.
Simran runs up the staircase. Her heartbeat quickens. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
She slams her room door, sits down on her bed, with its white canopy and lavender sheets, and puts her head between her knees. There’s a stack of Baby-Sitters Club books at the foot of her bed. She remembers how those books made her want her own group of cool female friends. She was even inspired to start her own babysitting club. Okay, fine, it ended up being a club comprised of only her, but still. She studies her walls and examines the posters of boy bands and chubby babies that have been there since elementary school.
Maybe her life has always been like this bedroom: unchanged in the hopes of preservation but now just out of place. She’s had the same best friend and boyfriend for years. She’s always been near New York City, to the point where saying “the city” couldn’t mean any other city. What would it be like to blow up her life, start over?
She reaches for her cell phone and scrolls toward Neil’s contact information.
“Hello?” His voice is lower than usual.
“Hey. I’m sorry, did I bother you at work?”
“It’s fine. Give me a second to step out.”
Her throat tightens as she hears his background change from a murmur of conversation to silence. She pictures him in a conference room with a long mahogany table and gaping windows that overlook a Tetris-like Manhattan. A grand space for grand people with grand ideas.
“I’m sorry,” Simran says again. “I thought we should talk.”
Neil clears his throat. “Yeah, I didn’t really know what to do after that.”
“I didn’t, either.”
“And it’s been a while since we talked,” he says. “So I figured you didn’t want to be in touch.”
It’s been weeks since we kissed, Simran thinks. I’ve kept track of every day that’s gone by since then.
“I shouldn’t have let that happen,” she says. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I know that’s the cliché people use when they do something fucked up, but it’s true. I’ve never done anything like that before. And I’m sorry.”
“Does your fiancé know about what happened?” Neil asks.
Your fiancé. The words seem to come out in slow motion.
“I was going to tell him today and talk to him about taking a break, but then some other things came up that I wasn’t expecting.”
“So, then, no, right? He doesn’t know?”
“No, he doesn’t.” Simran grabs a throw pillow from her bed and wraps her arms around it. “I’m sorry for everything. I’ve never met anyone like you, and I didn’t think it was possible to have such an instant connection with anyone. And now, things are complicated. I thought I could cut everything off with you, but I can’t.”
“You don’t get to have it both ways, Simran,” Neil says, his voice becoming quiet.
“I know I don’t.”
She hears him walking back and forth. She bets he’s wearing shiny designer loafers. “You need to figure out what you want. With this situation and with all the other shit in your life. You claim you want to do certain things, but then you just end up doing what everyone expects you to do.”
“You’re right. And I wish it were simple to just do that,” Simran says.