“So would I. And I know you’ve mentioned that I want someone like my mom—traditional, tolerant—but that’s just not true.”
“It is true,” she says. “You think that’s the way women are supposed to be.”
Kunal shakes his head. “No. I’m glad you aren’t like her. You’re vivacious and fun. You always make me relax and have a good time. Relationships—marriages—work because people decide they’ll work. It’s a matter of perspective and what you’re willing to put in.”
Maybe he has a point. Maybe some things haven’t really changed since their parents’ generation, and building a life with someone is a practical decision, a function of attitude, and not some fleeting rush of oxytocin.
Kunal lowers his shoulders and exhales. “You know what I realized the other day? You’re the only person in my life who really understands me.”
“What about your family? And med school friends?”
He scrunches his face, considering this. “They know me well enough, sure. But you’re the only one I can be myself around. With everyone else, there’s some distance, in one way or another. But you take me the way I am. You make things fun, for God’s sake. Sometimes I get scared of my own issues and then I get pissed and don’t know what to do. And everything with Neil freaked me out because I thought, What if this guy is better than me? Better for you and better in general?”
“We should talk about some things.” Simran moves to another cabinet to avoid looking at him.
Kunal leans against the cabinets as if he’s here all the time, when really, it’s Simran who always goes over to his family’s house.
“No,” he says, walking over to her. “I don’t care about all of the crap that’s happened so far. Neil, our fighting, whatever. You know that seven-year-itch theory? It says that when relationships reach seven years, they’ll hit this breaking point, where two people will realize they’re better off going their own separate ways, or they’ll stay together. If they stay, they can reach this new place that’s even better than what they had before.”
A wave of fondness passes over her as she processes Kunal’s words. He’s always believed in them in a manner that’s logical but still infused with hope. He may be an adult in so many ways—being the man of the house when his father works long hours, tutoring his classmates—but there’s a part of him that stays vulnerable with her.
They hold each other, anchored to her parents’ kitchen floor.
When she doesn’t say anything, Kunal whispers, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Simran pulls away from him, her heart rate quickening. “But there’s a lot I need to tell you about.”
He clutches both of her hands. “Like what?”
“Well, after we got into that fight at Wicked Willy’s, I we—”
“Simran, where are those snacks?” Mom walks into the kitchen. Kunal jumps away from Simran as though he was electrocuted.
Simran points to the bags. “I’ll bring them out now. Sorry, we were just talking.”
“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.” Mom darts from one corner of the kitchen to another. Simran helps her stack plates onto a tray. Mom’s breathing is heavier than before.
“Mom, are you okay?”
She nods. “Let’s get this food to everyone.”
Kunal smiles at her. “How’s work going?”
Poor Kunal. He’s just trying to make conversation and has no idea that speaking to Mom when she’s in this mode will only made her more frantic.
“Work is fine,” she says. “But I might leave for India after things for your wedding are wrapped up.”
Simran picks up the tray. “Why?”
“I want to check on Mami. Something is going on, but I need to see her myself to make sure everything’s okay. And we have so many SkyMiles. I should use them. I don’t know how I’ll get off work since I’m already taking so much time off for the wedding, but I’ll figure it out.
“If Mami would stop being so stubborn for five minutes, life would be easier for everyone. She knows it looks bad that she isn’t staying with family and is just living alone. In India, people stay with their families. That’s why nursing homes are such a foreign concept and are only now starting to be used. She would never agree to stay in one, but at least it would give her company. . . .”
Mom continues to ramble to herself. Simran watches her scanning the kitchen, making sure she didn’t forget anything.
“I’ll go,” Simran blurts.
“You’ll what?” she asks.
“I’ll go see Nani. I can leave after the engagement party. You stay. You’ll have to keep some guests here and wrap everything up. I can go.”
And with those words, she feels a stirring, a pull she can’t ignore. She has to get away from here for a little bit. Get some space to breathe. Escape.
“What?” Kunal asks at the same time Mom says, “What about school?”
Kunal looks at Simran with raised eyebrows, as if to repeat her question.
“I have some time off,” Simran says. “And I’m, um, just finishing up a project that can be done from anywhere. This won’t interfere with anything. I want to see Nani, too.”
“You would go to India?” Kunal asks. “Just like that?”
“Yeah. I would,” she says.
India, where nobody knows her except Nani. She pictures herself on a plane, flying away from all of this.
“How long would you stay there for?”
“I’m not really sure. I can use the trip to get some of my wedding shopping done,” she says, throwing in a final bargaining chip.
“Well, okay,” Mom says. “We should be planning your shopping soon anyway. If you’re sure it’s manageable with school and everything, we’ll book a ticket for you this weekend. Now come on, let’s go back and sit together.”
Mom walks ahead of them. Kunal and Simran sneak in a quick kiss, the type that somehow still makes her feel distant from him. She lets out a sigh of relief she didn’t realize she was holding. She’s getting away soon.
As Kunal weaves his fingers through hers, she realizes they didn’t discuss anything that was on her mind. They walk out of the kitchen, and she wonders why it was so much easier to be open with Neil than the man she’s going to marry.
Nandini
“Have you thought about what you’re doing to do?” Greg asks.