“He’s a lawyer. About to move to New York City. You can help him get adjusted, na?”
Karan raises his eyebrows and focuses on the ground.
Sheila grinds her teeth. Her voice says, “Sure,” while her eyes say, Fuck no. She adds in a low voice, “Nice to meet you. I’ll see you la—”
“Sheila, don’t be rude!” Anita Auntie exclaims, maintaining her smile. “You should at least offer to show Karan a good restaurant or something. How about on Monday night?”
“Mom, just don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Anita Auntie is the queen of knowing when to play dumb.
“Don’t arrange a date for us.”
“Why not?” Anita Auntie laughs. “Clearly you’re unable to do so yourself.”
“I can set up dates just fine, actually,” Sheila says. “Enough with all of this. You already made that profile for me on Shaadi .com behind my back.”
Sheila showed Simran the list of people Anita Auntie found, all Indian guys who described themselves as “tall, handsome, fair skinned, and well educated” (what else?).
“As if that wasn’t bad enough, you have the audacity to tell me there’s no pressure to find a guy. There’s always pressure with you!” Sheila says. “And how do you even know what’s best for me? We have different standards for marriage, because you and Dad never dated. Are your glorified arranged marriages even healthy?”
“Bas,” Anita Auntie says, holding up her hand. “I told you before that this weekend was a chance for you to meet someone. Look at Simran! She’s got her life together. And you! I asked your father what crime I committed to deserve such a stubborn dikri who refuses to settle down.”
Sheila and Simran have spent many afternoons analyzing Anita Auntie’s histrionic tendencies. Simran thinks she got them from loyally watching The Bold and the Beautiful and The Young and the Restless for the past two decades. Sheila thinks she does it for fun.
“Bapre, if I left everything up to you, then you’d ne—”
“I don’t want to meet ANYONE!” Sheila says. “I’m dating someone already!”
Simran looks around the room. Luckily, the chatter has prevented anyone from hearing the exchange.
“What did you just say?” Anita Auntie’s eyes widen, resembling a bull ready to go after a red waving flag. “You’re what? Who?!”
Sheila rolls her eyes. “I was going to tell you later this weekend. Can we not make a scene here?”
“Ha.” Anita Auntie grabs Sheila’s wrist and lets go of poor Karan, who runs away, likely heading for the nearest bar.
“We’re going outside. Right. Now,” Anita Auntie says, looking for Sheila’s dad.
Sheila and Simran make eye contact. Simran mouths a quick I’m so sorry. But it doesn’t matter. Sheila’s hands are shaking as she follows her parents outside.
Simran looks around the kitchen at all their guests, people who know what they’re doing and where they’re heading in life. In the kitchen, the aunties are dividing the mundane tasks of wiping the countertops, packing food into empty yogurt containers, washing dishes, and running the Swiffer across the floor. Are they content with where their lives went? Or did they just do what was expected of them—or worse, what was safe?
The house starts to close in. Simran takes deep breaths to stop herself from throwing up. The nearest exit is only a few steps away. She can be in her bedroom in twenty seconds if she runs.
“Simran!”
She turns around to see Mom in her gold sari, her hair in a chignon. “How do you feel?”
Simran smiles. “Great.”
Mom steps closer to her. “You know, I was just telling your brother that you might be the youngest in our house, but so many times, you are the strength. My Durga. Nani always told me that when a daughter grows up, she starts to truly become your friend. But when she is more like that, then it also means that it’s time for her to leave you.
“Everything’s finally settled. Ronak’s wedding. Yours. I never thought this time would come.”
The lines around her eyes soften. It’s strange to start seeing your parents as people.
“But I wouldn’t take any of it back. Look at how you turned out. I know that if anything ever happened to me, I wouldn’t have to worry,” she continues. “You’d take care of everyone.”
“I would,” Simran says.
Mom glances at the guests in their living room. “Did you invite Dr. Bond for this?”
“No, I mean, he wouldn’t be interested in attending something like this,” Simran says, the entire sentence coming out in one breath.
“Even if that’s true, you should extend the courtesy. It shows initiative. Remember what I’ve always told you. You may have been born in Livingston, but to everyone else, you’re always Indian, an outsider, and because of that, you’ll always have to work harder than the American next to you to establish your career.”
One of Mom’s favorite carpool stories was about how she would speak to patients’ family members during morning rounds. After night shifts, she wore scrubs and kept her hair in a ponytail. When she’d ask how they were doing, they’d sometimes say things like, “We’re happy now that the janitor is here to take out the trash!”
They pace toward the kitchen, passing guests who smile and say congratulations as if she has so much to be happy about. Kunal is in a conversation with his mom and Charu Foi.
There’s a gray-haired man standing by their refrigerator. He’s around six feet tall with broad shoulders, the kind of man who likely played football when he was younger. He’s gripping a plastic compartment plate with both hands. When he turns around, Simran notices his long face and sharp nose, which remind her of George Clooney.
“Simran, this is Dr. Dalton,” Mom says. “My attending from residency.”
“Oh wow . . . ,” she says. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Same here.”
“I, uh, didn’t think you’d be . . . here.” She gives Mom a questioning glance.
Mom ignores it.
Mom always told Simran about her senior attending at Hopkins, who let her moonlight in the emergency room to make extra money, challenged her to lead grand rounds presentations, and insisted she apply to be chief resident.
“Yes, well, I was in town, and once your mother told me about this, I knew I couldn’t miss it.” He gives Nandini a playful jab with his elbow, which she returns. Simran didn’t even know they were still in touch.