The Rearranged Life (15 page)

I challenge him too. There are no inhibitions with him, so I take my chances that he won’t like what I have to say when I argue with him about ethics or hot button issues on the news. And like anyone else, while I have moments of insecurity or doubt about my inexperience, I make no apologies for who I am. He says it’s his favorite thing about me and though I won’t admit it, it’s my favorite thing about me, too. And when you find someone who values the same things in yourself that you do, there’s a burst of happiness that’s hard to put out. We shine together and separately.

“You’re getting super close, and you’re going to hurt yourself,” Sejal, who knows now about James, says with the eye of a mother and the attitude of a friend. Her words are weighted–when she says I’ll hurt myself, she means I’m making a mistake. Sometimes it feels like concern masking a judgment about my choice. Her words have merit, but every time I pause to consider them, I’m forced to put it off by homework, Sophia, James, or myself. I don’t want to think about it and selfishly, I would much rather continue whatever it is, this clandestine affair, than end it due only to familial expectations. I am throwing caution to the wind, and I like it. Sophia is the other extreme, planning my wedding before we’ve decided to be exclusive, though in truth, it goes without saying.

My birthday is on a Monday this year, and twenty-two feels less special than twenty-one. For my twenty-first, Sophia called in a favor and had a VIP room set up for us at Indigo. Twenty-two seems like a forgotten year between the milestone twenty-first and quarter-century twenty-fifth. I figure it’s appropriate. I want a quiet night, so I have some girlfriends over for pizza and a movie. At midnight, there is a knock. James holds out a wrapped box as soon as I open the door.

“This is a pleasant surprise!” I let him in and ignore Sejal and Sophia poking their heads out of the kitchen.

“Happy birthday!” he exclaims with childish enthusiasm as he hands me the gift and comes in for a kiss. “Twenty-two has to start off right.”

Savannah’s audible
aww
resounds, and James goes to introduce himself. I open the box at the table while my friends do their interrogation bit. James will handle the heat just fine, so I barely pay attention. Instead, my eyes mist at the picture frame containing a photograph from the week before, one of the few football games I’ve been to. I barely remember who we played, and James had to explain every rule. We are flushed from being squished among twenty thousand other students, but his arms are around me, and we look thrilled. A book that I’ve wanted to read also rests in the lovingly wrapped box. The gift, simple and thoughtful, brings me peace but also a sense of urgency. I need to tell James about our customs, but the timing never seems right. Even as I get ready to speak to him, he makes Savannah laugh, and Aria stares at him, wishful thinking plain on her face. Maybe it can keep a little longer.

Amma Skypes me just before Thanksgiving break. James and I are studying, a common thing for the two of us. I’ve become accustomed to his presence around the kitchen table. Sometimes we study for chemistry together, and other times he focuses on law while I work on biology. I turn the computer away so there isn’t a sign of James in the shot, something I hate myself for doing but feels necessary.

“Nithya?” Her voice blares over my laptop speakers as her face comes into view on the screen. Skype is new technology for my mom, who is a technophobe, so her voice is ten decibels louder than it needs to be.

“Hi, Amma. You don’t have to yell, I’m right here.” I wince.

She apologizes but still sounds like she’s screaming from Philadelphia for me to hear her. I tell her I can’t talk too long, that I’m studying for our last round of exams this week before we are released for the weeklong break. She says she understands before asking if I’ve eaten.

And once I’ve answered in a rote positive, she asks, “Have you heard from any schools yet?”

“No, Amma. I told you last time we talked it’ll be at least January before I hear back.” I try to be patient, though I’ve explained the process what feels like a million times.

“I forgot. You don’t need to take that tone with me, kanna, I was just asking.”

“Sorry, Amma. I’m just tired.” What I really am is guilty for hanging out with James when I am talking to her. I give her the impression I’m a good girl, but I’m not. “How is everyone at home? Where are Nanna and Anisha?”

“Hi
Akka
.” I hear Anisha and then see her. She is behind my mother in the kitchen, wearing sweats and shoveling samosas in her mouth.

“Swallow before you talk to me, Anisha. That’s gross.”

James’ lips have curled up. I ignore him so my parents don’t know he’s in the room. Then I feel worse because I’m treating him like he’s something hidden away out of embarrassment.

“Whatever, you’ll be here in a week so you can see it all the time.” Anisha rolls her eyes. Typical.

“How’s school?” I ask her, trying to avoid an argument.

“Same old. I am going out to the soccer game tonight, but I’ll catch you later.”

“Nanna is still at work, Nithya. Oh–Anisha, be careful and make sure you take a snack with you, just in case–no, kanna, just do as I say.”

After a few minutes of listening to them argue, I tell them I have to study and to have this out on their own time. I don’t mean to be cranky, but balancing James and my family in the same moment stresses me out. It’s my fault, and I’m yet to figure out how to handle it.

“Oh–sorry, Nithya. Also! Very quickly before you go, I wanted to mention something. Neelam Atta called us yesterday. They have a boy in mind for you.”

The fight-or-flight response is a biological reaction to a threat. The hypothalamus activates the sympathetic nervous system and adrenal-cortical system and makes the body more alert, to either run or fight like hell for survival. Mine is in full gear right now. My skin becomes clammy, my blood rushes to my heart so I’m ready to run, and my breathing turns shallow.

“Not interested, Amma.” I wave my hand, trying for nonchalance while wondering if James has heard this. It’s impossible he hasn’t, but he’s still writing, the end of his pencil making circles in the air.

“No, Nithya, listen to me. You are twenty-two years old now. People are going to start asking about why you aren’t married.”

“Amma, until I turned twenty-two, everyone told me never to talk to a boy. Now you all are wondering why I’m not married already? Really? When did we make that jump?”

Nanna’s tactic of humor in lieu of tension is in full play. God, I hope she laughs and agrees.

“Don’t joke. We have to consider every boy. This is your future!” Clearly, she’s not in the mood to play games.

“It is my future, Amma, but I’m only twenty-two. I have things to do… and doesn’t Neelam Atta have something better to do with her time? She just got done with her own kid’s wedding.”

“Don’t talk like that about your aunt,” she says, defending her nemesis. “She has a point. If we wait too long, you’ll start considering other options. We can’t have you marrying whoever you want.”

And with that, my mother checkmates me. My mouth drops open. How on earth could she possibly know I’ve been seeing James? Did I slip up somehow? For a moment, I have the irrational thought that she has been in town and seen James and I holding hands or kissing at the ends of our dates. Indians run a secret spy network, fueled by gossip and funded by rumors. This is bad.
Calm down
,
Nithya. You can get through this.

“I’m not accusing you,” she continues, mistaking my gaping mouth for insult rather than shock. “You have to be careful nowadays. Once you fall in love, it is very difficult to fall out of it. It’s better for everyone if you begin considering our options now so there are no surprises.”

But it’s too late. The joke is on me. Amma has unknowingly countered my unpleasant surprise for them with a bombshell of her own. It may not have been a strategic move on her part, but the king on my chessboard is waving his white flag.

“I’m going to study, Amma,” I say, wearily. “Love you.”

It would be easy if James heard about my parents’ plans and lashed out, walking away for good. I would know I didn’t make the choice to leave. It may be a cowardly way out, but an easy one. On the flip side, if I didn’t get to explain, there would be no chance of getting past it… Although, who would actually be able to get past that kind of revelation?
Only one way to find out, Nithya.
I look over at the couch.

James is staring at me, his jaw in a straight line. It doesn’t take me more than a second to identify the look on his face: he’s angry.

“What the hell, Nithya?” His fury makes his voice shake, but he is deadly calm.
This isn’t about you
,
it’s about me,
I want to say.
But is it?

This is one of those moments where looking in the mirror doesn’t yield what you are looking for. Instead, all the occasions I could have and should have told James about the elephant in the room come to mind. I chose to stay silent. I have avoided the truth for this long, knowing there was a possibility I would lose him. I put it off for a reason, one that even now does not escape me: I was hoping it would go away. And bearing that my feelings for James were strong enough, I would find the strength to fight for us. I wanted to keep the rules away from him, to tackle the situation without involving him at all. In other words, I was being selfish.

“We need to talk about this, that’s all.” I’m surprised at how calm my voice sounds because my insides are doing the cha-cha.

“Oh, so now you want to talk?”

“What is
that
supposed to mean?” The insinuation that I’m a dishonest person gets under my skin.
Lies are lies even if they’re by omission
, I can hear Sophia tell me.

“Was this some kind of a fling?” His voice is rising now.

“Of course not!” I snap.

“So, what? You wanted to let me down easy? You just weren’t going to tell me? What were you thinking?” He stands.

“I was thinking the future isn’t set in stone.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure your mom just said it is.” He sounds so doubtful of everything I say, and the notion kills me.

“Look, James, this entire conversation, my mom, all of it… it isn’t the way I would have wanted to talk to you about this.” Too little, too late, it seems.

“You think? I’m beginning to wonder if you would have ever mentioned it!”

“I was going to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to lose you!”

He exhales loudly, before sitting back down, his hands balled up on his knees. If it’s the last time he’s here… well, I’ll have to get over it. I brought it on myself.

“You didn’t give me the chance to figure that out,” he says finally.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been putting it off because I was so happy… and I knew you’d want to walk if you heard.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something harsh, but closes it before taking another deep breath. When he speaks again, his voice is even. Amazing, because I still expect him to bite my head off. “So? What was that about, then?”

Where do I begin? Should I tell him this life has been planned out for me since I was born? Should I start by telling him my parents, and their parents, and their parents’ parents had the same setup? Do I tell him I can’t be with him? Can I handle him walking away? James expects honesty now, so I start at the beginning. I tell him about how arranged marriages aren’t as rigid as they used to be, but they filter out potential problems. How I never expected anything different. How I never expected him to come along and make me wonder if this is right for me.

When I explain that the system is mostly designed to find people with backgrounds similar to ours, he makes a sound of understanding before finishing easily with, “Someone who isn’t like me.” Much too easily. Like it doesn’t matter.

“So you’re going to end up with someone else.”

I can talk until I’m blue in the face and explain all the pros and cons of the arranged marriage system, but the closing argument is the same: I will end up with someone else if I choose to follow our traditions. And if I do not, I risk losing the only family I’ve ever known. His eyes are on me, burning holes through me, waiting for an answer I can’t give him. If I say yes, then I am admitting he isn’t worth a fight. If I say no, then it sounds like my family has no weight in any of my decisions.

“I don’t know. I’m supposed to. I’m not sure if I want to anymore.”

For the first time in my life, I have serious doubts about the way my family has approached this for thousands of generations. I picture my ancestors, in villages in India conducting rituals and begging for alms as ascetic Brahmins are supposed to. I see them relinquishing the material possessions and focusing on living a simple life, determined to lead by example. I envision them teaching the warriors of millennia hence to master their skills, without ever actually lifting a weapon in battle. For thousands of years, this system has been in place. Generations of my family who have long left this earth and perhaps never expected me to be here did what was right for their elders and followed the rules. Were any of them ever in love with someone else? Did they ever question their decisions?