The Rearranged Life (16 page)

It seems silly to wonder, but maybe I am the first… the first to ever call the system flawed, or to say,
I am putting what I want first.
The first to look at a green-eyed boy with white skin and think,
This is what I want.
Did my ancestors ever bank on that?

“Where does this leave me?” Said boy crashes through my train of thought.

“James, I don’t know,” I say in frustration. “Where do you want to be? If you want to walk away, I can’t blame you. If you want to stay, then this is something we have to face.”

“It drives me crazy that someone who doesn’t know you the way I’ve figured you out is going to be with you.” He runs his hands through his hair.

Until now, I didn’t acknowledge the intensity of my feelings toward James was reciprocated. I knew he was feeling a powerful connection with me. I didn’t need him to say it. I knew it by the way he looked at me the night of my first kiss. I knew from the way he put his arm out when we crossed the street to keep me from walking into traffic. I knew it because every cell in my body couldn’t be wrong. I didn’t want to believe it because if I did, I would never be able to say no. It was the same as the night he asked me out. When someone hands you an apple, the forbidden fruit, you always tell yourself you don’t want it to make it easier to do the right thing… but the truth is, everyone is tempted. This time, for once in my life, I gave into the temptation and here I am, having a say in whether we continue on or give up.

“We’ll figure it out.” I say, unhelpfully. “What can I do?”

“I need some space.”

The words hang in the air between us. A chill enters the room and makes the peach fuzz on my arms stand up.

“What the hell does that even mean? We sit next to each other in class and my best friend is dating yours. How exactly do you want to do that?” I don’t mean to snap. I don’t want to. But dealing with the unexpected has never been my forte.

“Jesus, Nithya, I don’t know!” He throws his arms out. “I just need some time to think this over.”

“You mean you want to think about whether you can be with me.”

Saying the words aloud is like stabbing myself in the heart. I can absolutely see where James is coming from. Who would want to be with someone who has no choice about what to do? Who wants to risk falling in love with someone if they might end up belonging to someone else? I cannot blame James for wanting to protect himself. I have no right to be upset, yet the tears sting my eyes because I want him to take a chance on me.

“I wasn’t expecting to be ambushed by this. I have to get my head around it.”

“Fine, James. Do what you want.” My impetuous, childish, inexperienced alter ago sulks.

“I just need time to figure this out.” Suddenly his tone is almost pleading.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Now I’m the one who’s begging.

“We’ll figure something out.” He rubs his hands over his eyes.

I fervently wish a crystal ball would appear, but there will be no resolution tonight. We are both bogged down with the weight our decision carries.

“Do you want to be with me?”
Did I really just blurt it out?

“Yes. Of course. I was expecting to be. I just don’t know if we can handle this. And we have to be honest with ourselves, it’s not ideal.”

“I agree.” The stress of the last few months can attest to that.

Every time my mom has called and I’ve omitted that I’m with James, my heart broke. I never want him or anyone else to believe he isn’t good enough to be seen with because it’s the furthest thing from the truth.

“Fair enough. Let’s just take some time to think about it. We can still talk and sit next to each other, but let’s take the focus off us for awhile, just in case…” He leaves the sentence unfinished, but the words that belong there,
in case we don’t work out,
are blatantly obvious. “I should go.”

“I guess you’re getting a head start on the space you wanted,” I murmur bitterly.

His silence is a plea to let it go. I open the door for him and offer to walk him downstairs, but he gives me a real James smile.

“I think I’ve got it figured out.” He reaches one arm out for a hug and with a drop in my stomach, I go into his arms, wrapping mine around his waist.

His lips press against my forehead, and he rests his cheek on my hairline. I look up, knowing the doubt shows in my eyes, and his lips are on mine. I respond hungrily, wrapping my arms around his neck. Our tongues explore each other’s mouths. We know we may not get this chance again, and we commit the taste of each other’s love and each other’s desperation to memory. He pulls away, kissing my cheeks, my forehead, and my lips once again before opening the door.

“I’ll see you later,” he says softly, his eyes giving away nothing.

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

The door closes behind him, and I slide down the cool wood and sit propped against it for God knows how long, wondering what I’m going to do and if I can give up this incredible boy.

t’s for the better.” Sejal says matter-of-factly come Thanksgiving. We lie sprawled out on the floor of my room in Philadelphia, waiting for Nishanth’s family to arrive. It’s been six days since I watched James leave me in that hallway.

“How can you say that?”

“Nithya, did you think it was going to work? I’m not being mean. For real. Did you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Look, I know you have your feelings hurt, but finals are coming up. Plus, Nishanth will be here, and he’s a really great guy from what you’ve told me. Focus on those things. Cut your losses.”

“It’s a big loss, Sejal. We were really good together.” Even to my own ears, I sound flat.

“I think you hoped you would be, but realistically, it’s just not in the cards. James isn’t vegetarian, he isn’t Hindu, he isn’t Telugu, or anything else your family needs. Is he going to understand that medical school needs to be your priority?”

“Do you notice every one of those questions pertains to everybody but me? Not one of them was, ‘Do you think you’ll be happy, Nithya?’” I snap, finally pushed to the edge.

“They all pertain to you. They’re all your priorities.” She is stubborn. Sejal knows exactly how to word her argument so she can make her opponent feel like the dumbass.

“They might be, but none of them considers what I want. Just what I’m supposed to do. There’s a difference,” I reply, exasperated that I sound like a child. I wish James’ logical reasoning would rub off on Sejal, even through me. All I’ve been doing is defending a relationship that might not work out anyway to someone who would never understand it.

“They’re the same thing.” Sejal proves my point.

“–Nithya, Indrani’s family is here!” Anisha opens my door, effectively ending our conversation. I can’t complain.

Thanksgiving break has flown by with family events, movie dates with old friends, and sleeping away the effort it has taken to get through this semester so far. My mind has blissfully been kept off the miserable Skype call, and this is the first I have been able to recount the events to Sejal, whose family (along with Nishanth’s) is over for Thanksgiving dinner. Nishanth’s family will spend a few days with us.

Nishanth and I lost communication about the time that James and I picked up. It wasn’t intentional; other things occupied my time. He seemed busy, too. We both texted occasionally to check in and see how the other was doing, but the barrage of messages back and forth had ceased until a few days ago when he had, out of the blue, decided to poke me.

Hey, stranger. I hear we’ll be living together for a couple days over Thanksgiving.

I suspected Amma was behind this. She and Madhu Aunty had reignited their friendship. Now, less than two or three days passed without a conversation between the two of them. I knew she would invite their family to spend some time with us, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon. I was caught off guard by his message, asking my mother about it over dinner.

“Madhu and I decided we should meet more often. After all, now that we are best friends again, it is important our children carry on our relationship too, right?” Her eyes sent messages of hope hidden under a veil of innocence.

I haven’t spoken to James since the exam.

“Give him his space over Thanksgiving break and tackle the issue when you get back!” Sophia said when I called her, panicked that I had ruined everything.

I took her advice. Sejal, on the other hand, clearly thought it was for the best, and that no communication should be resumed after the break or ever again. I stew over this as we go downstairs… and over how I will find strength to plaster a happy look on my face.

We rarely have big Thanksgiving dinners. Every few years, we have relatives over from California or Florida, but mostly, it’s been Mohini’s family and us each year. The American tradition is to have a huge meal and play football. Indians watch Bollywood movies, sing along with the high keening voices of backup singers, and eat tons of carb-loaded spicy food.

Within a few short hours, Madhu Aunty, Reena Aunty, and my mother are in hysterics over a cup of chai, while my dad, Aditya Uncle, and Anil Uncle chomp down on samosas, sweets, and spicy mixtures of nuts and crunchy batter pieces over an inevitable topic du jour, Indian politics. Nishanth, the others, and I lazily lounge at the feet of the sofas and listen to our parents speak Hindi, the only common language between our different home states. The language switch is so natural in my mind that it startles me sometimes when I realize my parents jump back and forth among Telugu, Hindi, and English.

We create an assembly line for dinner. The aunties slowly parcel out potato curry into the dough balls to turn into
aloo paratha
, a dish similar to a stuffed tortilla. Sejal cuts onions for a different curry while Indrani and Anisha tag team some vegetables for
sambar
. Nishanth and I dutifully roll out the dough for the parathas, entertained by how uneven and blob-like the shapes are.

“You really aren’t that domesticated, are you?” Nishanth teases.

“Hey, I’ll make a great wife, thank you very much,” I tell him as our moms look at each other and light up.

They already envision little Nithyas and little Nishanths running around our knees as we prepare dinner. I fall quiet when I think about that. Would James ever fit into this equation? Was Sejal right? Moments like these, where twelve people can sit in a house and work together on a meal, laughing and speaking different languages yet bonding over a similar culture… they’re rare. And they’re beautiful. I love the way the younger generation stands as soon as an adult walks into a room to offer them our seat, even if there are four others open in the same area. I love the way our parents all speak the same language though they grew up in different regions, and how they can speak different languages equally as well. I love when Madhu Aunty finally grows tired of Nishanth’s burnt parathas and takes over, my mother can mix Madhu Aunty’s curry the exact same way without missing a beat. I love the way the saris glint in the lights and how we’re all the same shade of brown. Would being with James ruin that? Probably. He wouldn’t feel comfortable and neither would I. Yet there is something special about him that lights the darkness, and I would still be willing to bring him into this chaos because he could handle it.