The Rearranged Life (18 page)

Pros for James are his intelligence and the way he can instantly get me to stop overanalyzing. I love that he asks me questions about medicine over dinner. “Have you heard about the new gene screening for Alzheimer’s? What do you think about blood tests being used to screen for Down’s syndrome?” The questions make me pay more attention to what happens in my field so we can have discussions about them. I love that he pays attention to law and that I catch him reading up on the newest corporate developments. I like that he challenges me and that we don’t see eye to eye all the time. I love that when I’m about to jump three steps ahead and panic about a problem that hasn’t materialized yet, he cracks a joke or makes a comment that stops me in my tracks and lets me breathe.

Cons aren’t something you can forget,
I remind myself. He’s not Indian. He doesn’t understand what I mean when I try to explain
garbas
. He doesn’t understand that being Indian isn’t just a place of birth. It factors into everything about my life.

And Nishanth… well, that’s his strength. Our parents talk about the Mahabharata and Ramayana, and he chimes right in about how the Ramayana is an example of perfection whereas the Mahabharata is about contingencies. Those aren’t things James understands. And on paper, Nishanth is perfect for me: educated, smart, funny, and nice.

So that’s it, then.
My stomach sinks a little.
Nishanth is the better option. Forget James.

But wait, what’s Nishanth’s con? You have to be fair,
I argue with myself.

That’s easy. He’s not James.

“Is this seat taken?” Nishanth’s voice is a gunshot in the night. I jump so high, I am lucky my chocolate milk hasn’t ended up on my lap. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Your dad said I could work on a paper in his office. I heard someone come downstairs, so I thought I’d say hi.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.” My outstretched legs fold to make room. “Here, sit down.”

“Thanks,” he says before observing, “you look deep in thought.”

“Just this and that.”

“The American guy?”

I say nothing, but don’t meet his eye.

“The silence says it all. Do you want to talk?”

“I don’t know what to say. I feel like an idiot.”

“You’ll never be an idiot,” he smiles lightly. “Everyone faces this at some point.”

“Did you?” I ask nosily.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” I thought it was just me. The feeling of betrayal is something I beat myself up over. It doesn’t sink in until now how isolated this situation has made me feel. I even considered calling Karishma and asking her how she chose, but we have never been that close. “What made you decide it was worth it?” To know Nishanth has faced similar choices warms me inside, as if encountering an ally during a difficult fight. “What did you do?”

“Are you asking because you want me to tell you what to do? Or because you’re curious?” He correctly assumes I want someone who has been there to give me an answer.

But then, I’m filled with an urge to know about him. As he sits in front of me, legs stretched out next to me in plaid pajamas, I want to know what makes him tick.

“I want to know you,” I finally say, feeling bold.

“I dated an American girl for about a year in college. Her name was Anna.”

“Anna…” What was she like?

“She was really…” He continues like he can read my thoughts. “Unexpected. Blonde, blue-eyed, and from a blue-collar family. We were in the same group for a project. The first time I met her, she was so shy, I had no idea what her voice sounded like.” He reminisces wistfully, and I am jealous of the soft sheen to his eyes. “We had to meet one night to exchange materials, and she told me she loved what I’d written. I still don’t know how, but we ended up in this coffee shop for three hours.”

“And you dated after?”

“I asked her out at the end of the night. I don’t think I realized I did it until I got back to my room, but there was just something so sweet about her, I couldn’t get over it. We were a couple from our first date on.”

“So what happened?” I ask, wondering how they could have broken up when even now, Nishanth still has an adoring look on his face.

“The first few months were great. We hung out all the time. She was so nice, always baking cookies and bringing over sweet treats for my roommates and me. They loved her, too. But after the honeymoon phase, our differences started coming out.”

“Like what?”

“We had this Diwali show that a bunch of friends and I danced in. It was a
raas
performance with
dandiyas
and stuff,” he tells me, and I instantly picture couples dancing with sticks, emulating Lord Krishna and his devotees. “She came to the show, which was really nice of her… and at the end, she said ‘Well, that was different.’ She didn’t mean it offensively. It was unique compared to what she grew up with. But then, everything became ‘that’s different’. We would go for Indian food, and she would mean it nicely, but she’d say it was different. Then she’d tell me something about the farm she grew up on, and I’d end up saying it was different. Once we really became a part of each other’s lives, everything became different, different, different. After awhile, I began wishing she was Indian just so we’d have more of the same.”

It’s the most he’s ever confided in me. And I can relate to every word. To explain traditions at a wedding to Anisha is exhausting enough, and she knows the terminology and language. I have tried to elaborate on things like poojas to James, but I struggle to translate the words, to explain the depth of a ritual. Nishanth and I understand our culture in a way James will never be able to.

“It becomes hard to describe some things.”

“Exactly! It’s not her fault she didn’t know, but it was tiring. Every time I said I was going home for a holiday, eating a particular food, watching a Bollywood movie, there would be an explanation necessary. Eventually, it got to the point where I just wanted to hear, ‘Oh, I love Shah Rukh Khan movies, I’ll come over and watch!’ instead of ‘Wait, who is that?’”

“That’s the toughest part. It’s not their fault. It’s this weird club other people don’t have a membership in. And we have a membership in theirs because we grew up here.”

“It couldn’t have been easy for her,” he admits. “She tried so hard. It just became too much by the end.”

“Do you regret breaking up?”

“It was hard, I can’t lie. But, no. It opened my eyes to what my parents had been saying all along, that sometimes the differences will catch up to you.”

“Did you love her?”

“Does it matter?” His response tells me he did.

“So you’ve decided on an Indian? For sure?”

“I hope so. You never know where life will take you, but…”

“Nishanth, about your comment at Macy’s…” This is an opportune moment.

“Nithya, you don’t have to say anything right now. I get where you are, and it’s not an easy place to be.” He takes hold of my hand. His thumb traces lines between my knuckles. “But I would love a chance with you. It would be easy with me. We could be a part of both clubs together. You don’t have to choose one over the other with me.”

His earnestness makes me want to say yes. His eyes look so innocent, and he holds my hands with such softness, like he would never think of breaking my heart. The way my heart pounds gives away that his feelings aren’t one-sided.

“I want to,” I say, finally. “So much. But I can’t right now. Until this situation is resolved, it’s not fair to anyone.”

“I understand.” He pulls back. “I should probably get to bed.”

He folds the blanket onto the bench and walks away.

“Wait, Nishanth!” I rise. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I do like you. A lot.”

“Deep down, you know you should be with me, Nithya. But you’re going to have to make your own mistakes. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

adhu, call us when you get home!” Mom shouts to the departing car as our family waves goodbye to Nishanth’s from our doorstep.

This morning at breakfast, Nishanth was the epitome of polite indifference. “Can you pass me the cereal?” was the first thing he addressed directly to me, and I jumped.

“Here.” I handed it to him.

“Wow, is it chilly in here, or is just the two of them?” Anisha muttered to Indrani.

“Shut up, Anisha.”

“We’re good, Anisha. We just had an interesting conversation yesterday, which we didn’t see eye to eye on.” Nishanth said with a smile.

He was sweet for the rest of the morning, seemingly bent on keeping up appearances. I chose to go along with it, but neither of us was quite up to the pretense.

Nishanth would be an ideal match. He is smart, handsome, comes from a great family–all the things James is, except one: my heart doesn’t want to shout his name from every rooftop. Until I talk to James, though, there is no way to know if his still screams mine. When school restarts two days later, there is no alternative. I need to speak with him to know how to proceed with my life–to move on,
if
I can move on, or to give this a shot.

I’m twenty minutes early for our first chemistry class. Unexpectedly, so is he.

“How was your break?” he asks when I sit down.

“Good. Nishanth’s family came for Thanksgiving. We went shopping and stuff.” I omit everything else. One more complication is the last thing we need. “How was yours?”

“Uneventful. We went to New York City and saw my grandparents.”

“That must have been nice. It’s hard to come back from breaks with your family.”

“It is. Especially since I have an exam this week.”

“What? Who schedules an exam after a week away?”

“I know, that’s what I said.” He doesn’t meet my eye.

It’s not tense… but it isn’t familiar. This entire dynamic between us has shifted. We stay silent for the rest of class.

“Do you want to study this week?” A cool blast of air hits us as we leave the building.

“Sure.” He doesn’t mention having a conversation about where we’re going. We split up without saying bye.

He appears at my apartment exactly at seven on Thursday, and I’ve been ready for ten minutes before that. I rearrange pillows on the couch and fluff the cushions. I’ve been restless the entire day. Just in case, I put a little effort into how I look: a lot of mascara, perfume behind my ears so he’ll smell me if he gives me a hug or leans close, a shirt and jeans that are comfortable, but a little enticing. When he enters the apartment, I ask how his exam went.

“I probably should have studied more, but I got a 92.”

“Hi James!” Sophia pokes her head out of her room.

“Hey, Soph,” James replies warmly, “how are you doing?”

“I’m doing well! I’m just about to head out with your roommate, actually.”

“Well, you two have fun. Don’t get too crazy out there.” James gives her a grin.

“Oh, you know us.” A careless wave of her hand shows she does, in fact, intend on getting crazy with Luca.

The camaraderie between the two of them makes me sad. It’s like being the third wheel on a date. I’m on the outside of my own circle, and it’s a lonely place to be. Sophia sees the look on my face, and immediately knows something is wrong.

James waves as she leaves. Just before the door closes, and only I can see the sliver of her face, Sophia mouths,
Good luck.
At this rate, I need an intervention from God, not just luck.