The Rearranged Life (37 page)

hose three words change everything. They take us to a point of no return. It’s not about being my first ‘I love you’ to a boy, no matter how remarkable that milestone feels. It’s about the depth of the feeling they evoke, and where it can take us.

“I don’t say I love a girl just because. It’s something I really have to feel,” James had told me on one of our dates. “Because it means I can see something more with her.”

I am the exact same way. Sophia said those words to Luca one month in–she had dated others for far longer and never felt so comfortable. But like she always says, “When you know, you know.”

With that knowledge comes fighting for James, a process that has to be gentle. My parents have handled their own blow. The future they had in mind, nights of laughing and speaking in Telugu, or having brown grandchildren might not happen… and I have to let them mourn that, before they come around and realize the possibilities that lie in this relationship with the St. Clairs. And James’ family has their own concerns, as I rediscover when I come down for coffee.

“Good morning, Nithya,” Mrs. St. Clair says cheerfully when I come to the kitchen. “James is showering, I think, but help yourself to breakfast. You have a long ride ahead.”

“Thank you!” I go to the coffeemaker to pour myself a cup.

“Did you sleep well last night?”

“I did. That bed is really comfortable,” I tell her, not adding James left me before sunrise. We had cuddled all night, my head resting on his chest as we slept.

“Mr. St. Clair says so too, when he gets in trouble.” She raises her eyebrows in fun. I chuckle before taking a sip of my java.

“Thank you for having me this weekend. It’s been wonderful getting to know you all.”

“It’s been so nice getting to know you too. James hasn’t brought a girl by yet, but he’s talked about you a lot in the last few months. You mean a great deal to him.”

“I feel the same way,” I tell her.

“It must be a struggle to face your family when we are so different,” she says, and there is no doubt in my mind she knows I heard their conversation last night.

“It is. I won’t lie to you.”
Honesty is the best policy.
“But I think James is worth it.”

“I hope so, Nithya. Honey, don’t get me wrong, because I like you better than most of James’ friends I’ve met,” she says hesitantly. “But as a mom…”

“You worry,” I finish her sentence for her, and she nods.

“Can you handle this?” Her eyes hold mine. “It’s going to be a lot of pressure. You come from a very different culture, and I know you respect your family.”

“I’m going to try, Mrs. St. Clair. The last thing I want is to hurt your son,” I say with conviction. “I’m going to do my best to give him what he deserves.”

She smiles at me, but I know her approval comes with reservation. It’s something I will have to face. James and I are in for a long road ahead. At first, it seems daunting to face four parents who have differing opinions on our relationship, plus three siblings who are all over the place as well. But then, strength radiates from inside of me. James
is
worth it. And while he spends his time proving to my parents he is right for me, I need to put in the same effort with his.

“Call me when you get home, James, and let me know you arrived safely,” his mom requests as we all walk to the car. She gives us both big hugs.

“Will do,” he replies, before giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Mr. St. Clair gives him a quick hug and a handshake. I catch a glimpse of some cash in James’ hand as he pulls away and tenderly think of my parents and the number of times I’ve found twenties hidden in my bag that weren’t there before I went home.

“Nithya, come back real soon, okay?” Tristan gives me a big hug.

“You’ll be at graduation, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“We may have to get in a little trouble then,” I tell him, and his eyes light up.

Max gives me a hug too, followed by Mr. St. Clair with a handshake. They both tell me how great it was to meet me.

“Call me if you need anything,” Max tells me quietly, “even if it’s just advice about school or something.” His kindness is staggering, and I give him one more hug before climbing into the passenger seat.

As we pull out, our arms waving out of the windows, the family’s reflection shines in the side mirror. The kindness they have shown me means I need to think of them as we move forward as well. It’s not just my family this situation affects; it’s James’, too.

“You know, Nithya, I’m a little surprised at how well you’ve handled this,” Sophia observes when we go out shopping.

“Why’s that?” I ask, holding up a crisp white shirt. I’ve been invited to interview for a research position in New York, one of the three I’ve applied to.

“It’s too boring.” She curls her lip at the shirt before continuing. “A year ago, you would be
freaking out
before finals, making note cards, creating schedules… And we’re three weeks from it now, and from graduation, the biggest change in our lives. And here you are, calmly shopping and not letting your family or James get to you at all. You’ve changed.”

“I guess I have.” I hand her a pink blouse to try on. “I just realized how little control I have over everything. Sometimes you just have to roll with it, I guess.”

“I never thought I’d see the day where you’d be saying that.” She laughs.

And the truth is, neither did I.

I took a philosophy class freshman year where I had to read
The Education of Henry Adams
. He wrote, “Chaos was the law of nature; order was the dream of man.” My dreams have always been a bit more formulaic than most. My path, a linear one, set me up for success, but it was always predictable. I liked it that way. With James came choices, which I equated with chaos and a lack of control. It has begun to dawn on me recently during my early morning runs that control doesn’t mean ease. It doesn’t mean right. Control can be stifling. Before James, I never would have seen the options in front of me to date someone else, to pursue another dream, or to stop and feel things before moving on. But now, I can’t see anything else.

Anisha’s birthday rolls around at the end of April. Krishna Mavayya and Neelam Atta come to the house to celebrate with a family dinner, which means I have to go home, a fact I decide to face bravely.

“Nithya! Have you heard back from medical schools?” Krishna Mavayya asks over dinner.

There’s a trace of curiosity on my dad’s face as he lets me handle the question, and Amma’s back stiffens slightly. We haven’t told anyone my plans perforce changed, a request I made when I was home last time. While I can try and move on, and my parents have full faith that I will land on my feet, family members can be relentless in their questions and assumptions.

“Krishna, no talk of school during dinner–” Amma comes to my rescue, thinking I’ll break down, but I have this handled.

“I’m taking next year off. I have some research interviews, and I’m going to work before sending in my applications.”

“Good for you. Work experience is never a bad thing.” He thankfully changes topics and misses Amma’s small sigh of relief.

“But didn’t you apply throughout the fall? Did you not get in?” Neelam Atta pushes where it hurts.

“Neelam, are you not listening? She said she’s going to work.”

“I heard her. She also said she was applying so I wondered what happened,” Neelam Atta answers.

“Things change, Atta. Sometimes you realize you have to grow up,” I tell her patiently. It’s hiding the truth, but it’s not a lie. I’ve slowly come around to rebuilding my life, and I’ve realized I do have a lot of room to grow before I handle other people’s lives.

“But why didn’t you–” Neelam Atta starts before Amma cuts her off.

“Nithya, we wanted to get some birthday ice cream and forgot. Why don’t you and Nanna go get some?” Amma gives me a protective smile. Playing for the same team never felt so good.

Nanna and I drive to the local Wegman’s. The next time I’ll be in Philadelphia, I’ll be a college graduate. The last year has been so tumultuous and so blissful, all at the same time.

When we arrive at Wegman’s, I turn off the ignition and grab my bag. My dad wordlessly hands it to me, pulling it from near his feet where he knows I always put it. When I look at his face, he’s observing me with interest.

“What’re you looking at, Nanna?”

“You,” he says, simply. In English, not Telugu. I don’t know what to say.

“What do you see?”

“An adult,” he replies. “A very smart adult.”

I’m grateful. I once heard Sejal’s parents tell her, “We are the parents, and you are the child. We talk and you listen.” The parental hierarchy was something I was used to, but my father’s words mark the transformation into equals. The shift in language also signifies a change, but I’m not sure to what.

“It’s funny. When I’m making my own choices, I feel like a grownup. When I make anyone sad, I feel like a kid. Guilty.”

He smiles at me before changing the subject abruptly.

“Did you know Krishna Mavayya and Neelam Atta had a love marriage?”

“What.” It’s a statement, not a question. “How did I not know that?” Then, “Amma always said they were married after college!”

“They were. After they created a
hungama
that no one in Amma’s family saw coming.” Nanna says with a sheepish raise of his eyebrows, throwing in the universal Indian word for chaos.

“Wow.” My jaw drops. History feels like it’s being rewritten. “What happened?”

“Krishna Mavayya met Neelam Atta in college. She was not from our state. Her family settled in Vijayawada, but they are originally from Maharashtra, like Sejal. They spoke Marathi at home. Neelam Atta ate fish, something your Amma’s family wouldn’t accept. I have a feeling they even lived together.”

I gasp. Dating an outsider can be acceptable, but living together before marriage is still taboo.

“Krishna Mavayya was a badass,” I tell my dad now, and he chuckles, comfortably reminiscing. We’re still in the car, facing each other in our seats.

“He didn’t tell your
Ammama
or
Tattaya
. Or even Amma. He went on his merry way for over a year.”

There’s some question whether I’m being compared to someone who pushed the boundaries even further than I did. But I have to know what happened, so I ask.

“Your Amma and I were going to leave for America one week after we got married. Krishna Mavayya came back from school for our wedding. A family friend of ours had asked about Krishna’s status, to see if they could marry their daughter to him. Your Ammama and Tattaya were certain this marriage would be fixed too. They went as far as to say yes to a meeting.”

“Like you and Amma had?”

“Exactly. Krishna then dropped the bomb, so to speak. He told everyone at the meeting–your grandparents, your mom, the prospective family, me, that he would only marry Neelam.”

“That’s intense!”

“And an understatement. I was only in the family for three days, and this was my induction!” he exclaims, and I giggle.

“How were Ammama and Tattaya with the news?”

“They told him on no uncertain terms he would not marry Neelam. Your grandmother said she wouldn’t cross the threshold of the house with a bride so different from our family. Neelam’s family was not happy either. They wanted her to marry someone similar to their own family too. The differences were not easy. Amma’s sendoff to the United States was very uncertain and she left during a very tumultuous time.”

“But they were married anyway,” I say, thinking of Mohini and what a wonderful child came from such an inauspicious start to a family.

“They eloped.”

“They
what?
”

“They got married in secret. When they arrived at the house, your grandfather couldn’t even look Krishna in the eye. They had been humiliated by his announcement and the public scrutiny that came after. To save face, both families threw a big wedding. Amma couldn’t go because we were in graduate school. She was so upset, it was probably for the best.”

“They’re at our house now. It couldn’t be so bad,” I rationalize, not wanting to picture my family being torn apart.