Chapter 3 Simi
Three
Simi
Can you believe my stupid brother wants to serve pizza at the triplets’ birthday!” Preeti Gupta Johnson says.
Preeti is the closest thing to a fairy-tale princess I’ve ever met in real life.
It’s not just the fact that she has everything a person could ever want: grace, beauty, and a family that’s considered royalty in the community.
She also has that inherent diamond-cut strength that only characters in books seem to have, proved by the fact that she was the first Indian child in town to fall in love with and marry a white man.
That, too, with minimal drama, from what Prem tells me.
I’m surprised that her brother has chosen to argue with her.
“I don’t mean regular off-the-menu pizza. It can be the entertainment, something people can put together themselves. Something that celebrates the family business and the girls,” he tries to explain.
Food is Prem’s favorite topic, his zone of expertise. He grew up doing homework at his parents’ pizza place. He started doing deliveries at sixteen as soon as he had his license. He was managing the staff and the kitchens before he finished high school.
Prem is the only Gupta sibling who never went to college—despite getting into Ross, the business school at the University of Michigan (a tidbit Preeti loves to share).
He was about to leave for Ann Arbor when his father had a stroke.
Preeti was in college in California, and their oldest brother, Pawan, had just started his MBA at Duke.
There was no one else around to run the business that ran the family.
So, the youngest Gupta child had derailed his life plan without a second thought.
Prem insists he only ever wanted to work in his parents’ business anyway, so it was an easy decision.
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Dr. Johnson says recklessly. He once told me getting in the middle of the Gupta siblings meant you had to be prepared to either be ignored or steamrolled.
“What do you think, Simi?” Preeti asks, ignoring her husband. The look she throws Prem is loaded with meaning. “At this point you’re practically family.” Her gaze slides suggestively between Prem and me, and color kisses the tops of his cheeks.
I focus hard on Anya, Shanya, and Tanya. I guess Preeti and Dr. Johnson didn’t have the energy to come up with three names after their birth, so they came up with one and then resorted to rhyming. “I’m sure TASha will be thrilled no matter what you decide.”
Prem and I came up with that nickname for the trifecta of cuteness, and now everyone calls them that.
I roll a squishy ball to Tanya, who reaches for it with all the concentration her tiny existence is capable of.
Shanya has had her fill of tummy time and flips over and gurgles with satisfaction.
Anya ignores all the offerings laid out around her and makes her way to her uncle and starts chewing on his knee.
“That’s my girl. Look at those teeth.” Prem encourages her ambitious undertaking of fitting his rather large kneecap into her tiny mouth.
My heart does the thing it does when Prem is like this—his heart in his eyes as he gazes upon his niece as she uses him for a teething toy.
I’m destroyed by the purity of the feeling that fills my heart.
I usually avoid his gaze when we’re around Preeti and Dr. Johnson.
It must be the fact that we’re so close to telling them, but I slip up and let our gazes connect for one charged second.
An electric spark zaps down my chest into my belly.
Preeti clears her throat, and we both jump.
Preeti’s face goes into high alert. Prem picks up Anya with enough nonchalance that his sister has to know he’s hamming it. Anya screams in protest, then discovers her uncle’s shoulder and starts chewing on it with renewed fervor.
“Why can’t we just have regular pizza?” Dr. Johnson says. “It’s a first birthday, after all.”
Prem slides his brother-in-law an uh-oh look.
Preeti looks exasperated. “You married into an Indian family, John. We can’t serve pizza at a milestone party!
A first birthday party isn’t for the girls, it’s for the family.
We’re celebrating life and inviting our community to share in our joy.
I can hear my mom now: Do you want people to think you don’t care? ”
“Makes sense,” her husband says with a grin that says it makes absolutely no sense.
Preeti turns to her brother again. “We can only do pizza if it’s your family version.” Her loaded gaze pings from Prem to me again. “Has Simi tried your only-for-loved-ones pizzas yet?”
Indeed I have. Prem loves to experiment with Indian flavors in pizza.
Chicken tikka with cumin-infused feta. Saag with crumbled paneer.
He even kneads spices into the crust: garlic, chilies, fennel, and caraway seeds.
His family thinks it’s the most delicious thing ever, but I’m entirely nonexperimental with food.
I want Indian food to be Indian food, and I want pizza to taste like pizza.
Or I want it to taste like the pizza from the pizza place in Mumbai my sister used to take me to for the rarest special treat.
The memory makes an ache gather in my stomach.
Prem’s response takes a second too long.
He’s been really excited about making the announcement about us to his family, but he wants to tell the entire family together so no one feels left out.
The plan is to do it this weekend at his mom’s weekly Sunday lunch, when the family gathers to watch the latest Hindi film over aloo parathas and rajma rice.
Preeti has asked me to go several times to help with the girls. Fortunately, I work at the pediatric urgent care on Sundays, so I’ve been able to avoid it. Now the thought of my work life and personal life colliding brings on the usual panic.
I throw a glance at Dr. Johnson. He’s studying his phone. There must be an emergency. The room’s focus shifts to him. He throws the oddest look at me and stands. “I need to make a call.” He leaves the room, but that look stays with me like lingering discomfort.
“So,” Preeti says, attention back on Prem and me. Recently she’s obviously suspected her brother’s feelings for me, but she’s never pushed like this before. “Simi, have you tried my brother’s wildly delicious desi pizzas or not?”
I say no just as Prem says yes, and Preeti’s mood cartwheels from gentle teasing into rampant suspicion. A delighted gleam lights up her eyes.
Fortunately, Tanya is done with the squishy ball and is looking hopefully at me to provide further challenges. I pick her up and kiss her tummy, and she wraps her arms around my head and giggles. Preeti waits, the curiosity on her face showing no sign of fading.
“I only ever see Prem here at your place,” I say, setting Tanya on my lap. “I might have tried it when he made it for you.”
Prem looks like a deer in headlights. He’s realized that his sister has smelled blood and moved in for the kill. If Preeti finds out before his mother or his sister-in-law, he will never be able to live it down.
“It’s been a while since Prem made them for us,” Preeti says.
“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him much except when he’s here to help with the girls.
” She narrows her eyes, giving up on subtlety, and turns to Prem.
“And oddly, you only seem to come help when I already have help.” Just as her eyes do the slide between us again, Dr. Johnson comes back into the room.
“Can I have a word,” he says to me.
My heartbeat speeds up. Did he pick up on Preeti’s suspicions? Is he angry? I know dating within the office and hospital is an absolute no-no, but does Prem count?
“Is something wrong?” My voice wobbles as I follow him into the kitchen.
He gives me the most sympathetic of looks. “That depends.”
I press my hands into my cheeks. “Oh god.”
“Simi, calm down. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that we got some paperwork from the USCIS asking for information for your green card application.”
My rioting emotions sharpen. This is worse than any drama with Prem.
Much worse. The green card process for someone from India is so long and arduous that it’s felt like holding my breath ever since I applied two years ago.
I’m so close to the stage where all the major hoops are done. I cannot let anything go wrong.
“What kind of paperwork?”
“They need us to prove that we can’t find a US citizen to do the job.”
“We’ve been looking for more nursing staff for six months and can’t find anyone,” I say. “I didn’t know we were at that point in the process yet. I would have told you if I’d known. I would never blindside you.”
“You didn’t blindside me. But you know that I have to handle Karina with care.
She isn’t a fan of you nannying for us on the side.
She thinks there’s conflict of interest. She got to the paperwork before I could intercept it.
Don’t worry, I can handle her. I just wanted you to know.
You know I would do anything not to lose you. You’re like family.”
Dr. Karina Rai is a pain in my behind. To be fair, she’s a pain in everyone’s behind. She’s one of the partners at the practice and a close friend of the Guptas, so she’s a pain that isn’t going away anytime soon.
“Karina knows we can’t lose you.”
Karina knows no such thing. She’d be more than happy to lose me.
She hates the fact that I’m the girls’ nanny.
I don’t think it’s about conflict of interest with my work at the practice.
I have the oddest sense that she doesn’t like me being in the Gupta circle, as though I’m infiltrating some sort of hallowed space I’m unworthy of.
“Dr. Johnson,” I say. “I . . . I just want you to know that I’m very grateful to be able to take care of the girls, but . . .”
He studies me. “Go ahead and say it, Simi. Don’t be afraid.”
Easy for him to say. How can I not be terrified when my entire life hangs in the balance?