Chapter Twenty-Eight My Brand-New Grandmother
Nani rings the doorbell to Jason’s house at ten o’clock sharp the next morning. I didn’t expect her so early because she’s usually on Indian time. I also didn’t expect her to show up wearing a long caftan with pink peonies all over it.
I laugh when I see her. “Nice outfit, Nani,” I say. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wearing anything so bright. Even the saris and salwar kameezes she wears to the prayer hall tend to be in muted colors.
“Meera.” She smiles and then gives me a hug. “Look at you, baby! So tanned and healthy! Come, help me with my things. I was cooking all day yesterday.” She comes in dragging a medium-sized suitcase. There’s a box on the porch, and when I pick it up, I see that it’s full of food.
“What is all this?” I ask. “I thought we were going back to Toronto today?”
Mom comes down the stairs, an equally confused expression on her face. “Did you cook?” Mom asks. “I’m more than capable of cooking for my family now.”
“I know you are.” She pats Mom on the cheek. “I cooked for you for so long, I missed it. Okay, remind me where the kitchen is in this museum of a house. I’ll make us some tea so we can talk. Meera probably misses my masala chai.”
Mom actually rolls her eyes, and I laugh, because I assume that’s what I look like when I roll my eyes at her. And it’s true. I do miss my grandmother’s chai.
When the three of us are sitting at the dining table with steaming hot mugs of chai and a plate of Nani’s onion pakoras, my grandmother finally tells us why she brought a suitcase.
“We’re not leaving today,” she says, stirring her tea.
Mom frowns. “But you said you’d take Meera back to Toronto.”
Nani nods, grinning. “I know. I lied.”
I laugh. What exactly happened to my grandmother since I left Toronto?
My mother’s eyes are wide. “You lied?”
“You two aren’t talking to each other. I’m not taking anyone back with me to the city until you are.”
“We’re talking.” I turn to Mom. “Hi, Mom.” I turn back to Nani. “See?”
Nani shakes her head and levels me with a look. “You’re not really talking.”
Mom rolls her eyes again. “If you don’t want her—”
“Of course I want her,” Nani says. “But the women in this family need to have a long airing-out first. I have news for you, too.” She turns to Mom.
“Doesn’t that club of yours do a fancy afternoon tea in the summer?
I saw it on Instagram. Why don’t we treat ourselves and talk over cucumber sandwiches and tartlets? ”
Nani’s on Instagram? Since when?
“I’m not sure I can get reservations on short notice,” Mom says, looking like this conversation is giving her whiplash.
“Okay. If not today, then maybe tomorrow,” Nani says. “I’ll stay as long as I need to.”
Mom still seems suspicious, but she picks up her phone and calls the club.
“They have a cancelation. Does noon today work?” Mom asks.
Nani grins. “Perfect. I’ll have to get my hatbox out of the car.”
I really don’t feel like going to the club today, but Nani isn’t giving us much of a choice.
I’m curious, though. I have no idea why Nani is acting so strange.
Or what her news could be. I put on the plaid skirt I bought at the thrift store, along with a black ribbed T-shirt.
I know Mom would prefer for me to wear my older, lighter colors to the club, but I’ve been wearing the new clothes I bought since that day at Rabbles.
I feel like myself in them. The me I am now.
When we get to the club, we go through the banquet hall to the garden room, where they’re serving afternoon tea.
I tense when I walk in. This is the space where Noah and I had that long talk when I brought him as my date to Jason’s party, when he told me about his father’s history with Jason.
It seems like so long ago; a lot has happened since then.
After we’re shown to a white-tablecloth-covered table near the window, we each order the type of tea we want, and after the server leaves, Nani clears her throat.
“I have to tell you something.”
“Tell us, then.” Mom’s clearly growing impatient with my grandmother and her cryptic statements.
Nani takes a sip of ice water, then puts her crystal goblet down and dabs her mouth with her fabric napkin. She smiles at us. “I’ve left your father. Nanabapa. I’m getting a divorce.”
Mom and I freeze. My brain feels like the rainbow loading wheel on my old computer. What? I turn quickly to Mom. I mean, this is a shock to me, but they’re only my grandparents. These are Mom’s parents.
I’m about to tell her I’m sorry and put my hand on her arm, when Mom stops a nearby waiter. “Can you add a bottle of champagne to my tab?” She looks at me, who’s underage, and at Nani, who’s a pretty religious Muslim and doesn’t drink. “Make it the nonalcoholic one.”
The waiter nods. “Of course, Mrs. LeClair.”
Nani takes Mom’s hand in hers, smiling. I can’t read Mom’s expression, but her eyes are glassy and there are tears on her cheeks. I look between them, bewildered. “Why are we having champagne? Is this good news?” I ask.
Nani smiles at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy. “It’s very good news, sweetheart. Because now I can be the person I was always meant to be.”