Ch. 35 – Prem
“ W ho is she?” Prem’s mother demanded, her eyes narrowing. “This woman you’re seeing.”
“What’s her last name?” his father added. “Where’s her family from?”
“What did she study for her PhD?”
“ Where did she study for her PhD?”
The questions launched rapid fire over the restaurant table, and Prem had to stop himself from flinching on impact.
He held up his hands, took a breath, and delivered what he knew would be a devastating blow to the two people sitting across from him.
“She’s not Indian,” he began.
His mother’s face pinched in immediate disapproval. “What do you mean she’s—”
“And she doesn’t have a PhD,” Prem continued.
His mother actually gasped.
“She’s a receptionist,” Prem admitted. No sense in further scandalizing them by clarifying that Layla was his receptionist.
His mother opened and closed her mouth several times, like she’d spontaneously grown gills and could no longer breathe air.
“Receptionist?” she finally managed to sputter.
His father frowned in confusion. “Is this… what? Some kind of fling? A way to rebel, like your brother?”
“You can’t date a receptionist!” his amma proclaimed.
Prem’s laugh dripped with bitterness. What had he expected? Support? Acceptance? Parents who were happy that he’d found someone who lit up his world?
His phone buzzed with an incoming text.
“Excuse me,” he said curtly to his parents. “This might be related to the practice.”
Either way, it was a desperately needed breather. He turned from the table as his parents started a sharply whispered conversation, and unlocked his phone.
And there she was.
Layla.
His Layla, grinning at him from his phone’s screen. She wore a soaked wedding dress, its hem crusted with sand. The dress clung to her lithe frame, beads on her corset winking in the flash of the camera. Her hair was a mess. Her makeup was running.
She looked so fucking beautiful it took his breath away.
Successfully trashed the dress, she’d written along with a heart emoji. Prem smiled. So that’s what the little minx had been up to.
He understood. Saying goodbye to a dream. It meant there was no going back.
It meant she could now finally and fully be his.
Prem tapped a single heart emoji into the conversation box and sent it to Layla before locking his phone and turning back to his parents.
“Have you considered that this woman could be using you for your money,” his abba said, re-starting the conversation immediately.
“That’s exactly what happened to Vindar, Ariana’s son,” his amma agreed. “Remember him? He’s an engineer for Google, and he married his hairdresser. They got divorced after three years, and that hairdresser took half of everything. Half!”
“I don’t have any money,” Prem reminded her. “Actually, I have negative money counting the loan.”
“But you will someday,” his mother insisted. She shook her head imperiously. “You cannot continue dating this girl…this, receptionist. ”
Very slowly, very carefully, Prem placed his fork on the table. He pulled the napkin from his lap and dropped it next to his barely touched dish.
“Her name is Layla,” he told them. “She’s kind. She’s beautiful inside and out. She makes me stupidly, deliriously happy. And I think I love her.”
His heart skipped a beat in his chest. Had he actually said those words out loud?
Yes, a voice whispered inside of him. I do love Layla.
“Absolutely not!” his mother snapped, her voice rising. “I will not approve of this relationship.”
“I. Don’t. Care.” Prem enunciated each word.
“What?” his amma gasped. “Prem Dhawan!”
Prem rose from the table. For the first time in his life, the potent mixture of fear, deference, and obligation he’d always felt toward his parents vanished. In its place rose a quiet confidence, a surety that his life was his to define and pursue.
At age 30, Prem Dhawan finally didn’t give a flying fuck what his parents thought of him.
When he spoke, his voice was cold and clipped. “I wish you could be happy for me. I wish you could meet Layla and see how wonderful she is. But I don’t need your approval. Not anymore.”
God, why hadn’t he tried standing up to his parents years ago? It felt so damn good.
“You’d better think about what you’re saying,” his abba warned. “Or there will be consequences.”
“Consequences? Like what?” Prem scoffed. “Are you going to kick me out of the family? Pretend I don’t exist, like Jai?”
People at nearby tables were beginning to turn and stare. Rajesh, the waiter, stood uncertainly a few feet away, the newly prepared green curry in his hands.
Prem put his hands on the table and leaned forward toward his parents. “Well, let me tell you something, Jai is living a great life. It doesn’t look anything like what you would consider successful, but he’s happier than I ever was before I met Layla.”
His parents stared at him, shell-shocked. Even his mother couldn’t muster any words of reproach. And in that moment, Prem’s anger died away. He actually felt sorry for his parents, sorry they were so trapped by their assumptions and expectations. Sorry they would never have a relationship with him that was anything like the friendship Layla shared with her mother.
“I’m your son. I’m in love,” he told them. “I hope one day you’ll be happy for me.”
He turned and left the restaurant with his head held high.