4. Sona
SONA
I inspected myself in the full-length mirror in Tara’s lavish guest room. The sparkling champagne gown she had chosen for me to wear to the party that evening had a sweetheart neckline and a tapered waist. The slight off-the-shoulder design worked to successfully amplify my breasts. My happy eyes landed on Tara, towering over me.
My nose scrunched up into a smile. “I love it. Thank you. How much do I owe you for this?”
“Are you kidding? I just said you’re my sister. I did what I would’ve done for her. And Sameer is paying for it all, so don’t worry. You know he’s loaded. And he’s so happy, he’s been spending like a drunken sailor. I’m going to have to take over the financial reins. That man has the potential to bankrupt us.” She was joking, of course. Sameer ran a successful investment firm and had a good head on his shoulders.
I sat on the bed beside her. “Now, tell me, what’s been bothering you? Is it Sameer’s family?”
She shook her head promptly. “Not his parents. They have been absolutely supportive of our relationship. It’s his sister, Juhi.”
I frowned. “Doesn’t she live in Australia or someplace?”
“Yes, in Melbourne, but she’s visiting for a wedding in her husband’s family.”
“What’s her problem?”
After a moment’s pause, she said in a hushed voice, “Sameer doesn’t know, but I overheard Juhi telling Aunty that she doesn’t think it’s right that Sameer and I are living together before marriage.”
“Seriously? That’s rather old-fashioned for someone her age.”
“Right?” Tara inflected, still in a low voice. “I thought so too, but I think she’s uncomfortable with me generally because Sameer broke it off with an heiress to be with a nobody like me.”
I scoffed. “A nobody ? You’re Tara-frigging-Kadam.”
“But I’m not rich. I’m not an heiress. I have no social connections.”
I returned a slow, thinking nod. “What did Amrit aunty say?” I asked about Sameer’s mother.
“I couldn’t hear her, but she’s been okay with us living together. At least, she’s never said anything to suggest otherwise. Uncle hasn’t either.”
“Don’t let it bother you. You’re kick-ass, and Juhi better accept it. Plus, when Sameer loves you like he does, who cares about his sister?”
She nodded. “Yes, and his parents love and respect me. Lately, Uncle has been relying on me to keep him on top of his medications. That’s something, right? This kind of love and acceptance.”
“Definitely. And they see how you love Riya and how much she adores you.”
Tara’s features softened at the mention of Sameer’s spunky, thirteen-year-old half-sister from his father’s extra-marital affair. When the affair had come to light thirteen years ago, along with the severe debt the man had incurred, the family had relocated from Delhi to Dallas to save face. In a cruel twist of fate, Riya had lost her mother a few months ago, orphaning her. Sameer’s family had brought Riya to the United States and welcomed her with open arms. Both Sameer and Tara loved her to a fault.
“Is Juhi the reason for tonight’s party?” I asked.
She nodded. “Juhi wanted to have an engagement ceremony of sorts, but Sameer told her off quite rudely. He said he won’t be held hostage to her whims, that we will celebrate our relationship as and when we are ready.”
A strange mix of happiness and envy swept over me. I was truly happy for Tara. But this was how I had expected someone in my past to stand up for me and they hadn’t.
“Aunty is usually soft-spoken,” Tara continued, “but she stood up for us against her daughter. Then, to placate Juhi, she arranged to have this party in her honor. But I am blessed, aren’t I? I mean, I can count on one hand the number of women who have such supportive mothers-in-law, and I’m not even married yet.”
“You are blessed, and you deserve it all.” I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, placing a soft kiss on my temple.
Tara had been privy to every detail of my life, and I knew why she had said it.
“I’m genuinely happy for you, Tara,” I said, dismissing her concern. “But it’s been terribly lonely without you. I’m running out of options on how to spend my weekends,” I joked.
“Then move here,” she said with a wink. “With your credentials, you’ll have no trouble finding a great job.”
I sighed. “If only! But tell me about this weekend getaway. Is that still happening?”
Her eyes brightened as she sat upright. “That trip is to celebrate Arvind uncle’s birthday. That’s Mihir’s father. He’s turning sixty-five. Mihir wanted to throw a big party, but Uncle lost his close friend a few months ago, and he thinks it’s morbid to celebrate a birthday in the face of his friend’s death. That’s why we decided to take him away instead.”
“That’s nice. I hope my presence doesn’t make it awkward.”
“Of course not, silly girl. You’re family. Wait till you meet them. They are very nice, Sameer’s parents and Mihir’s.”
“Is Juhi coming too?”
“No, thank goodness. She’ll be away for the wedding,” Tara said with a look of relief. “That’s how we planned it.”
“Maybe I can bake something. A cake?”
“I think Mihir has already ordered a custom one. How about your Greek chicken and potatoes for lunch one day? I’ll make the rice.”
Tara was a planner—and a very good one. It wasn’t a coincidence that she had co-founded a thriving art consultancy firm.
“Come on, I’ll make tea.” She rose to leave. “Then we should start getting ready for the party. We mustn’t be late, or Aunty will never hear the end of it from Juhi.”
When she left, I popped into the shower, then dried my curls before putting on my trusty jeans and a top.
Over tea, we caught each other up on our lives. I had little to share. Most of my days were spent teaching, reading, and writing. I ran, I swam, I cooked, I ate, then I fell asleep, only to repeat it the next day.
It sounded sadder than it was. I was a creature of routine. Managing my attention deficit personality meant that I thrived when I stuck to a routine. I was happiest when I knew what was going to happen next, or at least when I could anticipate it.
It took some navigation and preparation, but I was good at it now. For instance, when I was supposed to dine at a restaurant I’d never been to before, I perused the menu online to narrow down my options. I often encountered anxiety or an out-of-body feeling if I had to make conversation, even small talk, while looking at the menu. Knowing my order ahead of time relieved me of the pressure of decision-making in real-time. It was one of the handy-dandy tools—like my planners, tags, and tabs—that I utilized to manage my impulsive, restless brain.
Predictability was my most useful ally. The greatest setback in my life had happened when I was unable to predict the sudden shift in the winds. That’s when it had all gone downhill.
Tara knew this. Perhaps that’s why she had sent Mihir to pick me up at the airport instead of having me take a cab.
“Alright, go change while I get ready, and then I’ll help you with your makeup,” she said when we had finished our tea around a quarter past five.
While she retreated to her room, I washed and dried the tea mugs and put them back in the drawer. Then I headed to my room and changed into the sparkling gown. I looked in the mirror and flashed a pleased smile before knocking on Tara’s bedroom door.
She answered looking like a movie star in an off-shoulder turquoise blue gown embroidered with delicate pink flowers and green vines. She had chosen to wear traditional Polki jewelry—diamonds—uncut, unpolished, and unfaceted—set in gold foil to reflect light. Only Tara could blend the aesthetics of traditional and contemporary so effortlessly and look spectacular doing it.
I gasped, my mouth gaping. “Whoa! You said it was a simple gathering.”
“It is, and this is simple for that crowd,” she said with an eye roll followed by a chuckle.
After settling me in her makeup chair, she straightened and polished my hair into a glossy cascade. Then she applied layer after layer of things that made my skin brighter and smoother. She shaped and filled my eyebrows, put on a nice subtle eyeshadow, and lined my eyes before treating my long lashes to the caress of mascara. They primed and plumped with pride. I usually stayed away from pure red lipstick, but with Tara’s reassurance, I tried one, and it worked.
She insisted I keep my neck bare and gave me a pair of statement diamond earrings, which sparkled joyfully against the muted shimmer in my dress. Beaming with happiness, I gave her a quick, grateful hug.
Dressed in a bespoke suit, Sameer was already in the living room when we stepped out. He looked gorgeous, a perfect consort for the goddess that was Tara.
“Damn!” he said, his eyes flitting between the two of us. “I can’t decide who looks more beautiful!”
“That, my jaan, is the correct reaction,” Tara said and placed a light kiss on his lips.
“Riya called,” he said. “Everyone is waiting for us.”
“We’re ready,” Tara said, picking up her clutch and threading her arm through mine.
“Hold on, I need to put on my heels,” I called as I slipped my feet into them and grabbed my clutch from the coffee table.
We drove to Southlake and pulled into the compound of a mansion-esque house. It was flanked by lush green lawns and impeccably trimmed hedges. Autumnal flowers complemented the shrubbery, swaying gently in the evening breeze. A valet appeared when we arrived and drove the car away. Sameer pulled open an unlocked door, and we heard the small crowd already gathered in the living room.
Sameer’s mother, a striking woman who defied her age, welcomed us with warmth as we stepped into the foyer. Behind her, a delicate, slender woman in an evening gown stood with a young child in her arms. Judging by the familial features and the expensive clothing, I guessed it was Juhi.
“Badi Ma!” a girl’s voice yelled from the second floor. “Is Tara here? I need her help!”
It was Riya.
“Tara, you go mingle,” I offered. “I’ll see what she needs.”
I had met Riya when she had come to New York with Sameer, and we had spent some fun days together while he’d helped Tara wrap up her life in the city.
“Thank you,” Tara, Sameer, and Amrit aunty said in unison.
I returned a nod, and as they streamed away from the foyer into the living room, I climbed the winding stairway to the second floor.
“Hey, troublemaker,” I called, trying to figure out which room in the elaborate labyrinth was hers.
“I’m here,” Riya called from a room at the end of a long corridor.
“Hello, hello, what’s the problem?” I asked as I entered.
“Wow, look at you!” she said and flopped onto her bed. “Your makeup is snatched!”
“Thank you!” I preened with a dramatic curtsy. Teaching young people at a university had its perks. One of them was being current on the latest slang. I was a thirty-something Urban Dictionary on legs. “Okay, what’s the holdup?”
“Multiple things. One, this hair is not behaving. Two, the zipper on my goddamn gown, and then there’s the makeup situation.”
“Hmm,” I said. “I see you swear like your brother.”
“Does that bother you?” She provoked me with a narrowed gaze, but I was a champion of dealing with stubborn, impudent youngsters.
“Not in the least.” I smiled sweetly. “But maybe you could add a little flair and learn some new words. Your brother can teach you.” I turned her to face the mirror and zipped her gown.
“Yeah, or Mihir.” She snorted as I began to fix her hair.
“Him too, eh?” I caught myself feeling warm at his mention.
“Oh yeah, big time! He’s a scary dude.”
“How so?” I picked a bobby pin from a trinket holder and pushed it into her hair.
She pulled her brows together. “You know how close he and Sameer are. It’s like Sameer is sometimes the cool brother I always wanted and sometimes the okay brother I’m willing to tolerate. But Mihir is the intimidating older brother I never asked for.”
I chuckled at her description. She was a clever, sharp-witted girl.
“He hardly cracks a smile,” Riya added.
“Really? He was all smiles this afternoon over lunch at Tara’s.”
“Oh, then maybe he only smiles around people he likes, like Tara and Sameer…and you, apparently,” she said with nonchalance, but my heart gushed with pride.
“What about Juhi? What do you think of her?” I realized I was being nosy, but I wanted the inside scoop on the woman who had the potential to make my best friend’s life miserable.
“She doesn’t talk to me much. I don’t think she likes me.”
“Why would you think that?” I twisted a section of her hair and secured it in place with another hairpin.
“Maybe because I’m not family,” she said with downcast eyes.
“Are you kidding? Of course you’re family!” I squeezed her arms. “Why else would anyone put up with your shenanigans the way we do, especially Sameer?”
“Yes, he’s great. And I love Tara. She’s kind and smart. Tara’s like my sister, not Juhi…” she said softly. “Is that mean?”
“No,” I said with conviction. “The heart knows who it wants to love. You’ll always feel drawn to people who love you. Don’t bother with those who won’t.”
“You’re wise,” she said.
If only she knew about my terrible track record of trusting the wrong people.
“What do you think?” I asked when I had finished doing her hair.
“I like it. Sameer thinks I’m too young to use makeup. Am I?”
“Well, that’s between you and him, but a little lip gloss and eyeliner never hurt anyone,” I said, looking at the small makeup collection in her dresser drawer.
“I don’t know how to use any of it right,” she said.
I swiped a thin line over her delicate lids before lining her lips and filling them with a light coat of a nude pink gloss. “There. What do you think?”
She beamed. “I love it.”
“Okay, show me what you’re wearing on your feet.”
She pulled out a pair of pink floral flats that complimented her pastel gown.
“Fantastic.” I held two thumbs up. “Ready to go downstairs and wow everyone?”
“I’m not wowing anyone,” she muttered as she put on her footwear. “Beside you and Tara, I look like a troll.”
“Hey,” I said, holding her arms. “ Never think of yourself like that. You have to be proud of your body. Be comfortable in it, no matter who or what you are. This is where it can all go wrong, love. Do you understand?”
Riya nodded tentatively.
I continued, “You know how many disparaging comments I have gotten? When people look at me, they see a dark, fat body.”
“You’re not fat. That’s rude,” Riya offered sheepishly.
“Well, I am fat, but it’s not a bad word for me. It’s a descriptor, a part of my identity.”
When she tilted her head, I explained, “Describing a body as fat is not the problem. The problem starts when we say a fat body is somehow less desirable, less worthy. It’s not the plain meaning we assign to a word—it’s the value we attach to it that makes it good or bad. So dark and light, fat and thin, old and young by themselves are mere words, but they aren’t, are they?”
She shook her head. “Because we’ve assigned values that make them more or less worthy.”
“Exactly! People will still find ways to discredit you and find faults with you, no matter what you do or say. You can’t let these things bother you. Be confident in yourself. Be proud.”
She leaped at me and hugged me tight. “Okay.” She squared her shoulders. “I am ready to wow everyone.”
As we descended the stairs, I saw Mihir in the foyer. With one hand in his pocket, he turned and froze, looking at me like he’d never seen me before. Well, he’d never seen this me for sure.