Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
I was in a taffeta dress. Manjinder was in a suit.
If I shut my eyes, I can still remember the big anniversary party he threw after our two years of dating.
He had corralled a whole restaurant, and made them put up boxes and boxes of galaxy lights so our friends and families felt like stepping into our love was like stepping into another dimension.
Flashy like prom, sweet like a gathering under the stars, multiplied twentyfold.
There was a live DJ booth in the corner alternating between Punjabi classics from Surinder Kaur and Prakash Kaur and Hindi movie classic songs by Sonu Nigam.
The dance floor was fifties diner-themed, tiled black and white.
Servers wove around with speciality drinks dosed with edible glitter.
“This is going to be such a night,” he whispered in my ear. “I’m so glad you let me go all out, babe.”
“I—I still can’t imagine the cost of it all.”
“All on me,” he said. “What’s the point of being an engineer, if I can’t buy us nice experiences? And really , most of the people here are from my side.”
It’s true. He has invited family (close and extended), friends, friends of friends, the whole engineering department, bosses and executives included. Even his dentist was walking around somewhere with their kids.
I had Kiren, Noor, Uncle and Dad .
Four people. I wasn’t sure if it should be three.
Not that I didn’t want him here. Just the drinks.
Manjinder didn’t like my idea of a dry party.
He made such potent points in his argument.
How was it fair to ask everyone to change for one person’s problems?
How could we take away the power of social lubrication?
How would people have fun? If we did this, what else were we going to compromise later on in our lives?
Plus, Uncle was here.
He’d watch him.
And me. I was doing it too. I couldn’t help it.
Though it was difficult. Manjinder scheduled a sardine itinerary.
We zoomed around, rolling from one thing to another.
It made me think this party was modeled after a wedding reception.
There was cake-cutting, people clapping, then Manjinder launched his speech where he told the whole room our story.
Never mind people were damp-eyed listening to a soliloquy on our love, how I saved him after his car accident.
Neither was it of any consequence that I was having trouble breathing.
If my cheeks ached from holding themselves up, if I was scheduling laughs when people come up to us, if I was feeling like holding his hand all night chained us together, it meant nothing.
This should be alright. It was healthy to sink into the possibility of our future life together, and any nerves were natural in the face of big change. In a matter of months, he might actually pop the question and propose a lifetime of us being committed to each other. I needed to be ready.
People were well-fed and well-inebriated. We were making the rounds, telling everyone how much we appreciated them being here. The most important conversation was the one we had when we got to his boss.
Manjinder had told me a promotion was coming, one that needed a push to solidify.
The head of the Engineering Department was a thin man who, despite all of his wealth, preferred to dress in basic silhouettes and drab colors.
His wife adorned her ears with simple gold hoops, opting to be bare-faced.
Her strong eyes and mouth didn’t need makeup.
Manjinder made a joke. We all laughed.
I was about to chime in with my own anecdote about Manjinder when I felt a touch on the back of my arm.
It was him coming up to us. There were obvious signs he’s been drinking.
I could see them sometimes with my eyes closed.
His face was flushed, and eyes were glassy, zoned over and dull.
That wasn’t the worst one, though. It was the pitch and mannerisms of his voice.
When my dad was drunk, he got loud and excitable in a way that existed outside the boundary of polite volume and affectations.
We all turned to him. There was a brief interlude where my gut had hit the floor, and then I prayed it wouldn’t be so bad this time, all while also looking over his shoulder to find anyone, even my friends, who could distract and take him away.
“Sorry for this,” he said, swaying as if having trouble with balance. “But I haven’t seen you all night, Rita. And I only want to cut in for a few seconds to tell you how happy I am.”
An amalgamation of vodka and gin fumes wafted from his mouth.
He rested his hand on Manjinder’s shoulder. “You are such a good man, son. I got emotional hearing about how much you love her. If a father has any wishes, it is that his daughter has someone she can count on. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Manjinder introduced my father to his boss, unable to do anything else.
Pleasantries were exchanged, and while my dad’s voice boomed louder than anyone else, no obvious disaster befell us.
He merely kept repeating how happy and proud of me he was.
That he’d hoped for a night like this his whole life.
Shortly, Uncle came and whisked him away, apologizing for having to go to the bathroom.
We talked some more with Manjinder’s boss, who promised good things were coming down the pipeline. There was a jolly wink at the topic of promotions.
His boss left. I told Manjinder he’s got it in the bag.
My serious boyfriend looked relieved first, then churlish. “I’ll be glad when we’re married.”
The pit in my stomach rolled around. “Why?”
“Then you don’t have to worry about him ruining your night.”
I didn’t see how marriage changed anything, but Manjinder explained it to me.
“We’ll be too busy with our own lives.”
“But he’ll always be my dad,” I said.
Manjinder cupped my cheek, his thumb caressing my skin. “Rita, I won’t let him drag you down. I won’t. You will finally be free.”
“How do you mean?”
“When we’re officially together, he won’t be in the picture. Not when you have a husband and kids.” He regarded me, head tilting to the side. “We’re going to have such a beautiful family together.”
It was as if a tethering line was cut. I wasn’t pretending not to be anxious anymore. My life with him was an exploded kaleidoscope, and fragments of the future swept before me. Everything was a choice. Manjinder or my dad, but he only wanted me to make one. Him. Each time?
“H-he’s my dad,” I repeated.
Manjinder’s face hardened. “So?”
“I—”
“Look at him, Rita. He can barely stand.”
The cruelest laugh I had ever heard left his mouth.
I looked over to see Uncle helping Dad walk. Without conscious thought, as if I was being pulled myself, I got closer. Manjinder followed me.
Dad was apologizing over and over. The shame on his face was like a peach left outside its whole life that couldn’t seem to roll away from the harsh sun.
“It’s okay,” Uncle tried reassuring him.
My dad’s hands were clenched. “I don’t want to embarrass her. Please, let’s go before I ruin everything. I’m afraid I already have. I shouldn’t have come.”
“He shouldn’t have,” Manjinder confirmed, whispering in my ear. “See, he knows it. And if I talk to him about it, he’ll never bother you again. Tomorrow, I’ll do it man-to-man. He’ll understand the kind of upper-class society you’ll be with. How it hurts your image— our image—for him to be around.”
Dad and Uncle were by the door, but there was a change in the level of the flooring they didn’t anticipate. Already unbalanced, my dad tripped. He hit his leg. Uncle tried to get him to slow down, but he limped faster to the exit.
I pulled myself away from Manjinder.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Going to my family.”
“ I’m your family.”
“He’s my dad,” I said, having to repeat myself again. “He’s not his drinking. I can’t let him go. Not permanently.”
“Listen, what I’m doing is saving you!”
“I don’t need saving! I need support!”
“You are acting hysterically,” sniped Manjinder. He tried grabbing me, but I was moving too fast. “Everyone I know is waiting for us. You can’t leave the party, not until it’s over.”
“Manjinder, it will only take a minute?—”
“If you leave after him, we are over. I mean it. This is your warning. You should listen to it.” His fingers dug into my elbow.
Seconds stretched out, not only of time but the past and future.
They contracted, squeezing my sides together until I felt only my heart, alone, pounding away.
Moments and moments. Other junctures where I’d have to make decisions, paths I had to take, paths I had to abandon.
What I could live with. What I couldn’t.
I didn’t know what was too much.
All I knew was how I needed to see if my dad was hurt.
Yanking out of his grip, I elbowed him away.
“Fuck off, Manjinder.”
And that was how my last relationship died.