Chapter Sixteen Rupi
Sixteen
Rupi
Idon’t want to come inside,” Simi says, pouting exactly the way she did when she was two. “You’re the one they want to take shopping, not me.”
“Tell me something, does self-sacrificing sulking ever work?” I ask. Because she’s been acting a little too much like a long-suffering lamb headed to the slaughter. “It’s on brand, but what are you hoping to achieve?”
She pulls into the sweeping driveway of the Gupta house.
It’s been a week since our first visit, and Simi’s driven me here every morning on her way to work so I can hang out with the Guptas and participate in their Get to Know the Fiancée Plan.
She turns to me with all sorts of accusation dripping from her eyes.
“I’m hoping to not waste my time fighting you on what you want. ”
“Why is it so hard for you to see that this is not what I want? What I want is to not have to go back to Mumbai. Even now, if you come up with a better plan, we can stop all this.” Truth is, it’s a lot—all this Gupta syrupiness. I’m at risk of going into sugar shock.
Simi scoffs. I don’t have any interest in deconstructing that scoff.
“It’s a matter of two years, Simi! After that, this is your life and your home, not mine. I don’t want it.”
“But I do! And we have no way of knowing what will happen in two years. How can you expect me not to be sad?”
I squeeze my temples. “What good has being sad ever gotten us? Don’t you think getting out of your feelings and thinking would be smarter?
Whatever you think is going to happen in two years will be worse if you choose to disappear and hide.
Let them see you. That way when Prem and I break up, they’ll be glad you’re around to pick up the pieces. ”
“My god, I can’t believe you’ve thought all this through,” she says with some horror.
I hadn’t until this minute, but it feels like the most obvious plan of action.
I’m going to have to move into the house once we’re married because our dark overlord of law, Saj, thinks it will make our case stronger.
In case a site interview comes up, living under the same roof will make it easier with so many witnesses to our love. That doesn’t mean I want to.
“The real question is, Why haven’t you thought this through?
One of us has to do more than just sulk.
” I didn’t even consider taking Tanuja up on her offer and moving in immediately.
I was actually excited about living with Simi after so long until I realized it wasn’t mutual.
She’s never home. And when she is, she’s only interested in giving me the silent treatment.
“It’s amazing to me that you keep saying I’m doing nothing when I am actually handing over my entire life to you,” she says.
“It’s amazing to me that you keep saying that you’re handing over your life to me and then doing nothing to actually back up this grand sacrifice.
Why can’t you help make this work in a way that both of us can live with?
Why is that always my job? It’s not like I want you to give up all your power and look to me for all the answers all the time. ”
Another scoff.
“What the hell, Simi? Stop scoffing like a horse, and say what you’re thinking.”
“From the day I was born, I’ve had to give up all my power to you. That’s how you operate!”
Wow. “It’s no longer the day you were born, though, is it? You’re twenty-six. You can move the hell on.” You ingrate.
“I have!” And the pout is back. “I thought I had.”
“Until I showed up again.” I absolutely hate feeling sad, and I will not do it now.
She looks sad enough for the both of us, and guilty and miserable, and I hate that even more. “I’m happy you’re here.”
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding spending any time in your home when I’m there?”
“When are you ever there? You’re here at the house all the time.” And there it is. The crux of her pain.
“Because you’re never home. And I’m helping with the party.”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’ve been helping Preeti prepare for the triplets’ big day. After working my other two jobs.”
The girl does work more than I’ve seen anyone work. I guess she did grow up when I wasn’t there to “take away all her power.” A memory of a baby Simi following me around and letting me do everything for her fills me. Chipku. That was my nickname for her. It essentially means “sticky.”
“Oh, so you haven’t been avoiding me,” I say. “And you haven’t been avoiding Prem?” The rasgulla has been sulking even more than Simi. I haven’t seen much of him either. What a match made in heaven they are.
“Prem is a very busy person,” Simi says, her tone wretchedly unsuccessful in covering anything up. “He runs twelve pizza restaurants.”
I’m aware. The family loves nothing more than to tell me how Prem runs the operations of their pizza empire. His brother, Pawan, runs the financial and marketing end of the business, and Chandni handles quality. Another perfect, Guptaesque symphony.
“There’s always a fire to put out somewhere,” Simi says.
Sometimes literally. “No kidding,” I say. “I imagine he’s been setting some of those fires, given that they’ve only been happening in the most faraway of the restaurants. It’s the perfect excuse for him to stay away from home.”
Simi looks appalled at this most obvious observation. “Prem would never do that.” At least her indignation is less pathetic than her self-pity.
I hate to admit that I’ve been grateful that he isn’t around much.
Before I can respond, two twin tornadoes fly across the driveway at us. My heart does the oddest flutter at the arrival of Chandni and Pawan’s eight- and ten-year-old boys.
I get out of the car, and Neel and Nathan race at me, then stop six inches before their bodies crash into mine and stare up at me with the most excited puppy dog eyes.
I pull them into quick hugs. They smell terrible, like sweaty soccer equipment, but also sweet and sticky, like boxed juice.
“Be patient,” I whisper as they bounce on their heels. “You have to be strategic when it comes to surprises.”
This deep philosophy makes them get adorably serious.
I sniff the air around them and make a face. “I think showers might be needed before we can work on secret projects.”
“Man!” they both groan. “Do we have to?” But they run off, racing at first and then throwing a look over their shoulders at me and slowing down.
Their mom walks up to me and gives me the warmest hug. “Whatever magic you’ve been using on the two monsters, please don’t stop.”
Simi gets out of the car, looking miserable as ever, and Chandni waves at her, one arm still around me.
“They’re adorable,” I say, and Chandni rolls her eyes.
“They are tornadoes, and until you came along, they spun around the house all day long, leaving mayhem in their wake.” There’s so much gratitude on her face, I want to shake her.
The family’s strategy for dealing with N&N’s astounding quantities of energy has been to enroll them in every available activity.
They play every seasonal sport, which means they currently play soccer (hence the vile stench), learn musical instruments (that they’re terrible at), take math classes and writing classes (that they have minimal interest in), and are part of the Indian drama club that puts up plays from the Indian epics (that’s a good one, and watching them practice is probably the most fun I’ve had in a very long time).
By any yardstick, that’s an absurd number of activities.
It only seems to make them more hyperactive than calm them down.
By some stroke of luck, when they first met me a week ago, they were terrified of me.
I think it’s the tattoos and the spiky hair, and maybe a little bit the resting bitch face I’m rather proud of.
Basically, unlike everyone else in their orbit, I didn’t cower when they spun around in their energetic way.
I simply offered to teach them how to “make” tattoos (it’s our surprise project).
They each now have a sketchbook in which they’re practicing drawing tattoos.
Because, of course, they have to be good on paper before they can touch skin.
It’s the rules. The rest of the family isn’t allowed to see what’s in the sketchbooks, but yesterday when they sat down with me and drew for two hours straight, their mother broke down and sobbed.
Now the family thinks I have some sort of magical powers. There’s something very wrong with this family. They’re completely unaware of my motives. How people this gullible and generous built an empire, I will never know.
Simi is about to say bye and leave when Chandni mentions that Prem is inside, and Simi changes her mind.
Chandni leads us into the house, where I’m greeted like a conquering hero by Tanuja.
“I made khichdi,” she says, throwing a knowing glance at Prem, whose sad-sack face just brightened when we entered.
At this point all I care about is that there’s khichdi.
Prem and Simi lock eyes as though there’s no one else in the room, and someone clears their throat behind me.
The hair on my arms perks up in a breezy little dance. Only because I’m not a fan of someone approaching me from behind.
“Saj,” Simi says. “I didn’t realize you would be here.”
Me neither.
“I needed to talk to Prem and Rupi about some paperwork.”
“Okay to eat some khichdi first?” I say without turning around to face him.
Fully on brand, I get no response.
I dig into the khichdi. Tanuja has made it for me every day since that first day.
The family settles around the island, where Prem is drinking coffee. He drinks it black (yuck), something I cannot reconcile with his rasgulla personality.
Chandni informs Tanuja that the boys have gone off to take showers without a fuss, and Tanuja looks like she wants to pull out the aarti plate and spin it around my face in worship again.
“I can’t remember the last time we didn’t have to bodily force those boys into the shower.” She squeezes my shoulders in a sideways hug. “I don’t know how you do it, beta.”
“I didn’t do anything, Auntie,” I say around a mouthful. “I just asked them to smell each other.”
She laughs. “It’s time to stop this Auntie-Shantie business, don’t you think? You’re calling me Mamma from now on.”
Prem drops his cup, spilling coffee across the island. Simi springs up and starts mopping it with paper towels. She looks like she’s going to cry.
“Let me get that,” Prem’s mamma says.
“It’s okay. I got it, Auntie,” Simi says, all the longing in the world hanging by that word.
Come on, Simi, have some self-respect.
Obviously, her hopes are dashed. Tanuja turns to me. “So, it’s Mamma from now on.”
“Thanks, Mamma,” I say, and she grins happily and goes off to check on her husband.
I reach over and pat Simi’s hand, but she yanks it away. “I’m fine,” she snaps.
Good. I shrug and go back to my khichdi.
I don’t care to look at the judgment in Prem’s and Saj’s eyes, so I turn to Chandni, the only person here to whom I’m a hero instead of a villain.
Chandni looks excited. “So, I’ve been thinking about the portrait I want to make for you and Prem as a wedding present.”
“That’s so sweet,” I say, and I mean it. “I’m excited about that.”
“You are?” Saj says, his Dark Shadow eyes not quite as shuttered as I’m used to when they slide from his sister to me.
“Why would I not be? Everyone has told me that she makes the most beautiful art.”
“She does.” What is that I hear in the deep rumble of his voice? “She makes the most beautiful art with human hair.”
The khichdi gives a push up my gullet. Mr. Dark Shadow meets my bewildered eyes with the briefest twinkle and promptly goes back to being dark and shadowy.
Chandni beams. “I use all sorts of organic material for art. But yes, human hair is my favorite medium. Very versatile,” she says with perfect seriousness.
“Tell us more,” Simi says, brightening.
So, Chandni does tell us. In detail. Apparently collecting shed hair is involved.
“It’s so lovely that both you and Rupi are artists. Isn’t that just serendipitous?” I catch a sparkle in Simi’s eyes for the first time since I came into town.
“It is!” Chandni says. “And we both work with human material.”
Simi squeaks to keep her laugh inside.
“Why don’t you show her some of your work,” Saj says. And there it is again: the slightest amused glint in his eyes. But I can’t be sure which one of us he’s teasing—his sister or me.
Chandni points to what looks like a sketch of a tornado over a town, hung on the wall above the dining table. It’s not half bad. But it’s still a whole lot of human hair hanging out in a kitchen.
“It’s lovely,” I say, dying but hiding it as stoically as I can.
Saj gets all shuttered again and sips his coffee. Also black. And so much more on brand.
“That’s Mamma’s hair. I gathered it from her brush over a year.” Again, Chandni says this with all seriousness.
I suppress another shudder. I knew it. All this wholesomeness was a little too good to be true.
My gaze meets Simi’s, and we quickly look away, because she looks like she’s going to explode too.
“Mamma and I think a portrait of Prem and you together would be perfect. I can start gathering your hair today. Do you shed a lot?”
Twin laughs spurt out of Simi and me, and we both turn them into coughs.
Chandni is looking at me with such sincerity, I guess this is really happening.
“Umm. Not really.” Everyone here has longer hair than me, and it’s a whole heck of a lot thicker too.
“I barely have any hair, so it would take a lot of time to collect.” Aaaand, I’m really considering the merits of gathering my shed hair for her.
“Can you use Simi’s instead? She has more than enough to spare. ”
Simi widens her eyes at me. “That’s not necessary.” I haven’t seen her eyes shine like this in too long.
The Dark Shadow speaks. “I mean, it’s the same DNA.”
Even Prem lets a grin escape.
“Sorry, Simi, I can’t use your hair for their portrait. That would be compromising my artistic integrity.” Chandni is still 100 percent serious. “But collect it for me, and I can use it for my landscapes.”
“Thank you,” Simi squeaks around another suppressed laugh, and Prem looks at her like the sun just came out. And for one moment, the world feels okay.