Anastasia Chapter 2
I held in my groan as I smiled and saw my last patient to the front desk.
My receptionist, Morgana, took over, checked him out, and scheduled his next visit.
I remained there, watching until he left and Morgana locked the door.
As soon as she did, I let out a loud groan and then bent over, hanging my arms and back into a yoga pose meant to stretch my back muscles.
“You need to put yourself on that inversion table and stretch that back of yours, Stasia. Or better yet, find yourself a man who can work those kinks out of you,” she smirked.
I lifted my head without standing and looked up at her.
“Ha, you mean find a man like the last one? He thought good sex meant I made him feel good, and by association, that meant I was satisfied and shouldn’t need more. And if I asked for it, I was either a greedy woman or a frigid bitch,” I replied.
Morgana winced. “No, not selfish pricks like him. You need a real man. One who is in tune with your needs and desires, not just his own. I know that you haven’t had luck in the men department, but not all guys are like them.”
“Well, if they’re not, then they must live in another town or country, or they’re already taken because all I seem to attract are the duds.
And since that’s the case, what I need is to schedule an adjustment with a fellow chiropractor.
Or go have a deep tissue massage, maybe both,” I told her.
I slowly rotated my back from side to side, causing my joints to crack.
“Hmm, that might work if you go see Dr. Lance Dykes. Even if all he does is give you a professional adjustment, he’ll sure be good to look at,” Morgana sighed with a dreamy expression.
I straightened. “Maybe you should go see Dr. Dykes. I swear, the way you smile when you say his name, I believe you’re half in love with him,” I replied.
“I wouldn’t call it love—lust, sure, but not love. But if you were to snare him, I promise I won’t lust after your man,” she pledged, winking at me, then giggling.
“I swear, you’re crazy. Get yourself out of here. It’s the start of the weekend. Any big plans?” I asked.
We headed down the hallway toward the staff parking area, where they entered and exited through the rear door. I paused at the small employee locker room so she could grab her things.
“I’m going out with a bunch of friends tomorrow night to dinner and then probably to a club. You should join us,” Morgana suggested.
“Thank you, but I have a family appearance on Saturday.”
She rolled her eyes and grimaced. “God, not another one of those. You should skip it. All they’ll do is lecture you,” Morgana reminded me.
“I know, but I haven’t been to see them since Christmas. If I don’t go, they’ll descend upon my place, and I don’t need that.”
Her grimace grew. “Yeah, that would be worse. Okay, well, if you need a bailout, text me, and I’ll call you with an emergency and set you free.”
I moved closer to hug her. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. Be careful but have fun this weekend.”
“I will. And don’t forget, if you need me, just holler.” Morgana hugged me tighter.
Then I saw her to the rear door and locked it behind her.
As I walked wearily back to my office, I thought about what she had said.
I dropped into my office chair. I’d rather do just about anything than spend time listening to my family tear my life apart.
I was always the odd one out. Dad, my brother Arish, and my sisters Veena and Devika, along with their spouses, couldn’t all understand why I didn’t do as they had.
I came from a rather old-fashioned Indian family.
The most my dad, Savar, had ever done to buck family tradition was to marry a non-Indian wife, my Caucasian mom, Kathlyn.
However, Mom had adhered to Dad’s views on what was appropriate behavior for his wife and children.
My siblings had gone along with it. Arish married a proper wife, Hema, in his mid-twenties.
My sisters, Veena and Devika, were in their early twenties when they married Rahul and Harish.
My sisters and sister-in-law were stay-at-home moms even though they had attended college.
In my family, the reason a woman attended college was to make herself more attractive to a man for marriage.
I had been the one to buck that system. Not only did I not marry by the age of twenty-three, but I also completed my education and became a chiropractor.
Plus, I remained unmarried and childless at the ancient age of twenty-eight.
My whole family lamented every time we spoke about my shameful status.
If it were only listening to them bemoan it, I might visit them more often, but they refused to stop there.
On top of what they said, they kept trying to set me up with men they thought were suitable.
I was so tired of surprise dinner guests who happened to be single men looking for a wife.
Regardless, I knew it was time to make another appearance, so I’d suck it up and go.
We were all meeting for dinner at Dad and Mom’s on Saturday.
I knew without a doubt that there would be a man there who would fit the bill for them.
It had been a while since they sprung one on me.
It was time. Besides, if I didn’t show up, they’d come to my home to lecture me, and I detested it when they did that.
I knew if I told most people how I felt, they’d think I hated my family.
That wasn’t true. I loved them. I only wished they could love me the way I was.
I’d been made to feel that I didn’t measure up since the age of four.
The one who seemed to understand was Mom, but she refused to push back against Dad and the others.
Sighing, I gave up the familiar wishing and got back to work. I needed to finish charting the treatments I’d done today, then I could head home. There were books, favorite series, and ice cream awaiting me. I needed to medicate myself with those to endure tomorrow evening’s torture.
?
I walked up the sidewalk to the front porch of my parents’ brick home with its courtyard entrance.
It was the home we’d been raised in. It was a four-bedroom, three-bath house with a large, open kitchen and plenty of space.
When I was small, my dad’s parents lived with the family.
They died before I finished high school.
Arish, Hema, and their two sons, Dhanu and Jatin, lived with our parents.
Anaya, my sister Veena’s daughter, and Ishani, Devika’s daughter, lived with my sisters’ parents-in-law. Sons often brought their wives and children into their family homes.
There were aspects of my dad’s culture that I loved, but I didn’t believe every tradition had to be adhered to. My family hated that I thought that way and tried to change me every chance they got.
I made two family favorite desserts for dinner. One was a mango cheesecake. The other was an orange-rhubarb-and-cardamom cake. I was usually tasked with making desserts because my family claimed I made them the best. Hema and my sisters, along with Mom, would make the actual dinner.
I was five feet from the front door when it swung open, revealing Arish. He had that perpetual frown he wore whenever I was around. I ignored it and greeted him as if he had smiled.
“Good evening, brother. Mind taking the box? I don’t want to drop it,” I stated.
He took it. As I passed him, I let my cheek brush his.
He returned the gesture. As he closed the door behind us, I paused to remove my shoes and put on a pair of flip-flops.
There were a number of them kept inside the door, so one could put on something after removing outdoor shoes.
It was a sign of respect and cleanliness.
It was disrespectful to enter someone’s home and wear your dirty shoes.
I followed Arish to the living room, which opened into the large kitchen.
The ladies were bustling about in the kitchen.
The men were in the living room. I heard the children's giggles coming from their playroom.
My gaze landed on the unknown man sitting on the couch.
All eyes landed on me. I kept my smile plastered on my face, wanting to snatch up my box of desserts and storm out of there.
Goddamn it, why couldn't we have one meal without this? I thought.
I called out a casual hello to everyone, then went to Dad first. I kissed his cheek and said hello.
Then, I went to the kitchen to do the same to Mom.
I swore that when she met my gaze, she gave me an apologetic look.
Then I was led back to the living room, where I stopped before the unknown man.
He rose to his feet. He was a handsome, tall Indian man in his mid-thirties, I guessed.
He smiled, said “Namaste,” then, with hands together, he gave me a slight bow. I returned the greeting and bow.
“Anastasia, this is Shameer Joshi. We work together. Shameer, this is my youngest sister, Anastasia, that I mentioned,” Arish stated.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Anastasia. Please, call me Sam. Your brother was kind enough to take pity on me and invite me for a home-cooked meal,” Shameer said.
“It’s nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy everything. I might be biased, but my mom and sisters are great cooks. I hope you’ll excuse me. I need to see what I can help with in the kitchen.”
Sam nodded. I made it two steps before Dad’s voice stopped me. “Stay here and talk. They have more than enough hands in the kitchen. There isn’t much left to do.”