The Taste of Ginger(35)

Neel looked at me sympathetically. “I didn’t realize that had bothered you.”

I shrugged. “It’s not like I have anything to complain about. I have an ocean-view office and a large paycheck. And the financial stability Mom and Dad were searching for after we left India. I work around the best of the best—or at least people who see themselves as the best,” I said with a wry smile. “But after working so hard to be at that prestigious firm in the first place—harder than many of the others who were there—it was annoying that I was still the one partners turned to when they wanted someone to order sandwiches for a meeting, or grab a file from their office, or be the notetaker rather than the speaker. Those things happened every day and were a constant reminder that no matter how far I’d gone, I still had further to go.” My words hung heavy between us, and after a few moments I pasted on a forced, bright smile. “But that’s all behind me now! At least until my next job, when it starts all over again. For now, my professional life doesn’t matter, and we need to focus on you!”

“Maybe there shouldn’t be a next job like that, then,” Neel said, not letting me off the hook.

“It’s a nice thought, but bills have to be paid, right? No trust funds for us!”

Neel let out a laugh. “No, we certainly don’t have those. But we also aren’t at the same place as when we first arrived. Maybe we are okay enough that the rest of your life doesn’t have to be spent chasing something you’ll never get.”

It was the first time he’d alluded to the fact that the goal we’d set as kids—to blend into white culture at any cost—was one we could never fully attain. But we could never have known that at that age. And I’m not sure either of us would have done anything differently if we had. Even if we could never be fully accepted by our white peers, we still had to strive to get as far down that path as possible. Life was easier that way.

I sighed, beginning to understand that I’d never achieve the goal I’d set as a seven-year-old immigrant, but also not ready to believe there was something this significant in my life that hard work could not overcome. But I knew deep down that Neel was right. Acceptance and belonging were moving targets.

“I’m not sure I know who I am if I stop chasing after that,” I said softly. “If I admit defeat now, then what did I spend my life doing?”

Neel’s eyes met mine, and I could see him wondering if he’d made the right decision for us all those years ago. “What about devoting your life to something you love? Like photography? Even just watching you take photos here of the days leading up to the wedding. You seemed more comfortable than I’ve seen you in a long time. It has always been obvious how much you love it, and I never knew why you quit in the first place.”

“Mom was right. It wasn’t practical,” I said, even though I’d asked myself a million times over the past eight years whether I had given up too easily. I’d been a kid back then. A year of trying and failing and living with my mother’s “I told you this wouldn’t work” face felt like a lifetime. I wondered if it would be different if I tried now. If, even if I didn’t have the same financial security that corporate America provided, I would have enough emotional security to outweigh that loss.

“What’s the point of being practical if you aren’t happy?” Neel asked, his voice thick with his recent pain.

His words caught me off guard because he and I had focused on what was practical since we’d arrived in America. Through the wall, we heard Indira Mami close the heavy wooden closet door in her bedroom, the skeleton keys she kept on a large ring clipped onto her sari clinking against each other as she locked the wardrobe.

Lowering his voice, Neel said, “If you need money or anything, Dipti and I can help you, until you decide what is next.”

I held up my hands in protest. “No, no. I’ll be fine. I have some savings until I figure out what I want to do. You know when you feel like you’ve hit a wall? You’re not sure how or why you got there, but you just know that you’ve got to make some changes.”

He nodded, closing his eyes as if the feeling was all too familiar right now.

I debated telling him about Alex and New York but held back because the family strain had affected him as much as it had me, and I didn’t want to add to his burden now. Besides, my heart knew the right thing was to call Alex and tell him first. If I was choosing him, then I had to commit to that fully. Neel had suggested I devote my life to something I loved, but maybe the right answer was to devote it to someone I loved.

“What are you going to tell Mom and Dad?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, but I figured there was no point in telling them until I really have to.” Shifting my gaze back to the blanket and feeling emboldened by the conversation we’d just had, I asked, “How do you manage to do it?”

“What?”

“Be so perfect.”

“I’m not perfect.”

“I know you’re not. But how do you get Mom and Dad to think you are?”

“I’m more patient with them.” He clasped his hands together, pausing for a moment. “I was older when we moved to Chicago. I remembered more about India and life here. Mom and Dad would put on this act that everything was fine after we moved, but it wasn’t. They fought all the time when they thought we couldn’t hear them. Money was tight. They weren’t good at mixing with Americans.”