There's Something About Sweetie(12)
Ma squeezed his arm. “So you want me to wait?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
He looked at her. Huh. What was he waiting for, exactly? Yeah, he’d lost his mojo. But was it magically going to just return the longer he waited? Was he somehow just going to start playing basketball with energy and enthusiasm again like a flip had been switched? Was he suddenly going to twirl Dana Patterson into his arms and ask her out? Ha. To be honest, the only reason he wanted to wait was because he was … scared.
He was scared of what it meant that the only girl he’d ever truly loved had dumped him without a second thought. He was terrified that he was seventeen, had been in nearly a dozen relationships, and yet no one had completely given her heart to him. He was starting to believe he might be romantically unlovable on some deep, fundamental level. The thought made him physically shaky.
Oh, dear God. He, Ashish Patel, had somehow turned into a giant wuss.
Ma’s voice jolted him out of his abyss of horror. “You’re going to date a girl sometime, correct?”
He nodded, still not quite able to find his voice.
“So why not date a girl Pappa and I choose for you? Why not see how this plan works out? What do you have to lose?”
He looked into Ma’s steady, calm, kind gaze and realized he really had nothing to lose. And if he wanted to fight that whole demojoed, unlovable, wuss thing, this was his chance. “Okay.” He straightened his shoulders. “You’re right.”
Ma chuckled as she hitched her purse on her shoulder and turned around. “I’m always right, beta. When will you learn?”
Ugh. Why was it so hot in freaking April? Stupid climate change. Sweetie fanned herself with the stack of flyers that advertised Amma’s business. All she needed was for Tina auntie to see her sweating like a pig. That was another bullet point on Tina’s auntie’s hit list: girls who sweat. Apparently, Tina auntie and Sheena only got “dewy,” which was much more feminine and alluring than the salt baths Sweetie usually took. Of course, Sheena didn’t do anything more athletic than lounge on a pool float, which might explain that.
“Customers!” Amma said, sitting up straighter and putting her magazine away.
Sweetie put her stack of flyers neatly on the card table and arranged the jars and boxes of sweets. She’d added little bud vases today with sprigs of baby’s breath from their own garden, which Amma had really loved. Maybe next time she’d buy some burlap and tie the boxes with those for a vintagey look.
“Hello!” Amma said to the young white couple in their midthirties—a woman with a soft, slightly rounded face and a man who looked like he spent his weekends biking and drinking that awful green sludgy drink beloved by health nuts everywhere—who’d stopped by to look at the sweets. “Would you like a sample?”
“I’d love one! My husband and I are total Indian food fanatics,” the woman said, reaching for a peda. She popped it into her mouth and immediately closed her eyes. “Oh my God, this is so good!” She elbowed her husband. “Try one, Daniel.”
He laughed and took one reluctantly. “Oh, man. I’m going to be working this off all weekend, but okay.” He had pretty much the same reaction as his wife, just about swooning over Amma’s baking, which didn’t surprise Sweetie one bit. “So, so good.”
“So? Should we get a box?” the woman said, already reaching for the biggest one.
“Definitely.” The man, Daniel, beamed at Sweetie and then at Amma. “Your daughter looks like she enjoys your baking, which is just about the biggest compliment any chef can get, am I right?” His wife laughed.
Sweetie froze. She didn’t dare look at Amma, who was similarly unmoving beside her. The man continued to beam obliviously at them, super proud of what he imagined, Sweetie was sure, was a fantastic compliment. This was the worst: when people tried to be helpful or kind or nice in some way but just ended up making her feel awful. Just like the horrendous “such a pretty face” compliment, which implied that if only Sweetie could stop being such a cow, other people could enjoy her beauty more. This guy thought mentioning Sweetie’s size was a compliment to Amma’s baking, but … no. All it did was call attention to the fact that he thought it was okay to comment on Sweetie’s body because she was fat, and that she’d obviously gotten that way by stuffing herself full of sweets.
“Okay, just one box?” Amma asked, breaking the horrible spell.
“For now,” the woman said, laughing. “I’m sure we’ll be back for more, though.”
When they were gone, Sweetie sat back down, still refusing to look at Amma. “Where’s Tina auntie?”
Amma paused slightly at the topic change before responding. “She and Sheena wanted to look at the stalls. Sheena’s planning on a retro prom outfit, and she wanted to get the perfect necklace.”
At least there was that. Tina and Sheena (ew, even saying their rhyming names in her head annoyed Sweetie) would’ve totally relished the moment that had just transpired. To be honest, someone was always commenting on Sweetie’s body in some way, so there was always an opportunity for them to gloat and feel superior. Sweetie counted her victories when she could.
“That man is stupid, Sweetie,” Amma said. Sweetie glanced at her, but Amma was busy rearranging the boxes, her small frame swathed in a bright-blue salwar kameez. Her hair was in a loose ponytail that fell all the way down her back.