There's Something About Sweetie(13)

“Yeah, but he’s saying what everyone’s thinking. Every single person who walks by this stall probably thinks I should stop eating your sweets. So I guess they’re all stupid.”

Amma turned to her, her eyes bright. “They are all stupid. People are stupid and thoughtless. That’s why I want you to lose weight. So you don’t have to deal with those remarks.”

Sweetie shook her head, her brain ready with what she would say if only she were a little braver, a little less scared of letting Amma hear her true voice. That’s the thing, Amma. I don’t want to change just to keep other people quiet. I don’t think I can change and just suddenly look like you, but that’s not even the point. The point is I don’t want to. I like who I am. I just wish you could see that.

“Hello!”

They spun around to see a fashionable Indian woman about Amma’s age, dressed in a very expensive-looking silk outfit. Her Gucci sunglasses shaded her eyes for a moment, but she pushed them up on her head and smiled. Her dark-honey-colored eyes reminded Sweetie of warm, rainy summer days somehow. They were full of a cozy comfort.

“Hello,” Amma said, nodding. “Would you like a sample?”

“I’d love one!” The woman reached over and grabbed a kaju burfi. “Mmm, so good! You know, we buy your sweets every month from the Indian market. And, of course, for Diwali!” Smiling, she brushed off her hands and pressed them together. “Namaste, Vidya. I’m Sunita Patel. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at a birthday party for a mutual friend last year—Tina Subramanian?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Amma pressed her palms together too, as did Sweetie. “Namaskaram. This is my daughter, Sweetie.”

Sweetie smiled. “Hello, auntie.”

“Sweetie.” Sunita auntie regarded her warmly. “You go to Piedmont, no? I’ve seen your picture in the papers for your excellent running records. And of course, your parents couldn’t stop talking about you at the party last year.”

“Thank you, auntie,” Sweetie said. Please don’t ask how I manage to run, please don’t ask how I manage to run, please don’t ask how I—

“So.” Sunita auntie looked over their table. “I will take … all of this.”

They stared at her and then glanced at each other and then looked back at her. “All of it? Are you sure?” Amma asked.

Sunita auntie chuckled. “Believe me, I have a teenage son at home and another one who visits frequently.”

As Amma made change for Sunita auntie’s $500 (seriously, who carried that much cash around?), Sunita auntie said, “So, now that I’ve selfishly taken all your delicious treats, what will you two do?”

“Oh, maybe go home and start cooking some lunch!” Amma said, laughing. “You know how it is with teenagers. You have to cook early or they start moaning and groaning!”

Sweetie glared at Amma—she didn’t think she moaned and groaned that much—but Amma didn’t seem to notice.

Sunita auntie obliged with a laugh, but somehow Sweetie got the idea she didn’t spend much time bent over a hot stove. “Well, if you’re up to it,” she said, “I’d love to take you both out for lunch to Taj. My treat!”

“Oh.” Amma looked at Sweetie all happily, her eyebrows raised. Taj was one of those famous Indian restaurants where celebrities went to eat and every meal required middle-class families to mortgage their houses beforehand. Sweetie could tell Amma was besotted with Sunita auntie already, just like she was besotted with Tina auntie because of her “glamorous” ways. Sweetie had known Sunita auntie for only about two seconds, but she thought Sunita auntie was the much more glamorous and classy one of the two. “That would be so nice! Let me ask Tina if she wants to come.”

Drat. Sweetie sighed surreptitiously. She had been looking forward to enjoying a meal at Taj, and now she’d probably have to listen to snickers and passive-aggressive comments the entire time instead. Eating was so fraught when you were fat: If you ate something unhealthy, thin people would say it was no wonder you were fat. But if you ate something healthy, they’d roll their eyes, laugh, and say, “Yeah, right.”

After they packed up their stall, Amma and Sweetie made their way to the parking lot. Amma texted Tina auntie, who said she’d meet them there. The sun was full-on out now, blazing with a viciousness that made Sweetie want to fall to her knees and beg for mercy, but Sunita auntie seemed to be of the dewy persuasion. As they approached a large, shiny pearl-colored SUV with tinted windows, a man in a driver’s uniform leaped out and rushed over to them.

“I’ll take your packages, madam,” he said, taking all of the plastic bags from Sunita auntie’s hands.

“Thank you, Rajat,” she said. Turning back to them, she asked, “Would you both like to ride in my car?”

“No, we’ll follow you. We have to put our things away in the car anyway,” Amma said, glancing at Sweetie. Sweetie could see the fangirling going on there. Amma was from a very poor family, and the slightest show of wealth had her completely starstruck. Which was weird because they were pretty well off too—Achchan was an engineer. But for some reason Amma didn’t seem to see that.

“Sunitaaaa!” The high-pitched voice came from behind them. All three of them swung around to see Tina auntie power walking with Sheena in tow.