There's Something About Sweetie(19)

Amma peeked in, a smile on her face. “Sweetie mol. What are you doing?”

Not trusting her voice, Sweetie held up the box silently and then went back to putting the lavender on.

Amma came in and sat next to her on the floor. “That’s a nice look. Did you see it on Pinterest?”

Yes, Amma. Let’s talk about Pinterest instead of anything real. “No. I saw some wedding centerpieces in that magazine you have, and it gave me ideas.” Sweetie attached the raffia and squinted at the box. It was missing … something.

“Mm.” Amma sat silently, watching Sweetie paw through the plastic bin on the bottom. “Ashish’s mother called.”

Sweetie’s hands stilled for a moment, but then she forced herself to keep going. “Oh. What did she say?” Her voice sounded robotic, but it was either that or tearful anger, and she’d settle for robotic, thanks.

“She asked if she had made me angry and that’s why I refused, but I told her no.”

Sweetie pulled out a pack of high-quality stick-on cubic zirconias and then discarded it. No, that wasn’t it either. “Right.” Her hands tightened around the gems, but she kept her tone neutral. “You know, you haven’t told me why you refused yet.”

“Yes, I know. Sweetie … you might have noticed. There are certain differences between you and Ashish.”

Sweetie picked up a packet of small purple bows, then threw it back in the bin and kept rummaging. “Really? Like what? I mean, he’s Indian, I’m Indian. He’s an athlete, I’m an athlete. We both live in Atherton. Oh, do you mean because he’s Gujarati and we’re Malayali?” She saw Amma shift uncomfortably in her peripheral vision and felt a tiny glow of satisfaction. Good. Let her be the uncomfortable one for a change.

“Mol … you still have to lose some weight. No?”

Sweetie’s hands shook as she set the box in her lap and looked at Amma for the first time since she’d come into her room. “So?”

“Ashish is … he’s thin. If you date him, people will laugh at you. I don’t want people to make fun of you.” Amma’s lips were a thin brown line.

Sweetie stared at her mother, her mouth filling with words that she knew she’d never say. Why did Amma assume people would laugh? And if they did laugh, why should Sweetie care? What gave them the right to dictate what she could and couldn’t do? Come to think of it, what gave Amma the right? But she knew what Amma would say to that last question: I am your mother, and that gives me all the right. The space between a desi mom and her kids was a lot smaller than the one between some other moms and their kids.

“When you lose weight, mol, you will be a suitable match for him.”

Sweetie knew in her heart that she was good enough for Ashish just as she was. But why couldn’t her own mother see that? “I’m … I’m sorry you’re so ashamed of me,” she said quietly. “But I’m not ashamed of myself.” Her eyes burned with tears.

Amma shook her head and stood up. “I am not ashamed. I am just saying that you could do better. Make yourself healthier. Why is that so bad?”

Because! I’m like this now! Sweetie wanted to say. Why are you always saying you’ll like future me, thin me, better? Why can’t you just like me how I am? Instead she turned back to her arts and crafts, away from her mother.

Amma took a deep breath. “One day you will see that what I’m doing, I’m doing because I am your mother and this is what good mothers do.” She paused, and when she spoke, she sounded farther away, like she was on her way out. “I am going to Tina auntie’s Mary Kay party. Priscilla Ashford, my friend from the California Businesswomen’s Society, is also coming, so I told her she could drop the baby here for you to babysit him tonight. They’ll be here in thirty minutes.”

“Fine.” Sweetie looked down at the box in her lap as Amma closed the door. Inspiration hit, and she reached over to the top bin and pulled out a sheet of stickers. Very carefully she smoothed a pale-purple heart onto the corner of the box. That’s what it had been missing this entire time—love.





CHAPTER 7





“Feetie!” Henry hurtled his three-year-old body into her with the force of a tiny hurricane capable of great damage.

“Hey there, little man.” Sweetie picked him up and blew a raspberry into his belly, which made him screech like a little banshee.

Priscilla, his mom, a tiny redhead, watched with a fond smile on her face. “Thank you, Sweetie,” she said. “Giving up your Saturday night for us.”

Sweetie laughed. “That’s okay, I didn’t really have any plans tonight. All my friends are going to this concert in San Francisco, and Amma didn’t want me to go.”

“Oh, I agree with your mother,” Priscilla said. “Those rock concerts can be scary.” She shuddered theatrically, and Sweetie laughed. Priscilla was an accountant, and the idea of wearing bright colors during the weekday scared her.

“Any problems, just call my cell phone,” Amma said, not fully meeting Sweetie’s eye.

“Okay.” Sweetie put Henry on her shoulders and began to gallop around as he chortled. “We’ll be fine! Have fun!”

After about twenty minutes she pulled him off and set him down. “So, now what should we do?”