There's Something About Sweetie(97)
Anjali Chechi waved her off. “You were the brains of the operation. I was merely the muscle.” She turned to Achchan with a smile. “Namaskaram.”
“Anjali, Jason!” Achchan said, beaming. He thought of Anjali Chechi as his adopted daughter. “Have you tried the chili prawns appetizer? They’re serving them in small glasses! Let me show you.”
Anjali Chechi laughed as Achchan led her away.
Jason Chettan put his thumbs in his pockets. “So, uh, has your mom seen you in this yet?”
Sweetie sighed. “Not yet. I’m sort of hiding in here. This is Ashish, my … friend.”
Jason Chettan reached out and grasped Ashish’s hand. He was short, only five feet five, and Ashish towered over him. “I know that description’s not completely true, but we can stick with that for now.” He winked.
Ashish grinned. “At least we have you for support. Sweetie tells me this is going to get intense.”
Jason Chettan whistled low and long. “Oh, yeah. Vidya Ammayi is … ah, let’s say very particular about the way she sees things.”
Sweetie groaned. “Speaking of … I should go say hi and get it over with. I want to give her space to freak out about my outfit before we tell her about us.”
Ashish reached out and squeezed her hand. “Okay. We’re telling her after lunch?”
Sweetie gulped and nodded. “Yep. Exactly ninety minutes to go.” She looked at Jason Chettan. “Will you keep Ashish company while I go make the rounds?”
“Of course.” Jason Chettan grinned. “He probably needs a lot of lessons on how to stay alive while dating someone in this family.”
Sweetie swatted him on the back, gave Ashish a Love you, see you in a few to prepare for battle look, and left the study.
It took Sweetie twenty-two minutes to walk around the house before she found Amma because she kept getting stopped. She didn’t even have a chance to go out into the backyard and see the giant peacock ice sculpture. People wished her a happy birthday and asked her about her grades (the ubiquitous Indian question), her plans for college (ditto), and her plans to lose weight (tritto). Each time her answers were the same: “Thank you,” “They’re great,” “Not sure yet,” and “None whatsoever.” The aunties and uncles seemed dissatisfied with the fact that running hadn’t helped her lose weight and that she didn’t seem particularly interested in doing so, but Sweetie would smile, press her hands together, and move on after five minutes.
Finally she ran into Amma in the kitchen, telling a waiter to shelve the appetizers so guests didn’t lose their appetite for lunch.
“Sweetie, mol, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, bustling up to Sweetie. And then she stopped.
Sweetie’s heart raced as she watched Amma’s face slacken as she took in Sweetie’s outfit, a slow drag from top to bottom and back again. “What is this?”
Sweetie straightened her shoulders. “My Anarkali. The one I told you I wanted.”
“Go upstairs this minute and change.” Amma’s voice was a hiss, low and biting. “This is not how we behave in front of guests.”
“Amma, I’m not changing,” Sweetie said. Her heart was pounding so hard, her voice actually wobbled with the effort of trying not to hyperventilate. “I’m wearing this. You don’t have a problem with Sheena wearing halters.”
“Sheena doesn’t need to cover her body,” Amma said, looking around frantically. “Sweetie, people are going to laugh at you. They’re going to make fun of you.”
It was the same old conversation, the same path they’d walked thousands of times since Sweetie was little. She knew why Amma was so insistent. She was genuinely afraid for Sweetie. She wanted to protect her. She thought differently from other parents, the ones who showed off their imperfect kids flamboyantly and proudly, with no regard for what society might think of them. To Amma, those parents were in the wrong. She’d never understand how exposing your child to possible ridicule might be a strong thing to do or a way to give a middle finger to the world. To Amma, the world was cruel, and her only daughter had to be protected at all costs.
Sweetie took a step toward her mother. “I don’t care if they laugh at me, Amma. Will it hurt my feelings? Probably. Will it make me cry? Maybe. But don’t you see? Covering myself up, telling myself I can’t show my skin because I’m not good enough to do that, is way worse for me. I can’t live like that. I can’t constantly feel like half a person because of my weight. I need you to see that. I need you to love me as I am. Please.” As she finished, her throat was tight and painful and tears dripped down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away.
Amma stared at her. “You think I don’t love you as you are?” She looked away and shook her head slightly. Then, turning to Sweetie, she asked, “Have you been in the backyard?”
Sweetie frowned, slightly confused. “Not yet. Why?”
Amma took her hand firmly and began to lead her to the back door. “Varu. Come.”
Sweetie followed Amma in a complete daze. What was she doing? They stepped outside and Sweetie saw the giant peacock in the corner, sweating in the heat. And then she turned.
It sat proudly on a table, surrounded by ecstatic children. “The chocolate fountain,” Sweetie said softly. An enormous one too, just like she wanted. “You got it.”