Love, Hate and Other Filters(32)

Phil’s smiling face fills my computer screen, but all I see is his luscious dimple. I’ve been rough-cutting shots all morning to create a montage of the time Phil and I spent together. One image of Phil fades into another—the ambient light in the shots shifts and casts shadows across his brow, his cheekbones, his lips. I’m trying to convince myself that I’m searching for the best shots, empirically speaking, but I’m not. I’m searching for his smile. Not just any one. The smile I’m sure is meant only for me. The smile that will prove Kareem was right about Phil liking me for real.

“This is pathetic,” I say out loud, pushing back from my computer.

When I walk into the kitchen, my aunt is at the table sipping chai, and my mom is at the stove cooking.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” I say, happy to see Hina. Inviting her over as moral support was probably the best decision I’ve made in weeks. My resolve is bolstered just by her presence.

“Your ummi said you were working on a movie, so I didn’t want to interrupt. But I’m dying to hear about the brunch with Kareem and his parents.”

My mom starts aggressively stirring the pot in front of her. She doesn’t acknowledge Hina’s question, but she heard it. I slink into the chair across from Hina, who gives me a little shrug.

I sigh. “Well, I … we … Kareem and I are just going to be friends. I mean, he really considers me a little sister. It’s sweet.” I’m trying to sound as chipper as possible. My mom still isn’t looking at us, so I open my eyes wide and gesture at Hina to go along. When she gives me a silent “ah” and nods, I know she gets me.

“Hhhhmmph. Little sister,” my mom mutters under her breath and keeps stirring.

“Well, that’s good, no?” Hina asks, trying to sound upbeat. “I mean, it’s always good to have family, and since he’s in college, I’m sure he’s going to be a great source of advice.”

“Exactly,” I say. “I’m sure—”

My mom whips around, waving the wooden spoon in her hand like she’s preparing for battle. “You’re not sure of anything. That’s why you’re throwing poor Kareem on some ash heap before he even had a chance.”

“I’m not throwing anyone anywhere. Seriously, Mom. It’s not like I’m breaking off an engagement.”

It’s absurd. The thing is, Mom hasn’t even reached peak melodrama yet.

“You should be so lucky as to get engaged,” she says.

She’s getting there.

“What? I can’t believe—”

Hina steps in. “Come on now, aapa.” I’m pretty sure she can see that I’m about to erupt. “You didn’t really expect Maya to get engaged. She’s not even eighteen yet. She has to focus on her studies.”

My mom takes a breath and lowers the spoon. “Of course. We want Maya to finish school before getting married, but you know, it can’t hurt to have someone in mind.”

I open my mouth to say something, but Hina nudges me under the table, so I bite my lip and keep my sarcastic remarks to myself. This is not today’s battle.

“Don’t worry, aapa. Maya is quite the catch. I’m sure she will have no problem finding eligible suitors when the time comes.”

“Of course she’s a catch. She’s my daughter, isn’t she?” My mom turns back to the stove, pleased with her retort. I see her shoulders relax. The Hina effect.

My dad enters the kitchen, which is good. If he even sniffs a discussion about something emotional or feminine, he hightails it out of there. “Aaray, I’m getting hungry.” He sidles up to my mom and puts an arm around her shoulders. I sit on my hands. I shift in my seat. Even this G-rated eyeful of parental affection makes me uncomfortable.

Hina swoops in to the rescue. “Maya and I will take these dishes into the dining room, and you can bring the rest when you’re done, okay, aapa?”

“Two more minutes,” my mom says and gestures to my dad to get water glasses from the cupboard.

Hina and I take out the daal, kebabs, and rice and sit at the table. I take a few breaths, savoring the calm. We just sidestepped one argument so we could dive into an even bigger one.

“So you have a plan, right?” Hina asks in a whisper.

“Yes. You tell them I got into NYU while I cower in a corner.”

Hina laughs. “God, I’m not that brave. Be firm and let them know it’s what you want. Tag me in as necessary.”

“I’m going to carpe this diem,” I say, and for an instant I imagine Kareem nodding his approval.

My parents join us in the dining room, carrying in the remaining dishes. They take a seat, and my mom fills our plates.

“Oh, I forgot the naan,” she says, slapping her palm to her forehead. “Let me go heat—”

“Jaan, it’s okay.” My dad takes my mom’s wrist, gently pulling her back to the table and her seat. “Let’s all sit down and have a nice, peaceful family lunch.”

I catch Hina’s eyes. No time like the present. “Dad?” I ask, inflection rising. “This might not be the peaceful family lunch you hoped for.”

“Why?” my mom asks, panic tingeing her voice. “What happened? What’s wrong?”