One Indian Girl(26)

My mother and I had at least one blowout per week about my marriage. Debu knew about it. I hoped he would get into action and propose a plan. Of course, a stupid minor league American football game was more important. I continued to glare at him.

‘What?’ Debu said. ‘Stop letting her affect you so much. She’s regressive and old-fashioned.’

He took a paper plate and scooped some noodles on it. He handed it to me, a cheap portion of chowmein to compensate for my uncertain future.

‘Debu, really? Is that what you think I am upset about?’

‘It’s not?’ he said, his face blank.

Why don’t guys ever get it? It’s never just one thing with women. It’s a long day at work, dirty looks from my boss, seeing women thinner than me in the train, arguing with my mother, coming home to a disinterested boyfriend and then eating greasy food for dinner that would make me even fatter than the skinny girls on the train. Oh, and add boyfriend never having the guts to discuss our future.

‘No,’ I said, in as patient a voice as possible, ‘it isn’t only that.’

‘Oh,’ he said, genuinely astonished.

‘Debu, what the fuck!’

‘What? What did I do?’

‘What did you not do?’

‘The hug? I am sorry about the hug, baby.’

‘It’s not the hug. It’s us. Are you so thick or are you pretending to be so?’

‘Be clear, baby.’

‘Don’t baby me.’

I pushed my plate away. I didn’t want to eat this cardiac arrest on a plate. I didn’t want to listen to the ‘baby, baby’ crap.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Debu, where are we going?’

‘Meaning?’

I picked up the remote and switched off the TV.

‘Us. Where is this relationship going? My mother wants me to get married. Are you listening?’

‘But you don’t want to, right? Not right now, right?’ he said, puzzled.

‘But where do you see us in the future, Debu?’

‘I love you, baby. I mean, Radhika. And you love me. We love each other so much. Who else do we have, really?’

‘Love is fine. Yes, I do love you. Frankly, sometimes I feel I am too involved with you. I can’t even think of another guy. Maybe that is why I flare up with mom.’

‘So that’s good, no?’

‘But do we have a future? Or are we just sharing rent and having sex?’

‘Don’t talk like that.’

I walked across the room and sat on the sofa. I switched on the TV again.

He came and switched it off.

‘Why did you switch on the TV?’ he said.

‘You won’t talk,’ I said, ‘and you tell me not to talk. So what to do? Let’s pretend there is no problem.’

‘Okay, I will talk,’ Debu said.

‘Sure. I am listening.’

‘It’s my job. I am waiting for this promotion.’

‘It’s supposed to come through next month.’

‘Yeah, but you never know. It’s crazy. Two of my peers told my boss I don’t deserve the promotion. Advertising is dog-eat-dog. I am so stressed.’

‘Well, that’s terrible. But how is this relevant when it comes to us?’

‘I want to be a senior creative director. Get a raise. A few more accounts. I want to be a little more solid at work before thinking about marriage. I want to focus on my career, not get distracted.’

‘I am not asking you to marry me next week.’

‘I just. . . Okay, fine, I want to get past this promotion. Win a couple more accounts. I will be ready to take the next step then.’

‘What do I tell mom?’

‘Tell her about me. Tell her you have a boyfriend.’

‘She’s not like that. She will flip out. I will tell her once, and at the right time. When it is time to take things ahead.’

‘Your wish,’ he said. ‘Come here.’

I didn’t move from my seat. He came to me and held me.

‘I love you,’ he said.

‘Me too. Sorry I snapped at you.’



We lay down in bed. He ran his fingers up and down my arm.

‘Not tonight, Debu,’ I said. ‘Just not in the mood.’

‘You will feel better.’

‘No,’ I said.

He placed a hand on my breast. I pushed it away.

‘Focus on your career, Debu, don’t get distracted. Goodnight.’





11

‘Foreclose on the company properties first. Scare him so he plays ball,’ I said to Jonathan. We stood by the coffee machine in the office pantry. We were talking about MedTron, a semiconductor company gone bust.

‘That’s true. Smart suggestion,’ Jonathan said.

I made two espressos and passed him a cup.

My phone rang. Debu. I looked at it and put it aside.

‘Go ahead, take it,’ Jonathan said.

‘It’s a personal call. I can call back,’ I said.

‘No, go ahead. I’ll see you back at your desk.’

Jonathan left the pantry. I picked up the phone.

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘A middle-of-the-day call. Nice!’