“He didn’t come home because things didn’t work out in the US,” Navi says. “He came home because Ishika is in the hospital.”
“This doesn’t concern you, Navi,” Dad says.
“But he’s right,” Sona argues. “That’s not fair.”
“A deal is a deal,” Dad insists, his tone leaving no room for argument.
My siblings—all four present—look at me. I can see that they want to continue to argue on my behalf, just as I would for them. But they’re only going to continue if I argue.
The thing is, Dad’s right. I made that agreement. It wasn’t contingent on what brought me home. Knowing this makes me sick to my stomach. I turn my eyes to my plate of food, which I barely see.
“He’ll be here this afternoon,” Dad says.
“Dad!” Kiaan says. “How can you think this is an appropriate time for this with Ishika in the hospital?”
Dad doesn’t answer. I can feel him staring at me. My chest heaves as I try to get myself under control. As I try to work myself up to argue that I don’t want this. I know I agreed to it, but I love someone else. Just because he’s not here, just because he returned me to India, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to… to…
The taste of bile coats my mouth and I think I’m going to be sick. I close my eyes and push my plate away. There are voices around me, but they seem far away. I can’t make out their words.
“Excuse me,” I say and practically run from the table. I’m not sure how I make it to my room, but when I finally catch my breath, I’m on the cold floor, sucking in as much air through my open mouth as I can.
I need to tell Dad no. I need to tell him that right now isn’t a good time. I don’t know if things between me and Julian are over. Yes, I’m home without him, but… I also haven’t found the strength to ask him why. Maybe there’s a good reason. Maybe there’s not, but I should know what it is before I decide whether I can accept it.
The pressure of these two points colliding in my head feels like a house is pressing down on me. It’s keeping me on the floor as I struggle to breathe under the weight. How do you teach yourself to speak the things you need to say? How do you tell someone you’re hurting, and you need to know why they hurt you?
How do you tell your father you’re not ready to meet someone when there’s no finality in another relationship?
How do you disappoint your family and continue to live with that burden?
There should be courses taught on how to be more confrontational when it means also being vulnerable. It doesn’t matter how deeply someone hurts me, trying to find the strength to demand a reason or tell them how I feel is far too big.
I still haven’t had that conversation with Jash. I’m positive he knows he hurt me, but he will never know just how deep that wound is because I can’t tell him. I don’t know how to manifest that courage. It doesn’t matter how badly I want to. It doesn’t matter if I decide to say something. When it comes down to themoment, words won’t form, and the world turns dark. I feel sick to my stomach.
And then I back down, convinced I don’t need to have the conversation. They don’t need to know. I don’t need a confrontation.
I remain on my floor for hours, trying to pull myself together. I know it’s been hours because my watch says so. The only thing I can do is continue trying to convince myself that I need to talk to my father. I need to tell him I don’t want to meet someone right now.
I can reason with him about it. It wouldn’t be fair to that person because I love someone else. It doesn’t matter if that someone else feels differently because it doesn’t change howIfeel. I can argue the point that Navi made. I’m not here without a husband by choice. I’m here because my sister needed me to be here. My family needed me to be here. That’s not a failure to procure a husband.
There’s a knock at my door, and I open my eyes to look at it. It’s a little easier to have a conversation if someone else begins it. If they hit the nail directly on the head and begin, then I can sometimes follow it up with at least a partial truth. Maybe I can’t get it all out, but I can sometimes get a bit out.
Pushing myself to my feet, I answer the door, expecting my father. It’s not. It’s Bhavesh, one of the staff of the house. He smiles.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bakshi. There’s a gentleman in the courtyard for you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to see anyone.”
Bhavesh gives me an apologetic look. “Your father insists. I’m sorry.”
It’s not Bhavesh’s fault. He’s just the messenger. I can’t be a dick to him because I’m angry with myself for not having thegoddamn balls to speak on my own behalf. I nod and follow him from my room.
I glance down, noting that I’m not at all dressed appropriately to meet someone. It’s going to be even more awkward because I’m in Julian’s Chicago Breeze hoodie. It even has his name and number on the back.
Bhavesh leaves me to march to my fate. Telling a stranger that I’m not going to entertain this match at the moment will be easier than telling my father. I’m confident about that. That’s the only thing keeping my feet moving.
When I turn the corner and face the man in the courtyard, my soul leaves my body entirely. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking around the courtyard with his hands in his pockets. Seconds feel like hours as I stare.
I’ve lost my mind, haven’t I? That’s the only explanation for why I’m seeing Julian White in my courtyard. In India. Oh god, I’ve gone insane.
