Her mother squeezed back and smiled before turning again to her work.
Small silence as grief weighed on them for a moment.
“How is Naya?” A forced lightness in her mother’s voice told Annika they were moving to other, less demanding topics.
“She’s good.” Annika relaxed. “Law school is kicking her butt.”Especially since she doesn’t want to be a lawyer.
“Veena-kaki wants Naya to meet Urmila-auntie’s son. Do you remember Ravi? He’s a lawyer now.”
Annika smirked. Naya’s mom was persistent. Annika’s dad and his brother were so alike; it was interesting that their wives were so different. Veena-kaki kept trying to set her daughter up, and Naya had agreed to the matchmaking, just as she had agreed to go to law school. But Annika suspected her cousin didn’t want to get married any more than she wanted to be a lawyer. She simply did what was expected of her. It kept everyone happy. Except for maybe Naya.
As much as her own mother wanted her to be married, Annika was relieved she hadn’t tried to set her up yet.
“Mom, I don’t really think Naya wants to get married. She wants to see the world after law school. Maybe join the Peace Corps.” She planted the idea in her mother, hoping it would get back to Veena-kaki.
Her mother shrugged. “Well, you never know.”
“Where’s Papa?” Annika used her fingers to flip the rotli over to bake the other side.
“He should be home any minute. How is work?” Her mother’s bangles jiggled and clanked on the counter as she quickly and efficiently rolled out the flatbread.
Here was another point of contention, although with the boyfriend and pregnancy it had sort of fallen to the wayside. Annika had been pre-med in college and had the grades and MCAT scores to go to medical school. As the time loomed closer to apply to those schools, however, Annika had been filled with dread. What she wanted was to be a kindergarten teacher. Not a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer.
“Work is great, Mom. I love it,” she said automatically, almost in defiance of what she thought her mother was thinking. She placed the rotli directly on the gas, allowing it to puff up. The kitchen took on the comforting aroma of fresh bread, and Annika allowed herself to sink into it.
“Glad to hear it” came the automatic reply.
“Glad to hear what?” Her father was home. She turned to him. If there was any doubt what her brother would look like in thirty years, all one had to do was look at their father. Anil Mehta stood a few inches taller than his daughter, and a few shades darker. He had a full head of hair, though there was a good deal of salt in the pepper, and he still parted it on the side as he had all his life. He was handsome in that mild-mannered, Clark Kent kind of way, and his eyes still lit up when he saw his wife. Her mother offered her cheek and her father kissed it, smiling.
His smile faded slightly, taking on a shadow of firmness as he turned to Annika. She did her best to ignore it.
“Hi, Papa. Just telling Mom how much I love teaching.” She continued to cook the rotli as she spoke.
“That is good to know that your education is at least making you happy, even if it won’t buy you a future.”
Who said Indian men didn’t understand sarcasm?
“Have you thought about what we suggested?” He pierced her with his gaze. Nothing like getting right to it.
“I did. But I’m not ready to get married.”
They may not haveactuallyset her up, but they certainly didn’t stop talking to her about it.
“No one is ever ‘ready’ to get married, beta.” Her father’s voice was calm, but already starting to show agitation.
“Papa, I want to meet someone on my own.” An image of Chopper Guy flashed before her. She shook it from her head. Not going there.
Her father waved a dismissive hand. “You want to find someone and fall in love—a very American concept. Your mother and I were arranged by our parents. Love grew over time. Do you doubt that your mother and I love each other?”
The affection in his eyes as he pecked her mother on the cheek was definite proof of their bond. “Of course not, Papa. It’s just that...marrying a stranger is not for me.”
“He won’t be a stranger. You can date him, get to know him—just let us set you up with some nice boys.” This was her mother, pleading with her.
“Why can’t I meet someone on my own, in my own time?”
“We allowed that, Annika. And look how it turned out.” And there it was. Another failure for Annika. She did not have the energy for this argument right now.
Her mother placed her hand on her father’s arm and gave him a look that told him to let it go in no uncertain terms. “Go. Get changed. We will have dinner together.”
