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Authors: Anjali Banerjee
Tags: Fiction, Contemporary Women
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six copies of Fuzzy-Paw and they’re all on display.”
“Your aunt was in a rush, so the books were ordered at the last minute, and they’re late. But they’ll be delivered by courier first thing in the morning.”
“First thing. You’re sure.”
“I’m almost a hundred percent sure.” Tony grabs his coat from the closet. On his way out the door, he pauses, his hand on the knob. “You’re staying here tonight, right?”
I’m putting on my coat, too. “Why?”
“You told your aunt you would.”
“What difference does it make?”
He hesitates, shakes his head. “You can’t leave this place alone at night.”
“Well, the poor old house will have to brave a few nights alone. It’s old enough to take care of itself.”
Tony laughs. “Do what you want.” And without further explanation, he is gone.
Chapter 12
When I arrive at my parents’ house, Gita has gone back to Seattle, and Ma is flitting around in a blue silk sari and a cloud of Joy perfume. She has transformed herself from American to Bengali in one change of clothes and a line of black kajal rimming her eyes.
“How was work?” She glances in the hall mirror, turns her head this way and that, jewelry flashing, and pats her short hair.
“Fabulous,” I lie, yawning. I drop my handbag in the foyer. “Auntie thinks I’m staying over at the shop. She says the house gets cranky if I don’t.”
“The house won’t know the difference.” Ma gives me a bright smile, lit by her twinkling silver earrings. “The Mauliks heard you were in town, and they’ve invited us all to dinner this evening.”
“On such short notice.” My heart sinks. She won’t let me escape from this one—the Mauliks are old family friends who retired on the island at my parents’ urging. Benoy Maulik, my de facto uncle, went to university in India with my father.
“You don’t need to dress up,” Ma says, patting her hair. “Just go like that.”
I glance down at my jeans and sneakers. She can’t be serious. Even Dad is dressed up in a silk shirt and slacks and spicy cologne. “I can’t go like this. I need to change.” Wait—did I just agree to go? I suppose I did.
“Hurry up, then. We need to leave in ten minutes.”
Ten minutes! “Why didn’t you give me some warning? I’m tired. I think I’ll stay home.”
Ma pushes me toward the stairs. “What will I tell the Mauliks? After all this time? They’re expecting you.”
Ten minutes later, I’m ready to go in a paisley blouse and skirt. I’m a kid again, sitting in the backseat of my parents’ car as we head to a party at the house of Indian friends. Our parents always left Gita and me in the children’s TV room with all the snotty-nosed brats. Gita didn’t seem to mind. Five years my junior, she had fun playing with the little ones.
“Has Charu’s hip healed?” Ma asks Dad in the front seat. She speaks of Uncle Benoy’s wife.
“She’s back at work, apparently. Translating Hindi texts for the university.”
“Is she still trying to write a novel?”
“She’s been writing that book for years,” Dad says and laughs.
“Benoy did better after his bypass surgery,” Ma says.
“He’s looking haggard,” Dad says.
“They both look haggard,” Ma says.
“He’s trying to do too much—always working on some kind of house project—”
“Why doesn’t he relax?” Ma says, checking her eyeliner in the overhead mirror. “He’ll end up having another heart attack.”
My parents’ gossip clogs the air like toxic smoke. I roll down the window and inhale the fresh scents of cedar and pine. Years have passed since I sat in the backseat, listening to Ma and Dad discuss other people who aren’t present to defend themselves. Do my parents talk about me this way when I’m not around? That Jasmine, screwed up her marriage. She’ll grow old and gray and she’ll still be without a husband.
“The Mauliks have been through a lot, it sounds like,” I say, to balance the
“Your aunt was in a rush, so the books were ordered at the last minute, and they’re late. But they’ll be delivered by courier first thing in the morning.”
“First thing. You’re sure.”
“I’m almost a hundred percent sure.” Tony grabs his coat from the closet. On his way out the door, he pauses, his hand on the knob. “You’re staying here tonight, right?”
I’m putting on my coat, too. “Why?”
“You told your aunt you would.”
“What difference does it make?”
He hesitates, shakes his head. “You can’t leave this place alone at night.”
“Well, the poor old house will have to brave a few nights alone. It’s old enough to take care of itself.”
Tony laughs. “Do what you want.” And without further explanation, he is gone.
Chapter 12
When I arrive at my parents’ house, Gita has gone back to Seattle, and Ma is flitting around in a blue silk sari and a cloud of Joy perfume. She has transformed herself from American to Bengali in one change of clothes and a line of black kajal rimming her eyes.
“How was work?” She glances in the hall mirror, turns her head this way and that, jewelry flashing, and pats her short hair.
“Fabulous,” I lie, yawning. I drop my handbag in the foyer. “Auntie thinks I’m staying over at the shop. She says the house gets cranky if I don’t.”
“The house won’t know the difference.” Ma gives me a bright smile, lit by her twinkling silver earrings. “The Mauliks heard you were in town, and they’ve invited us all to dinner this evening.”
“On such short notice.” My heart sinks. She won’t let me escape from this one—the Mauliks are old family friends who retired on the island at my parents’ urging. Benoy Maulik, my de facto uncle, went to university in India with my father.
“You don’t need to dress up,” Ma says, patting her hair. “Just go like that.”
I glance down at my jeans and sneakers. She can’t be serious. Even Dad is dressed up in a silk shirt and slacks and spicy cologne. “I can’t go like this. I need to change.” Wait—did I just agree to go? I suppose I did.
“Hurry up, then. We need to leave in ten minutes.”
Ten minutes! “Why didn’t you give me some warning? I’m tired. I think I’ll stay home.”
Ma pushes me toward the stairs. “What will I tell the Mauliks? After all this time? They’re expecting you.”
Ten minutes later, I’m ready to go in a paisley blouse and skirt. I’m a kid again, sitting in the backseat of my parents’ car as we head to a party at the house of Indian friends. Our parents always left Gita and me in the children’s TV room with all the snotty-nosed brats. Gita didn’t seem to mind. Five years my junior, she had fun playing with the little ones.
“Has Charu’s hip healed?” Ma asks Dad in the front seat. She speaks of Uncle Benoy’s wife.
“She’s back at work, apparently. Translating Hindi texts for the university.”
“Is she still trying to write a novel?”
“She’s been writing that book for years,” Dad says and laughs.
“Benoy did better after his bypass surgery,” Ma says.
“He’s looking haggard,” Dad says.
“They both look haggard,” Ma says.
“He’s trying to do too much—always working on some kind of house project—”
“Why doesn’t he relax?” Ma says, checking her eyeliner in the overhead mirror. “He’ll end up having another heart attack.”
My parents’ gossip clogs the air like toxic smoke. I roll down the window and inhale the fresh scents of cedar and pine. Years have passed since I sat in the backseat, listening to Ma and Dad discuss other people who aren’t present to defend themselves. Do my parents talk about me this way when I’m not around? That Jasmine, screwed up her marriage. She’ll grow old and gray and she’ll still be without a husband.
“The Mauliks have been through a lot, it sounds like,” I say, to balance the
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