Ishu still doesn’t look like she believes I’ll actually tell Amma, but she follows me downstairs silently anyway.
chapter ten
ishu
THE BUS RIDE HOME FEELS STRANGELY PEACEFUL, EVEN though agreeing to do this whole fake dating thing should be making me panic. After all, it’s a big lie. And it’s going to take a lot to spend all that time with Hum—Hani and her friends.
Still—there was something peaceful about having dinner in her house. Aditi Aunty made chicken curry, and it was the best chicken I’ve ever had. Even better than Ammu’s—though I’ll obviously never tell her that. I can see myself getting used to Aditi Aunty’s cooking … to sitting at that dinner table opposite Hani, who gave me the warmest smile when I complimented her Mom’s cooking… .
I’m still thinking about the chicken curry when I get off the bus. On the horizon, I can see the dipping sun. The sky is a cascade of colors, slowly getting darker and darker the closer I get to my house.
I spot Nik when I’m still a few minutes away. Suddenly, I feel like I’ve been transported back in time to Friday afternoon. Except there’s none of that impatient air about her today.
“Did you call me?” I ask as I approach her, slipping my phone out of my pocket to check. Just in case. But Nik shakes her head.
“I was just around the neighborhood …”
“How long have you been waiting?”
She sighs. “A little while. I just wanted to see how Abbu and Ammu are doing.”
I push past her and open the front door. She steps into the house after me, and there’s such a marked difference between how she enters today and how she entered on Friday, that I feel a pang of worry in my chest. On Friday, Nik just felt like Nik, my older sister who has been outshining me my entire life. Today, Nik seems small. Defeated. Like someone I don’t even know.
“Do you think they’ll be up for meeting my fiancé?” she asks. “We’re supposed to go back to London next week, so—”
“They’re still mad,” I interrupt her. “I don’t think that’s just going to go away … Nik, I don’t understand. Why don’t you just go back to university and put off your marriage to this guy until you finish your degree? You don’t have long to go.”
“Two more years is a long way to go, Ishu.” Nik’s voice is heavy. Her decision is finalized, I know. There’s nothing I can do here to change her mind. “I already handed in my paperwork anyway. I can’t change my mind. Not until a year later, at least.”
“If he loved you, would he not wait until—”
“Ishita.” Her voice is somber. Reprimanding.
I hold my palms up to show that I mean no harm. “I’m just trying to understand your logic. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it.”
“Have you even talked to Ammu and Abbu about me and Rakesh?”
“It’s been difficult,” I say. Still, I feel guilt wrap around me. I’ve been so concerned with myself that I haven’t really thought about Nik. Then again, should I really feel guilty about it? Nik has been my sister for my whole life, and in all that time she has never put me over herself. So I don’t know why she expects me to put her and her fiancé over me. “Ammu and Abbu have been taking out their frustrations on me, you know. Like they think if they don’t give me enough attention I’ll become a fuckup too.” I pause, catching Nik’s eyes. “I mean—”
“They think I’m a fuckup, huh? Or is that you?”
“Not me,” I say in too much of a rush.
Nik shakes her head. “Ishu, one day you’ll realize that … that living up to Abbu and Ammu’s wild expectations of us is not all that it’s cracked up to be.”
“What the hell does that mean?” The more she talks, the less Nik seems like my sister. If someone told me that the real Nik was abducted by aliens and replaced with this version, I would fully believe them. Or maybe it could even be a clone situation. Anything other than this really being Nik. These words really coming out of her lips. So different from the sister I have known for my whole life.
“It means that …” She sighs and shakes her head like I’m not worth sharing her thoughts with. “Don’t worry about it. I should go.”
“You’re not going to wait to talk to Ammu and Abbu?” I check my watch—it’s seven o’clock, which means at least one of them should be home soon. The South Asian grocery shop we own in town usually closes at six on the weekdays.