Everything Was Good-Bye (15 page)

Sunny’s mother leaned forward. “There is one thing.”

My mother waited for her to continue.

“It is her name—the astrologer suggests it be changed.”

“Why? What is wrong with it?”

Sunny’s mother put her hand on my mother’s shoulder as though she were bracing her for some terrible news. “It is inauspicious. If they wed they would be unhappy, childless even. For their happiness’ sake, it would need to be changed.”

“To what?”

“Surinder.”

“Sur-in-der?” My mother repeated it, deciphering it in syllables.

Mamaji, who had been quiet up to now, spoke. “But Meena’s father, he named her.”

Sunny’s mother pulled me close, squishing my body against her bosom. Her husband smiled and said: “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

The room was silent except for the tick of the grandfather clock. “Perhaps it is too early to talk of such things,” Amarjit Auntie suggested. “Maybe we should let the kids talk, get to know each other, hmm?”

Masi agreed and stood up, prompting everyone else to stand as well. “This way,” she said, leading Sunny and me downstairs to the family room, where my nieces and nephews were watching
Cinderella.
“Come now, children. Let these two talk,” Masi said, and filed them out of the room.

I sat down on one end of the sofa and Sunny sat on the other. We still hadn’t looked at each other. I reached for the remote control and turned the volume on the television down, aware that though we were alone we were still within eavesdropping distance. For a moment neither of us said anything. The silence was disconcerting and I wondered if Sunny was shy or simply bored with this process.

“So you’re a lawyer?” I asked.

“Yes. Corporate, not criminal. ”

“Not a huge distinction,” I joked.

He didn’t laugh or smile. His quiet kept me at a tethered distance.

“And you? You’re in communications or something?” “Yeah. I work at a pr firm downtown.”

“Did you go to ubc?”

“No, sfu.”

He nodded, his head bobbing as if he were keeping time to a techno beat. I didn’t say anything. His nervous tendencies left me unsteady—the slight tic and crack of his neck, the bouncing of his knee—or perhaps it was that when he looked at me, it felt like he was looking behind me, as if I were in his way. He reached into his suit jacket pocket and flipped his phone open, checking for missed calls. His phone wasn’t at all like the
brick ones that my brothers-in-law carried, but nothing about him was like them. Everything about him was expensive and guarded, from his grey suit to his socks, which had “Polo” stitched onto the heels.

Silence, except for the innocent taunts of the children who were playing outside in the yard, snatching glances at us through the window. “Sunny and Meena sitting in a tree, K-I–S–S–I–N–G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage.”

He laughed a little. I was relieved.

“Is your mom serious about changing my name?”I asked.

“Most likely. She had our charts made and the astrologer told her that we weren’t a good match. He suggested that if your name was different, our future could be different.”

“So, essentially, it would be better if I were someone else?”

“It’s not like that. It’s really no big deal.”

“Really? Then why not change your name?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how all that stuffworks and I really don’t care. But my mom, she’s really into it, so I just go along with it, you know?”

I smirked. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’ll still call you Meena when she’s not around.”

I nodded. More quiet.

We strained to connect, our conversation limited to polite affectations, our eyes drifting in and out of each other’s peripheral vision. He asked me about family, but acknowledged all of my responses with only passing interest and dismissive nods. Any mutual attempt at conversation ended up in the tight awkward silences that come with doing what you’ve been told to do even when you don’t want to. We spoke like strangers, revealing nothing but our discomfort, until I confronted all the lies we were leading.

“You don’t want to get married, do you?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

“Then why are you even here? Why go through this?”

He sighed an uneven exhale. “Same reason as you. My family.”

We stared at the tv, watching the cartoon images without sound for a few minutes until I turned towards him. “Why not just tell them that you don’t want to?”
He reached for my hand and strummed my bracelets back and forth before looking up at me. “It’s not that easy, is it?” He ran his fingertips over my knuckles, tracing the broken skin. “Does it hurt?”

2.4

I
didn’t see Sunny until a week before our engagement party. He’d asked permission to take me out and though my mother didn’t approve of us seeing each other before the wedding, during a long phone conversation he convinced her otherwise. “All right, as long as there are other people there,” she told him.

But when I arrived at the restaurant Sunny was seated alone, talking on his mobile phone. He didn’t get up, gestured for me to sit down and continued his telephone conversation, which, from what I could hear, was both quiet and agitated. He pressed his finger to one ear, drowning out the restaurant sounds of cutlery against china and the head-thrown-back laughter of the table of six across from us. I took my shawl offand sank into the red leather club chair, soaking in the dim amber lighting and lounge music of Vancouver’s newest hot spot. Sunny turned in his seat and fiddled with his silver cufflinks. He leaned back and crossed his legs casually. Everything about him looked like an advertisement for men’s cologne. His shirt collar was undone as if he’d loosened a tie or taken it offafter a long day at the office. He had a five o’clock shadow and a half-closed look to his eyes that suggested propositions of sleeplessness and lust.

He clipped the phone shut and popped it into the inside pocket of his blazer. “Sorry about that,” he said, and leaned across the table to kiss me on the cheek. He sat back and took a sip of his Scotch, staring at me through the glass. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking away when I saw him glancing at my breasts.

“The Bollywood look was great, but this dress… Wow. It’s… Wow.”

I smiled and wondered if he was sincere, especially when he grinned at the blush that such a few words could illicit. The compliments I usually got were backhanded. All the Indian people I had met were experts in devi-ant praise: either they said nice things to get nice things or they phrased their compliment in a way that cheapened it. My mother’s sister-in-law was the master of these artful insults. If anything good was happening in our family, she would come right over to offer her dampening support. Of Tej’s wedding clothes she’d said, “Modest, plain, not very fashionable, very fitting to your station in life.” She’d seen me in a store recently and had stopped to tell me, “How nice you look. You must have finally lost a few pounds. No one wants to marry a chunky girl, especially Sundeep Gill.” Whenever I got a compliment, I’d quietly dissect it, looking for angles and ulterior motives. If I found none, it was the kind of phrase I could replay and live on for days, carefully building my self-worth around it, never wondering what besides other people’s perceptions was holding me together. But perhaps that was enough. Approval and acceptance were interchangeable in a culture that valued obedience like love.

“This is a really nice place,” I said.

“Glad you like it. A friend of mine owns it.” He paused, as if he expected me to be impressed, and I sensed that he was used to impressing people the way I was used to pleasing them. “In fact I asked him to make something special for us.”

“How nice,” I said, fidgeting with the row of silverware that was more extensive than anything I’d ever seen. The only restaurant I ever went to was White Spot and even then my mother scoffed at how much money I threw away when she could just make me dinner.

“I’m glad your mother agreed to let us go out.”

“Me too. It seemed strange to get engaged without a first date.”

“I know, right? If it wasn’t for Kal, I wouldn’t know anything about you other than what my mother told me.”

“And… so what did Kal tell you about me?”

Sunny smiled. “He said that you’re too good for me.”

“Did he?”

“And since I only surround myself with the best of everything… ” he said, alluding to our posh surroundings.

“You agreed to marry me,” I said, adding the words to the end of his sentence like a punchline.

“Exactly.” He laughed, lifting his glass to toast the air. “I did ask him why, if he thought so highly of you, he didn’t marry you himself.”

“And what did he say?”

“He didn’t.” He took another sip of his Scotch and clenched his teeth as it hit his throat. His smile flattened into a tight grin that he disappeared into momentarily.

“So is Kal joining us for dinner?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“Him, no. Why would he?”

“It’s just… Well, you told my mom that there would be a few people.”

“Oh. No, I just said that so she would let us have dinner together,” he said, snapping his fingers for the waiter. “What? You’ve never lied to your mother before?”

“No, I mean, yes. I just thought… ” The waiter unfolded my napkin into my lap. “How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s pretty excited. Spends most of her time shopping and planning for the wedding… Can I get you a drink—wine or something?” I nodded and the waiter was quick to bring over a bottle of red, which Sunny dis-cerningly approved.

“You know how it is,” I said. “She was beginning to worry that I’d never get married.” Sunny sipped the wine placed before him, pausing as it hit his palette. “Yes, this is nice,” he said to the waiter, who promptly filled our glasses.

“And how do you feel now that you are, that is… that
we
are getting married?” I asked.

“Relieved… to have made a decision.”

“How do you know it’s the right one?”

I waited in his contemplation, soaking in the soft music, hoping that he’d say something romantic, disappointed when he said “I don’t.”

I smiled, feeling foolish for wishing I could make us into something more than a convenience. He reached into his breast pocket for his ringing phone, excusing himself, gesturing that he’d only be a few minutes. Twenty minutes later he was still standing at the bar, talking on the phone, smiling only when the blonde hostess in the low-cut red dress walked by him. Occasionally she would interrupt him and ask if he needed anything, “Another Scotch, Sunny?” As he paused, drinking her in, I felt the beginnings of jealousy. How easily she satisfied him. He watched her for a time, and then, as though he’d gotten bored, turned the other way and smiled at me. I was surprised by the relief I felt at not having been forgotten.

A few minutes later he returned and sat down, pulling his shoulders back until I heard a slight crack. He was quiet, the way people are when they try to remember something or do math equations in their heads.

“Work?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s this real estate deal I’ve been working on.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you worked in real estate.”

He picked up his fork and knife, cutting his salad into bite-sized bits.“There’s a lot about me that you don’t know.” His tone was almost sharp.

“Please, enlighten me then.”

“I’m raising capital for a new high-rise development, condos and what not. If all goes well, I stand to make millions.”

“Millions? Wow, I can’t imagine.”

“I know. I just have my fingers crossed that it all goes through. It’s a lot of moving parts at this stage.”

“How so?”

“Well, you have the city council and local residents to contend with, not to mention managing the various stakeholders’ expectations.” He looked up from his salad. “It’s complicated. You probably wouldn’t understand.”

“Stakeholders, expectations—sounds a lot like dealing with family.” He smiled. “Dysfunctional at best.”

“Tell me, how do you manage it all? With your work and everything?”

“I just do. I don’t want to be like my dad. He worked hard, labouring at the mill his entire life.”

“What’s wrong with working hard?”

“Nothing. Our parents had to because they didn’t have a choice, but we do.” Sunny sipped his wine. “I guess I don’t want to be one of those people who have to wait until they retire to enjoy life.”

“Has your dad retired?”

He nodded. “After I came out here to go to law school, my mom made him sell the mill so they could move to Vancouver as well. She hates being alone.”

I nodded and thought of my mother. I wondered if she was surfing through the channels right then, looking for a made-for-tv movie to watch even though the large and small meanings were lost on her.

“Are you okay?” asked Sunny. “You got all quiet.”

“No, I’m fine. So tell me, do you prefer real estate to law?”

He put his fork down and called the busboy over to clear the dishes, complaining that the dressing was too oily. “My being a lawyer. That was my mom’s idea. Her father was one, so naturally she thought that I should be one too.”

“Naturally… Well, they must be very proud of you.”

“They are.” He nodded unnecessarily.

“You make it seem like it’s a bad thing.”

“It can be.”

Before I could ask anything further, the waiter placed our meals in front of us.

Sunny took a sip of his drink, telling the waiter that he hoped the main course was better than the salad. He picked up his cutlery. “I hope you like it rare,” he said, cutting into his steak, pulling the flesh from bone, chewing slowly.

I nodded yes even though I didn’t, and forced myself to eat the bloody mess.

2.5

G
irls with spray-on tans tapped the toes of their chunky-heeled shoes in protest as I walked past them to the front of the long lineup of partygoers waiting to get into the trendy nightclub. They adjusted their glittery tube tops and folded their arms across their sloppy, braless breasts, watching me greet the bouncer with an inside joke that said I was someone. I was Sunny’s girl: I didn’t have to wait for anything.