Fifteen
She was still thinking.
So many things to say, so many memories to gather up, all distilled down into something so small. Like that stuff they'd installed in the hospital vending machine... These little pellets that looked like the no-name expectorant softgels the hospital stocked but, amazingly, tasted for all the world like ice cream. What were they called? Dipping dots? Something horrid and American like that.
There were tastes and smells and times and places and people and... everything. Neela wished for all the world that she could Dipping-dot it all for Abby, pass it to her in a convenient nugget, rather than try to explain it. Even the anger, the sadness, the strange and irrepressable rage she had been feeling towards them lately, holding their power over her even from so many miles away.
Abby was watching her, blinking expectantly. Neela got lost in her lashes for a moment, watching them open, close, open, close. Shaking out of it, she curled her knees up under her.
"They're... I don't know... They're..."
"Are there a lot of you?"
"Yeah..." Neela smiled, thinking of all of them, "there's... Well, there's mum and dad, of course. They're... Normal, I suppose. A little uptight, but that's standard fare for parents. Loving, supporitve--when it fits their ideals, of course--but overbearing, overprotective... Over... Overcompensating, but not... I mean, it's not too too too bad... They're probably more strict than American parents but.. I'm used to it, I suppose."
Abby gave a sarcastic snort. Neela glared at her darkly.
"Sorry," said Abby, hiding her mouth with her hand, "I'm sorry."
Neela loosened her glower, continuing.
"There's my uncle Raj--there's always an uncle Raj--and my aunt Savasti... Uncle Raj is a riot. He's in America so he's picked up all their slang. It's not uncommon for him to call us all his 'homies' or talk about our lack of 'hip-hop' knowledge... and Savasti is absolutely gorgeous, I mean she could have been a model if she'd wanted to, I'm sure. They have a son, his name is Michael--"
"Michael? Abby cut in.
"Yeah. Indian people can have Anglo names too, you know."
Abby rolled her eyes.
"Yes, I know," she said, swatting Neela on the thigh, "I was just... Surprised."
Neela folded her hands in her lap.
"God, there are tons and tons more," she said, eyes scanning the ceiling, "I can barely count them all."
She tried, listing them off in her head, regurgitating them to Abby.
"Shiney, Shalu; Arun; Priya; Nigel, his wife, his ex-wife, his ex-wife's husband; Shiv; Ona; Collen, Colleen's kids Brian and Melissa, Melissa's two kids--"
"Wow," Abby cut in, "that is... They must be hell at weddings."
Neela grinned.
"Oh you can't even imagine."
They were silent a moment.
"What about your family," Neela asked quietly, "you... You never talk about them."
Abby looked away, eyes suddenly everywhere but on Neela.
"They're... Complicated," she said slowly.
Neela furrowed her eyebrows, trying to conjure them up. She couldn't picture parents, as though Abby had landed on earth all her own, thirty-five (or was it thirty-eight?) from the get-go.
"Do you not want to talk about it?"
"No, no, I'll... I'll talk about it, I... I should just warn you it's... Just... Don't feel sorry for me."
"I don't feel sorry for you."
Abby gave one of her wry smiles, more like a twist of her lip than anything else.
"You might after this. Most people do."
"What do you mean?"
"They just... They give me this look like, like... Like "oh you poor thing." It's... Obnoxious."
Neela leaned forward, bridging the gap between Abby and herself. She could see the small birthmark next to her ear, the elegant little crows feet working their way into the sides of her eyes.
"I won't," she said, "I won't, I promise."
Abby sighed.
"It's just such a mess," she said, hanging her head, "it's just... A mess. Be prepared."
So many things to say, so many memories to gather up, all distilled down into something so small. Like that stuff they'd installed in the hospital vending machine... These little pellets that looked like the no-name expectorant softgels the hospital stocked but, amazingly, tasted for all the world like ice cream. What were they called? Dipping dots? Something horrid and American like that.
There were tastes and smells and times and places and people and... everything. Neela wished for all the world that she could Dipping-dot it all for Abby, pass it to her in a convenient nugget, rather than try to explain it. Even the anger, the sadness, the strange and irrepressable rage she had been feeling towards them lately, holding their power over her even from so many miles away.
Abby was watching her, blinking expectantly. Neela got lost in her lashes for a moment, watching them open, close, open, close. Shaking out of it, she curled her knees up under her.
"They're... I don't know... They're..."
"Are there a lot of you?"
"Yeah..." Neela smiled, thinking of all of them, "there's... Well, there's mum and dad, of course. They're... Normal, I suppose. A little uptight, but that's standard fare for parents. Loving, supporitve--when it fits their ideals, of course--but overbearing, overprotective... Over... Overcompensating, but not... I mean, it's not too too too bad... They're probably more strict than American parents but.. I'm used to it, I suppose."
Abby gave a sarcastic snort. Neela glared at her darkly.
"Sorry," said Abby, hiding her mouth with her hand, "I'm sorry."
Neela loosened her glower, continuing.
"There's my uncle Raj--there's always an uncle Raj--and my aunt Savasti... Uncle Raj is a riot. He's in America so he's picked up all their slang. It's not uncommon for him to call us all his 'homies' or talk about our lack of 'hip-hop' knowledge... and Savasti is absolutely gorgeous, I mean she could have been a model if she'd wanted to, I'm sure. They have a son, his name is Michael--"
"Michael? Abby cut in.
"Yeah. Indian people can have Anglo names too, you know."
Abby rolled her eyes.
"Yes, I know," she said, swatting Neela on the thigh, "I was just... Surprised."
Neela folded her hands in her lap.
"God, there are tons and tons more," she said, eyes scanning the ceiling, "I can barely count them all."
She tried, listing them off in her head, regurgitating them to Abby.
"Shiney, Shalu; Arun; Priya; Nigel, his wife, his ex-wife, his ex-wife's husband; Shiv; Ona; Collen, Colleen's kids Brian and Melissa, Melissa's two kids--"
"Wow," Abby cut in, "that is... They must be hell at weddings."
Neela grinned.
"Oh you can't even imagine."
They were silent a moment.
"What about your family," Neela asked quietly, "you... You never talk about them."
Abby looked away, eyes suddenly everywhere but on Neela.
"They're... Complicated," she said slowly.
Neela furrowed her eyebrows, trying to conjure them up. She couldn't picture parents, as though Abby had landed on earth all her own, thirty-five (or was it thirty-eight?) from the get-go.
"Do you not want to talk about it?"
"No, no, I'll... I'll talk about it, I... I should just warn you it's... Just... Don't feel sorry for me."
"I don't feel sorry for you."
Abby gave one of her wry smiles, more like a twist of her lip than anything else.
"You might after this. Most people do."
"What do you mean?"
"They just... They give me this look like, like... Like "oh you poor thing." It's... Obnoxious."
Neela leaned forward, bridging the gap between Abby and herself. She could see the small birthmark next to her ear, the elegant little crows feet working their way into the sides of her eyes.
"I won't," she said, "I won't, I promise."
Abby sighed.
"It's just such a mess," she said, hanging her head, "it's just... A mess. Be prepared."