Short Story: Happily Ever...What? Chapter 4

The grocery store was busy, oddly so for a random Wednesday afternoon.  I had chosen that time for a specific reason.  It was safe.  At least I thought so for the most part.  That had been why I stood with confidence near the organic apples and carefully inspected each one, turning it this way, then that, then this way again finally looking at the bottom and top.  My brows were probably furrowed in concentration while narrowed eyes scanned every single inch of the smooth green skin.  I hated mushy mealy apples.  Was there anything worse?  Any signs of imperfections and I would toss the offending piece of fruit even though my normal 'there are people in other parts of the universe starving' moral side would rear it's ugly head and castigate me.

As I stood there, I felt a finger gently move the hair on my neck aside and a kiss deposited 'just there'.  I shivered and sighed but my eyes stayed focused.  "Are you done?"  He asked.

"You can't rush this sort of thing."

"Babe, it's been literally 10 minutes," he peered into the basket that swung from my left arm, "and you've managed to find 2 acceptable ones?" 

"I warned you about this."

"Fair enough, you did," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist so that he could pull me back into his solid warmth.  "I'll just keep myself occupied."

"You're distracting me," I admonished with a smile.

"Yes, and I just don't seem to listen."  His voice was a low suggestive murmur in my ear.  I knew that tone well and the chemical reaction within me was instant and the astonishing fact was that it had stayed the same for nearly the full two years we had been together.

My first meeting with "PT" had been at a party that was thrown by mutual friends.  In fact, he was the younger brother of the hostess, having had just shifted to my city.  We were introduced, chitchatted, then I swiftly forgot about him. It wasn't that we didn't have some zing of chemistry from the moment we spoke, but knowing that getting involved with someone wasn't an option, I had put that spark away somewhere so that I didn't have to think about it.  Complications, I did not need.  Clearly he had no such compulsion for within a few days he had called me out of the blue and asked me out.  I lied to him and told him that although I was flattered, I was already seeing someone.  The flattered part was not the lie.

2 years went by and I luckily didn't run into him.  Life had become busy and being social wasn't in the cards.  But one random night as I was out with a few friends, I looked up to see a fairly good-looking though somewhat familiar gentleman staring at me from down the bar.  Eventually he made his way over and I realized it was PT.  My friends were happy to invite him and his few companions over to join us and the night took off.  It didn't take long for the initial spark to re-ignite and that was that...now I couldn't imagine existence without him.

As we strolled hand-in-hand picking up the fixings for dinner that night, I felt happy and surprisingly enough, comfortable.  The ability to feel relaxed with PT in public had taken a long time to achieve.  Not that it was him per say but the idea that if we were out together, there was a chance we would be caught.  Because, no matter how many wonderful attributes he had or how amazing of a man he was, the one thing that worked against him was that PT was white and Christian.  He hailed from a very Irish, very affluent New England family who took pride in the fact that their American roots went back several generations.  They were as American as grandma's apple pie and the Kennedy family.  All PT's parents wanted for him was his happiness, however he found it.  My family, on the other hand, was everything that embodied conforming and demanding.  They prided themselves on having been able to acquire financial stability in a country they had adopted, was comfortable surrounding themselves with their own kind and determined that even if we lived in the States, we would not change.  It had always been expected of me to eventually have an arranged marriage to a good Indian boy and settle down to have a lot of curry loving kids while being the perfect wife and baahu (daughter-in-law). 

I had somehow settled with this idea long ago because it seemed about right.  That's what most did, right?  Besides, arguing that there was another way to go about it, that there were other options, well I just didn't have the gumption to speak up.  I never had when it came to them.  Some part of me believed firmly that I owed them for not only life, but the lifestyle I now lived.  What hadn't they sacrificed for my soul purpose?  That was the least I could do, right? 

But PT had put a kink in not only the plans that had been in place since my birth but in my head as well.  Before when everything was about what would make my parents happy, proud, suddenly I had started to dream about living with a man who, although not of my culture, race or religion, would still keep me as happy as anyone who did possess those qualifications.  When he had brought up the topic of marriage, for the first time in my life, I didn't shrink away from the thought, only the idea of having to tell my parents.  I was just plain old scared.   

That fear alone was what kept PT and our relationship a secret.  We had been successful in this endeavor, something of relief between the two of us, though it took him some time to come to terms with the need to have to keep things hush hush, at least from my family.  Maybe the problem was that we had become too relieved and too comfortable.  These two reasons alone could have been the only explanation as to why...why I had been so careless on that trip to the supermarket.  Why, until that day at the grocery store when I looked up to stare my own personal walking nightmare in the face, had I fooled myself into believing that nothing could tear me away from my happiness.  It just wasn't meant to be as my eyes widened fastening upon the figure of an Aunty that I knew well, a close family friend who was close to my mother.  She was also one of the biggest gossips in town and the first thing her eyes zero'ed in on was our interwoven fingers.

I let go fast but it wasn't fast enough.  He tried to step away not because he wanted to or was afraid to be seen, he had never been, but he knew that's what I would want him to do.  It didn't help though.  Nothing helped.  We stopped, I introduced PT as a friend, a buddy, I was helping him with some shopping, taking a break from school.  She just nodded, eyes narrowed with gossip-y glee, as if she couldn't wait to spread this news.  I knew the jig was up. 

As we headed back to his place, I felt as if I was going to throw up any minute.  The pit of my stomach was perpetually clenched and I couldn't focus.  He was saying things to me but I didn't hear him, he tried to calm me down but there was nothing he could do for me.  I was beyond listening, fear had taken root deeply and I knew, absolutely was positive, as to what the outcome would be.  Now I just had to face the music. 

When I got home later that night, my father and mother were both waiting in the living room.  My dad looked downright grim while my mothers face was sufficed in red, her eyes glittering with fury, anger, accusations that were yet to be hurled.  It did not go well.  Nearly all night long, she unleashed on me.  She didn't even bother to go with the outright threats of disowning and such, no she went for the heavy artillery, the emotional blackmail that included such statements as 'all we've done for you and this is how you repay us?' and with those words, it was her win.  My relationship with PT never stood a chance.

My father had remained quiet through it all not saying one word of support nor damnation.  His eyes were firmly upon the television that was turned on but muted, face completely impassive.  Sitting there, watching them, seeing how they both were perfectly okay with snatching away every bit of happiness from me, something inside seemed to shrivel and die.  The belief that at the end of the day they would want me to find whatever it was that would bring me joy was destroyed and I sat there realizing that in fact it, none of it, was about me but truly them and their precious society, family, etc...I didn't hold a candle to any of it.

I broke up with PT the next day over the phone telling him that I just couldn't go against my parents wishes.  He argued, pleaded for me to reconsider, suggested that he come meet my parents to talk to them, demanded to see me when I refused the request to meet mom and dad but I knew that I wouldn't be able to handle seeing him.  The answer was still no.  For weeks he tried through various channels to get to me, even reaching out to friends to see if they could help but I had withdrawn so far into a shell that I was completely impenetrable.  No argument nor words would change my mind at that point. 

Where I had become a recluse to many degrees, my only companion were tears, they never stopped falling though I tried so hard to restrain them.  I cried whenever I was alone, without fail and had to figure out reasonable excuses for consistent red swollen eyes.  Most believed these explanations or didn't care to ask for one at all, some knew, for the most it wasn't always needed.  This was a blessing in many ways.  If one thought though that my misery would soften hardened hearts, then the assumption would be wrong.  There was no pity to be had.

By the time it was suggested that the best way to deal with the situation as whole was to see me married, I was resigned.  I didn't flinch in the least.  They reasoned that I was about to graduate from college, age was just right, like the perfect mango waiting to be picked.  They said it was wiser to go back to the motherland to find a 'good boy' of our ilk.  What was that anyhow?  Who was that?  What constituted a 'good boy'?  I didn't bother to ask though because they would be quick to respond 'not who you chose'.  I couldn't hear that one more time.  The barbs were something I had to endure even when I said nothing, did nothing but sit there like a zombie staring at nothing.  Even when I felt so lost that breathing was the only sound I could hear completely, I was still being told what a horrible person I turned out to be, how much I had dropped the proverbial ball and hurt my family without thought as well as humiliated the family in front of the community.   The world 'selfish' was one that was constantly flung around my house on a daily basis.

I came to believe it. 

I gazed wordlessly when they showed me a picture.  He stood with his friends in a group beside some lake.  I didn't know which he was, didn't particularly care but a finger pointed him out.  That one.  Yes, he wasn't bad looking, seemed friendly enough with a pleasant smile and an arm flung over one of his friends shoulder.  He lived in the states also, total bonus, right?  But presently he was back home visiting as well as looking to get hitched.  Why not go immediately to meet him?  They had shown him my picture as well.  They were all interested it seemed, all of them.  If things went right then everything could be wrapped up within a month, may be two max.  I would be a married woman before the end of summer.  That was so handy. 

When asked if this was acceptable to me, I did the only thing I could:  I nodded.