Page 43 of One Indian Girl
‘Hey,’ he said, his eyes not moving an inch from the screen.
‘Hi,’ I said, my voice curt.Is it too much for him to get up from the sofa and give me a hug?
I removed my jacket and placed it on the dining table. I saw takeaway bowls from MrChow, a Chinese restaurant in Tribeca.
‘You ordered in?’ I said.
‘Yeah. Felt too lazy to make anything. Plus, there was this game.’
‘This food is too greasy for me. You could have ordered something healthier.’
‘MrChow is cheap. Have you seen the portion sizes? It will last us two days.’
I dumped my handbag on the dining chair. Sometimes, I wished Debu wasn’t so obsessed about saving a few bucks.
‘I fought with my mother. I called her to have a chat and ended up yelling at her.’
‘Uh huh,’ he said, eyes on the TV. ‘That’s not nice.’
‘Debu, can you please shut the TV off for a minute?’ I said. Screamed, in fact.
Debu looked mildly surprised. He didn’t switch off the TV, but muted it. He turned to me.
‘What happened, baby?’
‘I’ve come home after a long day. Can you just pretend to be happy to see me?’
‘Of course I am happy, baby.’
‘Give me a hug. Don’t just say “hey” when I enter the house.’
He sprang up from his seat. He came up to me and hugged me.
I pushed him away. ‘Not when I have to ask. And be interested. My mom and I had a huge argument.’
‘What about?’
‘Guess.’
‘Your marriage? Her whole “who will marry my poor daughter” routine?’
‘Yes, Debu,’ I said, glaring at him. ‘You are so clever to figure it out. But seriously, who will marry her poor daughter?’
My mother and I had at least one blowout per week about my marriage. Debu knew about it. I hoped he would get into action and propose a plan. Of course, a stupid minor league American football game was more important. I continued to glare at him.
‘What?’ Debu said. ‘Stop letting her affect you so much. She’s regressive and old-fashioned.’
He took a paper plate and scooped some noodles on it. He handed it to me, a cheap portion of chowmein to compensate for my uncertain future.
‘Debu, really? Is that what you think I am upset about?’
‘It’s not?’ he said, his face blank.
Why don’t guys ever get it? It’s never just one thing with women. It’s a long day at work, dirty looks from my boss, seeing women thinner than me in the train, arguing with my mother, coming home to a disinterested boyfriend and then eating greasy food for dinner that would make me even fatter than the skinny girls on the train. Oh, and add boyfriend never having the guts to discuss our future.
‘No,’ I said, in as patient a voice as possible, ‘it isn’t only that.’
‘Oh,’ he said, genuinely astonished.
