Rebel Hard
Page 13
Some people got bent out of shape about it, but Nayna liked the idea of knowing where she stood. And it wasn’t as if she’d always been the first one to say no. Three times, the jackasses who’d come to meet her had sent her parents a message before they’d even pulled out of the drive.
“Good riddance,” her father had muttered each time and deleted the number from his phone.
Pulling on a fitted white shirt that she tucked into the skirt, she shrugged into the jacket and buttoned it up. It fit as sweetly as it had in the shop, skimming the lines of her body and making her feel sexy even though the pencil skirt was a perfectly respectable length.
“At least I have a butt.” She patted the only really curvy part of her, which the skirt gently emphasized.
She decided to accessorize the suit with a pair of small gold earrings that her grandmother had given her when she turned eighteen. Of a rich yellow twenty-two-karat gold, the floral design was distinctively Indian, and it spoke to the part of her nature that had grown up watching Bollywood movies with her mother and going to the temple with her grandmother.
Her hair she brushed and pinned into a neat roll at the back of her neck. Makeup took only five minutes—she had the morning routine down pat. Popping her lipstick in her purse to put on in the car after she’d had breakfast, she slipped on low-heeled work pumps in black patent leather, picked up her work satchel and purse, and walked into the kitchen.
To her surprise, her mother was bustling at the kitchen counter, in the process of making roti, the simple flatbread that it was usually Nayna’s job to make. Nayna stuck to cereal or toast in the mornings, but her father and grandmother liked a vegetarian Indian meal. Her mother usually made the vegetable dish while Nayna did the roti.
“Ma.” She put her satchel and purse down out of the way. “I was just about to do that.” She normally did it before she got dressed, but she was perfectly capable of handling the task by throwing on an apron over her suit.
“Oh, it’s fine. You work so hard, beta.” Her mother kissed her on the cheek when she neared. “I like the red.”
Nayna ran her hands down the front of her jacket. “Not too much for the office?”
“Why not?” Her mother’s eyes twinkled. “Today’s a special day. That Raj was lovely, wasn’t he? So manly and tall—and so dedicated to his family and the business. He’s a man who knows how to commit to things, will make a good husband.”
A rush of love filled Nayna’s heart. Hugging her mother from behind, she said, “He’s far too good-looking for me. You know that.” Whatever he’d seen in her at the party had been a thing of moonlight and madness; Madhuri was the stunning one in her family, Nayna her plainer shadow.
Her mother’s face turned mutinous. “You’re my beautiful, smart, funny girl, and he’d be lucky to have you.”
Moving to pour herself a cup of unsweetened chai, Nayna smiled. “Unfortunately, not everyone sees me through my mother’s eyes.”
Shilpa Sharma snorted. “Well, if he doesn’t see your beauty, then he doesn’t deserve you.” With a sniff, she went back to rolling out the roti. “Though I think you’re wrong. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
Nayna wondered if she should tell her mother that his eyes had been glaring as he forced himself to drink the overly sugared tea she’d served him in retaliation for his subtle needling. “Well, just text me when you hear from his family.”
Her father walked into the kitchen then, and he was smiling too. But he didn’t bring up the topic. Nayna knew the reprieve was only temporary. If Raj’s family, for some reason, didn’t contact her family, then her parents would contact his. No one liked to leave things hanging when there were other possible matches out there who’d appreciate their offspring (as spoken by countless parents, disdainful sniff and all).
Forget about internet dating. All this traditional meet and greet and reject stuff was brutal. At least Raj’s parents were lovely and wouldn’t be like asshole number 4’s parents, who’d told her parents their son hadn’t found her “pretty at all” and wanted a more “womanly looking and beautiful” bride.
It wasn’t like he’d been a prize himself, the Napoleon-sized mouth-breather.
Her mother was the one who’d taken the call from Number 4’s mother. Her response to the nasty rejection had been: “In that case, he should go to the doll shop they show on late-night TV. He won’t have much luck anywhere else.”
Nayna had almost choked—and then she’d gotten up and hugged her mother. Because the “doll shop” ad that had somehow been given clearance to advertise on late-night local television was about a boutique sex-doll website. Nayna’s mother was a very polite and gentle woman, so her fiery response had showcased just how much she’d despised the pompous ass and his parents.
The polar opposite of her reaction to Raj.
Putting down her tea when her stomach twisted again, Nayna said, “Say good morning to Aji for me when she gets back from her stroll. I think I’ll go to the office early. I’m hoping to open up some time so I can take Ísa to brunch for her birthday tomorrow.” If Ísa’s divorced parents held true to form, they’d forget their daughter’s birthday.
“Eat some cereal or toast before you go,” her mother ordered. “Or at least take one of those bar things you like—I went to the shop and bought a new box for you yesterday. Raj is a big strong man. He won’t want a wife who can’t keep up with him.”
Groaning inwardly at the continued hope in her mother’s eyes—echoed by the slight smile on her father’s face—Nayna grabbed an apricot-flavored breakfast bar. She was about to escape to the sanctuary of her car when her mother called out, “I’ll make a cake for Ísa, one of those small, flourless chocolate ones she likes. You two can share it over brunch.”
“Do you want a fancy box for it?” her father grumbled from behind his morning newspaper. “I’ll pick one up from John’s shop when I go to the office to get some papers.”
Love overwhelmed Nayna all over again. “Thank you,” she said, her throat thick. “I’m sure Ísa would love that.”
Her mind was a whirl of confusion. She did not want to break their hearts. Madhuri had hurt them so much—first by running away with her boyfriend, then by staying out of touch for a long six months while they were all frantic. Part of Nayna would never forgive her sister for that selfishness. Their parents had even called the police, they’d been so frightened something had happened to her.
The police had told them that Madhuri was an adult who’d left of her own free will. There was nothing they could do. Nayna could still remember the deep grooves of strain and worry that had marked her father’s face, the extreme thinness of her mother. And Aji, who’d prayed night and day for her granddaughter’s safety.
No, Nayna couldn’t bear for them to be hurt that deeply ever again. She’d lived the life she had, made the choices she had, because of those memories of terrible pain. But more and more, she felt like she couldn’t breathe, as if her entire life was a cage. The only freedom she’d found had been that moonlit night in Raj’s arms.
She squeezed the steering wheel and thought of the passion and of the man who’d asked her if she liked rock climbing and Egypt. Maybe that could’ve been something, but she’d wrecked it with words spoken in panic. The chance was gone.
“Good riddance,” her father had muttered each time and deleted the number from his phone.
Pulling on a fitted white shirt that she tucked into the skirt, she shrugged into the jacket and buttoned it up. It fit as sweetly as it had in the shop, skimming the lines of her body and making her feel sexy even though the pencil skirt was a perfectly respectable length.
“At least I have a butt.” She patted the only really curvy part of her, which the skirt gently emphasized.
She decided to accessorize the suit with a pair of small gold earrings that her grandmother had given her when she turned eighteen. Of a rich yellow twenty-two-karat gold, the floral design was distinctively Indian, and it spoke to the part of her nature that had grown up watching Bollywood movies with her mother and going to the temple with her grandmother.
Her hair she brushed and pinned into a neat roll at the back of her neck. Makeup took only five minutes—she had the morning routine down pat. Popping her lipstick in her purse to put on in the car after she’d had breakfast, she slipped on low-heeled work pumps in black patent leather, picked up her work satchel and purse, and walked into the kitchen.
To her surprise, her mother was bustling at the kitchen counter, in the process of making roti, the simple flatbread that it was usually Nayna’s job to make. Nayna stuck to cereal or toast in the mornings, but her father and grandmother liked a vegetarian Indian meal. Her mother usually made the vegetable dish while Nayna did the roti.
“Ma.” She put her satchel and purse down out of the way. “I was just about to do that.” She normally did it before she got dressed, but she was perfectly capable of handling the task by throwing on an apron over her suit.
“Oh, it’s fine. You work so hard, beta.” Her mother kissed her on the cheek when she neared. “I like the red.”
Nayna ran her hands down the front of her jacket. “Not too much for the office?”
“Why not?” Her mother’s eyes twinkled. “Today’s a special day. That Raj was lovely, wasn’t he? So manly and tall—and so dedicated to his family and the business. He’s a man who knows how to commit to things, will make a good husband.”
A rush of love filled Nayna’s heart. Hugging her mother from behind, she said, “He’s far too good-looking for me. You know that.” Whatever he’d seen in her at the party had been a thing of moonlight and madness; Madhuri was the stunning one in her family, Nayna her plainer shadow.
Her mother’s face turned mutinous. “You’re my beautiful, smart, funny girl, and he’d be lucky to have you.”
Moving to pour herself a cup of unsweetened chai, Nayna smiled. “Unfortunately, not everyone sees me through my mother’s eyes.”
Shilpa Sharma snorted. “Well, if he doesn’t see your beauty, then he doesn’t deserve you.” With a sniff, she went back to rolling out the roti. “Though I think you’re wrong. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
Nayna wondered if she should tell her mother that his eyes had been glaring as he forced himself to drink the overly sugared tea she’d served him in retaliation for his subtle needling. “Well, just text me when you hear from his family.”
Her father walked into the kitchen then, and he was smiling too. But he didn’t bring up the topic. Nayna knew the reprieve was only temporary. If Raj’s family, for some reason, didn’t contact her family, then her parents would contact his. No one liked to leave things hanging when there were other possible matches out there who’d appreciate their offspring (as spoken by countless parents, disdainful sniff and all).
Forget about internet dating. All this traditional meet and greet and reject stuff was brutal. At least Raj’s parents were lovely and wouldn’t be like asshole number 4’s parents, who’d told her parents their son hadn’t found her “pretty at all” and wanted a more “womanly looking and beautiful” bride.
It wasn’t like he’d been a prize himself, the Napoleon-sized mouth-breather.
Her mother was the one who’d taken the call from Number 4’s mother. Her response to the nasty rejection had been: “In that case, he should go to the doll shop they show on late-night TV. He won’t have much luck anywhere else.”
Nayna had almost choked—and then she’d gotten up and hugged her mother. Because the “doll shop” ad that had somehow been given clearance to advertise on late-night local television was about a boutique sex-doll website. Nayna’s mother was a very polite and gentle woman, so her fiery response had showcased just how much she’d despised the pompous ass and his parents.
The polar opposite of her reaction to Raj.
Putting down her tea when her stomach twisted again, Nayna said, “Say good morning to Aji for me when she gets back from her stroll. I think I’ll go to the office early. I’m hoping to open up some time so I can take Ísa to brunch for her birthday tomorrow.” If Ísa’s divorced parents held true to form, they’d forget their daughter’s birthday.
“Eat some cereal or toast before you go,” her mother ordered. “Or at least take one of those bar things you like—I went to the shop and bought a new box for you yesterday. Raj is a big strong man. He won’t want a wife who can’t keep up with him.”
Groaning inwardly at the continued hope in her mother’s eyes—echoed by the slight smile on her father’s face—Nayna grabbed an apricot-flavored breakfast bar. She was about to escape to the sanctuary of her car when her mother called out, “I’ll make a cake for Ísa, one of those small, flourless chocolate ones she likes. You two can share it over brunch.”
“Do you want a fancy box for it?” her father grumbled from behind his morning newspaper. “I’ll pick one up from John’s shop when I go to the office to get some papers.”
Love overwhelmed Nayna all over again. “Thank you,” she said, her throat thick. “I’m sure Ísa would love that.”
Her mind was a whirl of confusion. She did not want to break their hearts. Madhuri had hurt them so much—first by running away with her boyfriend, then by staying out of touch for a long six months while they were all frantic. Part of Nayna would never forgive her sister for that selfishness. Their parents had even called the police, they’d been so frightened something had happened to her.
The police had told them that Madhuri was an adult who’d left of her own free will. There was nothing they could do. Nayna could still remember the deep grooves of strain and worry that had marked her father’s face, the extreme thinness of her mother. And Aji, who’d prayed night and day for her granddaughter’s safety.
No, Nayna couldn’t bear for them to be hurt that deeply ever again. She’d lived the life she had, made the choices she had, because of those memories of terrible pain. But more and more, she felt like she couldn’t breathe, as if her entire life was a cage. The only freedom she’d found had been that moonlit night in Raj’s arms.
She squeezed the steering wheel and thought of the passion and of the man who’d asked her if she liked rock climbing and Egypt. Maybe that could’ve been something, but she’d wrecked it with words spoken in panic. The chance was gone.
