Rebel Hard
Page 2
Angling her body, she examined her butt in the mirror. “Damn it.” The panties were obvious, and they ruined the line of the dress.
She glanced at the door to her room even though she’d locked it herself. Then she bit down on her lower lip and took off the expensive scrap of nothing she’d bought specifically because it was meant to be “invisible” under clothing. “I want my thirty dollars back,” she groused as she got them off over her feet.
To make sure she wouldn’t lose her nerve, she threw the panties in with the dirty clothes she’d put in the little laundry basket she kept in her room; she’d chuck it all into the wash tomorrow.
Then she looked at her butt again.
The dress skimmed over her body like a lover’s hand—not that Nayna would know anything about that. High school had been a washout. Nerds with flat chests didn’t get much action. University had been… strange, her parents jumpy every time she left for a class, always worried she’d randomly decide to run off with a boy.
And Nayna, so fiercely determined to reunite her fragmented family that she’d focused all her energy on that. She’d succeeded in her second year as a university student, brought Madhuri back into the fold—and spent the rest of the time trying to make sure they’d never break again. Following rules listed and unspoken. Not doing anything to hurt her parents.
For a long time, that had been enough. She’d been so happy to have her entire family around the table at birthdays and on Diwali and during all the moments small and big that were vitally important in life. It hadn’t mattered that she’d traded in her own dreams to glue her family back together. Even to the extent of agreeing to marry a man her parents would choose.
Madhuri was the scandalous one, the gorgeous flirt, Nayna her far more boring shadow. The good girl making up for the sins of the bad girl.
“Not tonight,” she vowed to the mirror. “Tonight you’re going to be the bad girl. And you’re going to break all the rules.” Nayna had plans to find some gorgeous man and do all the things she’d never done because she’d been so busy following the rules so her family wouldn’t fall apart—because the cracks? They were still there.
But even prisoners got time off for good behavior.
Nayna deserved this night, and she was taking it.
Swiveling away from the mirror on that silent vow, she stuffed her feet into the comfortable professional heels she wore to work every day. Then she pulled on a coat that covered up the dress. She made sure it was buttoned up to the throat and that the lower half didn’t split so high as to expose her bare thighs.
She checked herself in the mirror one final time before picking up her small evening purse—that, she could get away with—and unlocking her bedroom door. The sounds of the TV reached her the second she stepped out into the hallway of her childhood home. Her parents were watching their favorite Indian soap opera. From memory, the evil sister-in-law was currently trying to break up the hero and heroine—said heroine was, of course, all things sweet and kind and bashfully lovely.
Nayna’s mother liked to relate the ongoing storyline to her.
Walking over to stand in the doorway of the living room, she waited until a dramatic statement that shocked all the characters onscreen—she now had at least half a minute while the reaction shots went on.
“I’m off,” she said in Hindi. “I’ll be late coming home.” She crossed her toes inside her shoes. “Ísa and I are thinking of catching a midnight movie.”
Her father frowned through his spectacles. “What about work?”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday.” Even Nayna drew the line at going in to work on a Sunday.
Grunting, her father settled back down in his prized recliner. After ten years of constant use, it was shaped to his tall and lanky form. As always, he had a half-open book on his lap. Nayna’s first memory of her father was of sitting in his lap while he read to her.
“You make sure and say hello to Ísa from us,” her mother said with a smile as she rose to kiss Nayna on the cheek. “Have fun.”
“Where’s Aji?” Nayna’s grandmother was usually ensconced in an armchair by the old-fashioned hearth on the far side of the living room at this time of night. She’d read or work on her knitting while offering sharp commentary on the soap opera. She had been known to say that the meek and sweet heroine would probably turn out to be secretly more evil than the evil sister-in-law.
Nayna had a feeling her grandmother was hoping for just such a twist.
“She’s making herself a cup of tea.” Her mother lowered the volume of her voice. “I wish she’d let me do it.”
“You know she likes to make it her way.” With milk in the saucepan and plenty of cardamom and sugar. “I’ll go say bye to her.”
“Shilpa.”
Her mother hurried back to her seat at Nayna’s father’s forewarning. The reaction shots were over, the drama back on. At moments like this, Nayna’s heart grew tight. Her parents were such different people—her father curt and intellectual and used to getting his own way, her mother gentle and a little dreamy and kind—but then she’d see them watching this show—or catch them discussing it with utmost seriousness—and she’d see a glimmer of why their marriage had lasted.
It probably helped that Shilpa Sharma believed absolutely that the husband was the head of the household. Nayna had never seen her mother oppose her father on anything that mattered. Shilpa always bent while Gaurav got his way. Nayna had been only fourteen when nineteen-year-old Madhuri eloped with her now ex-husband, but she had no memory of her mother fighting her husband even to see her elder daughter.
Good thing Nayna wasn’t planning to ask her mother’s help with tonight’s rebellion.
Moving from the doorway with an inward sigh of relief at having sold her cover story, she walked back down the hall to the kitchen. Her favorite person in all the world stood in front of the stove, watching a saucepan of chai as she brought it up to a boil. Beside the saucepan was a small frypan on which sizzled wide semicircles of taro, each slice about a quarter of an inch in thickness.
“Nayna, beta.” A luminous smile accompanied the affectionate address.
“Aji.” Walking over, Nayna hugged her grandmother’s soft form. For the longest time, her grandmother had worn a white sari. For her, it hadn’t been a simple acknowledgment of her widowhood but a symbol of how much she’d loved her husband and how deeply she missed him. But these days she was starting to change it up.
“I like this tracksuit,” Nayna told her. A vivid pink with white stripes down the sides, it was full-on velour and sparkle. “You look like you’re about to go break dancing.”
Her grandmother wiggled her hips. “I can dance in the rain same as any of those Bollywood heroines. No see-through sari though. Who wants to get pneumonia?”
Laughing, Nayna hugged her again, then snuck a fresh taro chip out of the small bowl of fried ones. “Mmm, carbs.” Crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Nayna loved salted taro chips even more than she loved fries. “Can’t eat any more though—the dress I’m wearing will show every gram.”
Aji patted her arm with a soft hand that had soothed many a childhood hurt in Nayna. “Go have fun at the party,” she whispered, a willing conspirator. “I’ll stay home and supervise your parents. You know they get very excited at their show.”
She glanced at the door to her room even though she’d locked it herself. Then she bit down on her lower lip and took off the expensive scrap of nothing she’d bought specifically because it was meant to be “invisible” under clothing. “I want my thirty dollars back,” she groused as she got them off over her feet.
To make sure she wouldn’t lose her nerve, she threw the panties in with the dirty clothes she’d put in the little laundry basket she kept in her room; she’d chuck it all into the wash tomorrow.
Then she looked at her butt again.
The dress skimmed over her body like a lover’s hand—not that Nayna would know anything about that. High school had been a washout. Nerds with flat chests didn’t get much action. University had been… strange, her parents jumpy every time she left for a class, always worried she’d randomly decide to run off with a boy.
And Nayna, so fiercely determined to reunite her fragmented family that she’d focused all her energy on that. She’d succeeded in her second year as a university student, brought Madhuri back into the fold—and spent the rest of the time trying to make sure they’d never break again. Following rules listed and unspoken. Not doing anything to hurt her parents.
For a long time, that had been enough. She’d been so happy to have her entire family around the table at birthdays and on Diwali and during all the moments small and big that were vitally important in life. It hadn’t mattered that she’d traded in her own dreams to glue her family back together. Even to the extent of agreeing to marry a man her parents would choose.
Madhuri was the scandalous one, the gorgeous flirt, Nayna her far more boring shadow. The good girl making up for the sins of the bad girl.
“Not tonight,” she vowed to the mirror. “Tonight you’re going to be the bad girl. And you’re going to break all the rules.” Nayna had plans to find some gorgeous man and do all the things she’d never done because she’d been so busy following the rules so her family wouldn’t fall apart—because the cracks? They were still there.
But even prisoners got time off for good behavior.
Nayna deserved this night, and she was taking it.
Swiveling away from the mirror on that silent vow, she stuffed her feet into the comfortable professional heels she wore to work every day. Then she pulled on a coat that covered up the dress. She made sure it was buttoned up to the throat and that the lower half didn’t split so high as to expose her bare thighs.
She checked herself in the mirror one final time before picking up her small evening purse—that, she could get away with—and unlocking her bedroom door. The sounds of the TV reached her the second she stepped out into the hallway of her childhood home. Her parents were watching their favorite Indian soap opera. From memory, the evil sister-in-law was currently trying to break up the hero and heroine—said heroine was, of course, all things sweet and kind and bashfully lovely.
Nayna’s mother liked to relate the ongoing storyline to her.
Walking over to stand in the doorway of the living room, she waited until a dramatic statement that shocked all the characters onscreen—she now had at least half a minute while the reaction shots went on.
“I’m off,” she said in Hindi. “I’ll be late coming home.” She crossed her toes inside her shoes. “Ísa and I are thinking of catching a midnight movie.”
Her father frowned through his spectacles. “What about work?”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday.” Even Nayna drew the line at going in to work on a Sunday.
Grunting, her father settled back down in his prized recliner. After ten years of constant use, it was shaped to his tall and lanky form. As always, he had a half-open book on his lap. Nayna’s first memory of her father was of sitting in his lap while he read to her.
“You make sure and say hello to Ísa from us,” her mother said with a smile as she rose to kiss Nayna on the cheek. “Have fun.”
“Where’s Aji?” Nayna’s grandmother was usually ensconced in an armchair by the old-fashioned hearth on the far side of the living room at this time of night. She’d read or work on her knitting while offering sharp commentary on the soap opera. She had been known to say that the meek and sweet heroine would probably turn out to be secretly more evil than the evil sister-in-law.
Nayna had a feeling her grandmother was hoping for just such a twist.
“She’s making herself a cup of tea.” Her mother lowered the volume of her voice. “I wish she’d let me do it.”
“You know she likes to make it her way.” With milk in the saucepan and plenty of cardamom and sugar. “I’ll go say bye to her.”
“Shilpa.”
Her mother hurried back to her seat at Nayna’s father’s forewarning. The reaction shots were over, the drama back on. At moments like this, Nayna’s heart grew tight. Her parents were such different people—her father curt and intellectual and used to getting his own way, her mother gentle and a little dreamy and kind—but then she’d see them watching this show—or catch them discussing it with utmost seriousness—and she’d see a glimmer of why their marriage had lasted.
It probably helped that Shilpa Sharma believed absolutely that the husband was the head of the household. Nayna had never seen her mother oppose her father on anything that mattered. Shilpa always bent while Gaurav got his way. Nayna had been only fourteen when nineteen-year-old Madhuri eloped with her now ex-husband, but she had no memory of her mother fighting her husband even to see her elder daughter.
Good thing Nayna wasn’t planning to ask her mother’s help with tonight’s rebellion.
Moving from the doorway with an inward sigh of relief at having sold her cover story, she walked back down the hall to the kitchen. Her favorite person in all the world stood in front of the stove, watching a saucepan of chai as she brought it up to a boil. Beside the saucepan was a small frypan on which sizzled wide semicircles of taro, each slice about a quarter of an inch in thickness.
“Nayna, beta.” A luminous smile accompanied the affectionate address.
“Aji.” Walking over, Nayna hugged her grandmother’s soft form. For the longest time, her grandmother had worn a white sari. For her, it hadn’t been a simple acknowledgment of her widowhood but a symbol of how much she’d loved her husband and how deeply she missed him. But these days she was starting to change it up.
“I like this tracksuit,” Nayna told her. A vivid pink with white stripes down the sides, it was full-on velour and sparkle. “You look like you’re about to go break dancing.”
Her grandmother wiggled her hips. “I can dance in the rain same as any of those Bollywood heroines. No see-through sari though. Who wants to get pneumonia?”
Laughing, Nayna hugged her again, then snuck a fresh taro chip out of the small bowl of fried ones. “Mmm, carbs.” Crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Nayna loved salted taro chips even more than she loved fries. “Can’t eat any more though—the dress I’m wearing will show every gram.”
Aji patted her arm with a soft hand that had soothed many a childhood hurt in Nayna. “Go have fun at the party,” she whispered, a willing conspirator. “I’ll stay home and supervise your parents. You know they get very excited at their show.”
