The Rearranged Life (34 page)

“Hey,” Tristan says, holding some extra towels. “Mom said to give you these.”

“Okay, thanks!” I say hurriedly, wondering if he saw us.

“You guys okay?” He stares pointedly at the space between James and I. My shirt exposes the skin near the back of my waist, and I pull it down clumsily.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re fine!” I tell him, flustered. James looks amused.

“Well, um, good night, James. You too, Tristan.” I take the towels from him and open the door.

“I love you,” James whispers and gives me a peck on the lips before heading down the hall with his brother.

“You were totally trying to get it on!” Tristan exclaims in a loud whisper as they round the corner.

“Whatever, dude,” James replies in a disgruntled tone.

Giggling to myself, I climb into bed. The happiness I’ve felt at his family’s welcome follows me as I drift off, and I wish I could share it with him. I would tell him how much this weekend has meant to me, how his mother’s words have made me feel stronger, and that he’s worth going through the drama with my parents. Someday, they’ll have to see how amazing James is.

ant to hit the beach today?” Tristan asks the next morning over pancakes, orange juice, and a sampler of fruit and eggs. James passes me the pitcher of juice, and I tell them I’m game for anything.

“Well, I don’t want to be left here,” Max says, “I’m in, too.”

“We can hear you, you know,” Mrs. St. Clair chimes in, her back to us at the stove. “And we aren’t bad company to keep.”

“Let Nithya take them off our hands for a while, honey,” Mr. St. Clair says, his eyes on the paper.

A few hours later, we cruise through town in the St. Clair’s SUV. Once again, I am enraptured by the island resort vibe that Old Greenwich gives off as we drive on Sound Beach Avenue. Small businesses with striped awnings and French doors pop out at me from both sides of the street. Women pushing strollers and men in khakis and dress shirts walk along the brick sidewalks, shopping for antiques and objects I instinctively know can only be found in this beautiful place. The stores become sparser as we pass underneath an old railway bridge, which James points out as a historical site. Water begins to appear on either side of the car as we wind down the sound. A gate stops us at the entrance to Greenwich Point Park, but I hardly pay attention. The day is bright and slightly overcast, and I am taken by the tinge of gray in the water.

Max pulls into a parking lot that loops around an enormous tree, and the beach comes into focus. People with their dogs and other pedestrians amble slowly along as the breeze blows through their hair. The ocean salt in the air tickles my nose before it enters my lungs. James offers me his hand as we head toward a rocky pathway, the beginning of a short hike. The rocks crunch beneath our sneakers, and with the exception of mutters between Tristan and Max, there is silence.

“You guys plotting something back there?” I ask, and they both quickly say no… too quickly. Before I know it, Tristan has me in his arms–it takes me a second to realize the squealing girly sound is coming from between my own vocal chords–and charges toward the water. “Put me down! I am so telling your mom!” I scream.

“You are not,” he says, but I sense a moment’s hesitation.

“Ha! You may be twenty-one, but your mother will hand your ass to you on a platter. Put me down now,” I command. He finally acquiesces as Max and James tease him about being a wuss.

“You know I’d never actually get you in trouble, right?” I grin as we walk up the beach again, back to the pathway we left behind.

“I know. Besides, I’m twenty-one, how much trouble can I get into?”

“You’d be surprised. I’m twenty-two, and I’m terrified of making my parents angry.”

I appreciate Tristan not pushing me for an explanation. I’m not sure I could give one. The contrast between James’ family and mine is evident with every conversation. Max, James, and Tristan joke about their parents’ discipline even into their adult years, but for me, it’s a reality. The lines are drawn. My parents are my parents and will likely be my parents forever. But Max, James, and Tristan have already forged ahead with being friendly with theirs, feeling comfortable enough to make inappropriate jokes and tease each other.

“Do you guys want to throw a football?” Tristan asks.

“Sure, go get it from the car.” Max tosses him the keys. Tristan takes off.

“He has so. Much. Energy,” I say, awed.

“Like the Energizer bunny,” James comments.

I miss Anisha for the very same reason–like Tristan, she keeps us on our toes in the most fulfilling way.

The trees are still sparse, and a few green buds poke their heads from the branches, testing the atmosphere. The sand is wet from the tide and the damp weather. I imagine this place in the summer, and it fills me with contentment. I hope I get to return to see it. James asks if it’s cool to play for a while, and I tell him to take his time as I scan the beach for a place to settle down.

A patch of sand looks dry enough for me to sit on without catching pneumonia, so I sink in. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I watch Tristan lob the ball over to James.

Seeing James like this is like an alternate reality. I’ve gotten to know him so well in the last few months, but this is another facet of his personality–one I haven’t had the opportunity to encounter at home. Here, he is a child, carefree and silly. As he passes the football, his arm muscles curl just so and he leans on his legs. The strength from his calves travels through his quads and his torso before it goes through his arms. Max says something, and Tristan and James hunch over in mirth. Watching the three of them is warming and heartbreaking at the same time, like seeing a beautiful painting.

The boys pass the ball back and forth, ranging around the beach to increase the distance between them. The afternoon is peaceful, and the wind in my hair makes me feel like I am on a mini-vacation. I could spend all day staring at the waves, flowing in and out with their tides of white as they crash, their curls collapsing underneath. Tiny droplets hang in the air, giving off a faint chill.

My phone vibrates in my pocket while my eyes are closed, and I pick up, startled.

“How are you, Nithya?” My mother’s curt voice comes over the line.

“Hi Amma! I’m doing fine. How are you?”

“Good. I was thinking, Nithya, maybe you should give Nishanth a chance.”

“Amma, let’s not fight.” I feel wary already.

“I know you think James is very rare, but Nishanth sounds like him. Smart, handsome, comes from a good family. And his is so close to ours! And if not Nishanth, we can find you an Indian boy just like James.” She sounds like she’s bargaining at the street market in India, threatening to walk away unless the man at the stand agrees to her terms.

“I won’t do that, Amma,” I tell her, gently. “This is my choice.”

“Fine. Make your own mistakes.”

“Okay,” I say, as calmly as I can muster.
Don’t yell. Don’t yell. Don’t yell.

“So? What are you doing?” Her sudden switch gives me whiplash, but I wonder if she actually wants to keep talking. No matter how angry we’ve been, her absence has been glaringly obvious in my life over the last week. She probably feels the same.

“I’m just sitting outside, reading a book.” I’m ashamed to have to lie to my own mother about what I’m doing, then annoyed that she’s made it this way.

“I always found you reading outside in the summer when you were little.” Her tone is still curt, but the trace of reminiscence is her attempt at meeting in the middle.

“It’s still my favorite thing to do.” I give her a small smile she can’t see.

“So much doesn’t change, and so much does.” She sighs. “Two months ago, I thought we would be celebrating medical school, and you and Nishanth would have something. Now, everything has changed. I don’t know if your unhappiness made you act out, or if I pushed you away.”

My mom sounds so sad, I forget to be angry that she’s focusing on all we have missed out on. Instead, I have a moment of clarity: Nanna was right. This is new to them, too. They doubt if they did things the right way or if this was all my doing.

She loves me, but she doesn’t love this situation. It will take her a long time to come around. I can wait, but it makes me sad.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Amma. I had to make a choice. If this is a mistake, I need to figure it out. If it’s not, then we will figure it out together. I’m sorry I hurt you,” I tell her genuinely.

“Did you eat?” Her voice sounds choked up. Is she changing the subject so we don’t keep beating this dead horse? Or is this her attempt to get our relationship back on track?

“I had a big breakfast.”

“Okay. I’m glad… I need to go do things. I will call you later.”

“Okay, Amma.”

“I love you,” she says quickly, and then she hangs up.

I stare at the phone and wish there was a way to comfort her. But she has to heal. As I put it back in my pocket, Max asks if he can sit down.

“I figured you could use some company. Everything okay on the phone? You looked a little upset.”

“It’s fine. My mom just called, and my head’s all over the place.” I wave his concern off with my hand.

“Just checking,” he says politely. “It’s nice having you here, Nithya. James seems really happy.”

“Thanks, Max.” We fall into silence before I say, “James says you’re a doctor. How’s your residency going?”

“It’s going well. Other than the hours are hell. I literally booked my ticket home Thursday night because it’s been so touch and go,” he confesses.

“James told me about your cancer fight. You must be brave. It’s really admirable you went into that field.”

“Thanks. I think it was the natural path for me to take. When you see people fighting for your life, you want to pay it forward.” He puts his elbows on his knees, repeating the words James has said so often.

“Well, it’s still heroic to me. But being modest must be the St. Clair way.”

As I say it, Tristan yells, “I own you!” at James, who dusts sand off his jeans and looks murderous.

“For some of us, anyway.” Max chuckles, and I giggle, too.

“Your family is so much fun! You all are so full of life.”

“You’re seeing us on a good weekend.” Max winks. “Does your family like James?”

I stop, opening and closing my mouth a few times.

“They haven’t met.” I pick at my fingernails instead of making eye contact.

“Because it’s only been a few months?”

I am under a microscope for the first time this weekend. The St. Clairs have made me feel as though I am part of their family. Should I tell Max where mine stands? He waits patiently, but his eyes are intent.

“Not exactly,” I hedge.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I’m being nosy.” He puts his hand on his chest to show he means no harm. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” I lie, “It’s… a little awkward right now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Max asks not unkindly.

“Are you using your Dr. St. Clair questioning skills?” I narrow my eyes at him as a last-minute stalling tactic.

“Perhaps.” Max smirks. The way his cheekbones rise up reminds me so much of his brother.

“I don’t know where to start.”