Читать книгу Rani Patel In Full Effect - Sonia Patel - Страница 16

MOM’S EMANCIPATION

Dad’s home for the first time in I don’t even know how long. It’s strange having all three of us in the house at the same time. It’s like Dad’s a guest, a visiting raja from a faraway kingdom—with a new foreign rani—who stops by unannounced. In the spirit of hospitality, we all sit down for the gourmet meal his old kam vaari prepared. It makes me miss the days of our previous family dysfunction when our roles were well defined.

Mom serves us the food. A million questions spring up in my mind, slow at first, then faster and faster. Like microwave popcorn.

Why is he here tonight?

How can he leave us?

If I’m not his rani anymore, what am I?

If Mom’s still working her butt off, but Dad’s not around, is she still his kam vaari?

I watch Dad tear off a piece of bakhri, wrap it around some vegetable korma, and put the unsealed dumpling in his mouth.

It’s freakin’ delicious, right? Bet Wendy the slut can’t cook up anything half as delectable.

I have this powerful urge to slap the food out of his hand and grab the plate away from him.

Selfish bastard. You don’t deserve Mom’s cooking. Go back to Wendy and let her try to cook something this good.

He takes another bite. His eyes are focused on my head. Midchew he says, “I always wanted a boy.” His words and amused expression stun me, but my lips are wired shut and my vocal cords are paralyzed. He snickers and finishes chewing. I used to think he said the funniest things. Not right now. Right now, I’m irritated. I run my left hand over my head. I’m surprised by the bit of stubble I feel.

We finish our meal in silence, heads down. The quiet is unbearable, making my motoring thoughts louder. I swear I’m about to burst like a huge Hubba Bubba bubble some little kid blew. I keep my eyes on my plate and focus on each bite to keep myself in one piece.

After dinner, Mom and I clean up. I dry the last of the dishes. The tension is thick, like Mom’s homemade paneer. I wade through it and head back to my room. Before I make it halfway down the hall, I hear Dad’s booming voice.

“Rani. Meera. I want to talk to you. Come sit at the table.”

Finally. He’s realized what a terrible mistake he’s made. That he loves us so much. That he’s going to leave Wendy and things will go back to our normal with me and Dad. Dad and me. Raja and rani.

Hopeful, I sit down at the dining room table, my back straight. I press my quivering hands under my thighs. I glance at Mom. As usual, I can’t read her expression. I look at Dad and smile.

Dad clears his throat and adjusts himself in his chair, like he’s getting ready for a long flight. “Wendy’s going to move in with us. It’s best for everyone,” he announces.

My mouth is too shocked to curve down. I sit there like a ventriloquist puppet with a painted-on permanent smile.

“I’ve asked her to move in this weekend,” he continues.

The reality of what he’s saying strikes me. Like a mallet. That’s when my mouth drops. I contort my face in disbelief.

“Wh-what?”

I flash a pleading look at Mom, but she doesn’t notice. She’s sitting with her hands folded, staring at the table.

“Mom, say something! Come on.” She doesn’t utter one word.

Panic. Dad’s talking nonsense and Mom’s not doing anything. It’s the opposite of their usual fight. What the heck do I do?

“It’s the most logical solution for all of us,” Dad continues.

“How!?”

I shove my chair back and vault up. I pace. My breath becomes rapid. Instead of a peacemaker, I become a prosecutor. I question the defendant. “Protecting the water of Moloka’i from the Ranch is pointless if you break apart your family. They’re using up the water and destroying the land, but you’re using us and destroying our family. How are you any different from the Ranch?”

“Don’t question me, Rani. Sit down.”

He’s never talked to me like this before. Is this how Mom feels when he bosses her around? Does she feel hopeless and worthless when she does whatever he demands, even if she doesn’t agree? I shake my head and the tears start. “You made Mom move to Moloka’i. All she does is work,” I wail. “You broke her, and now you’ve left her.”

Dad’s eyes are on the table. He lifts his stainless steel pyalo and swirls around the remaining water. He takes a sip then says, “Mom needs me, Rani. I can’t leave her. And I won’t leave Wendy. I love her.” He’s looking directly at me now.

He’s talking to me like Mom isn’t even here. I take off my glasses and massage my temples with my fingers. Then I bury my head in my hands.

“What about me, Dad?”

“You don’t need me anymore.”

What?

A whirlwind of images, chronicling my life as Dad’s rani, zoom through my mind. Quarter Pounders at McDonald’s, despite Mom’s pleas to him to raise me vegetarian. Hiking in the Appalachians without Mom. The trip to Oahu the year before he declared he was moving to Moloka’i while Mom stayed behind and worked.

Even after moving to Moloka’i, it was still him and me. At the store and restaurant. The activist meetings. Hiking and fishing. I think he genuinely wanted the best for me. A better life than he had growing up in Gujarat.

But Mom paid the price because she was never on his radar.

Over the years, he gave me all of his many forms of attention—the I love you’s, the countless hours spent, the private conversations with no filters. And like a sponge, I soaked it all up.

Rani, you’re all I need.

Rani, it’s just you and me.

Rani, tell me what to buy Mom so she calms down.

Rani, Mom’s gooso. It’s because she had a rough childhood. Just stay out of her way.

Then there were the other private things. An all too familiar shiver creeps down my spine and my body trembles. I think about my slam poem.

So daughter became child bride…

I can’t let myself go there. Mom’s here and she doesn’t know about all that. Quickly, I lock those memories away and toss the key.

Instead, I dredge up other memories—the ones of him praising me. All he had to do was shower me with his affection and attention and I’d let him do anything to me. And I’d do anything for him—anything to ensure I’d keep getting my fix.

So child bride became Dad’s attention junkie…

I’d ask him about his day. Make him feel better if he had a bad one. I’d listen. Obey. Never talk back. Straight A’s—always. Chores and work at the store and restaurant—above and beyond. On-call expert couples’ counselor. And I didn’t need a degree. I had lots of experience.

Sometimes I’d even forget I had opinions of my own. In my mind, he could do no wrong. He knew everything. If I stayed close to him, I’d feel good and everything would work out. If I listened to him, I’d succeed in life.

And I didn’t mind the isolation. It meant he wanted to be with me the most. If my friendships went beyond casual, Dad interfered. This one time, after we first moved to Moloka’i and still lived in Maunaloa, he accused two of my new friends of letting all the Ranch cows into our yard. There was cow shit everywhere and Dad was furious. Thinking about it now, there’s no way two kids could have done that. How could he not know that? Guess it was a good excuse to cut me off from them. At the time I didn’t think anything of it. A life outside of him seemed unnecessary.

It was all about him. I got good at all about him. An authority on the subject, in fact.

And the ultimate reward was when he said, “I love you, Rani. What would I do without you?” His approval became my life-sustaining force.

I’ve looked up to him for so long, I don’t know where else to look.

And now he’s saying I don’t need him.

“It’s not fair, Dad! I’m the one you really love. Not Wendy! What about me? Don’t you love me?”

“I do, but I’m committed to Wendy now.”

I’m speechless. My head hurts. I rest my forehead on the table. No one speaks. Minutes pass. Dad tries a new tactic. Running his fingers over his stubbly beard, he whispers, “Rani betta, you have to help me.”

I lift my head up. “How could you even ask Mom and me to live with Wendy?”

“Don’t you want us all to stay together?”

“Of course I want us to stay together.” I draw an imaginary circle with my finger encompassing the three of us. “But not with Wendy.”

“I’m not leaving Wendy, Rani. You’ve always helped Mom and me fix things. You have to help us all stay together.”

I almost fall for it. Then I take a look at Mom. Even though she hasn’t moved, tears streak her cheeks. There are no words of selfharm. Only silent sorrow.

“I’m not going to fix things this time!”

Dad opens his mouth to retort.

“Bhus. Chuup. Both of you. That’s enough,” Mom says.

Flabbergasted, I press my lips together. My tears stop.