KAREENA: You are the reigning queen of rice! “Make your own biryani” bar? I mean it’s genius. As your lawyer, I’m telling you that you have to trust me on this. You’ll get the loan.
NINA: Are you sure? I’m so nervous!
KAREENA: I’m sure. I’ll meet you at the bank later today.
NINA: I’m so glad I hired you and Women Who Work! You’re really going to make my restaurant expansion dream a reality.
NINA: Sorry the bank had to schedule this on your thirtieth birthday, though. I can’t believe you’re general counsel of an incredible company at such a young age!
NINA: I mean, I was married, had my firstborn and my restaurant by thirty, but that’s different. I WANTED a husband and family.
KAREENA: See you in a couple hours, Nina.
Kareena tore the eye mask off her forehead and straightened her Taylor Swift concert sleep shirt. She had secured her dream job at a company that developed women-owned businesses in the tristate area before her thirtieth birthday. But of course, one text from a client and her boss energy dissipated like mist. She tossed her phone on the rumpled bedspread and rubbed her hands over her face.
She was thirty and single.
No, no, thirty and successful.
Thirty and financially independent.
Thirty and . . . still lived with her dad and grandmother.
And single. Very, very single.
Without even a maintenance man to grease the plumbing.
If she had a time machine, she would’ve gone back to her last relationship in law school and said: Sweetie, giving up dating until you achieve your career goals may not be the best idea. Especially if you’re searching for a happily ever after with a man. It becomes way too easy to be alone.
Kareena felt like her family, her aunties—hell, the entire New Jersey South Asian population—had been preparing her for being thirty and single, but did she listen? Nope. More importantly, did she really have to be reminded first thing in the morning?
Like T-Swizz said. Damn. It was only seven A.M.
“I should’ve taken today off,” she mumbled as she crawled out of bed and walked toward the adjoining bathroom.
Even as she showered and mentally reviewed her schedule for the day, the misogynist adages she’d heard whispered at cultural gatherings echoed through her head.
If you’re single at thirty, you have to lower your standards. If you’re single at thirty, your prospects for a happily ever after are diminished. If you’re single at thirty, you are perceived as difficult, and no one will want to marry you.
Her father had never made her feel that way growing up since he had a love marriage versus arranged marriage himself. But now that her younger sister was engaged, it was like ghosts of ancestors past had taken over his body, and he had suddenly become a traditionalist.
“Beta, the oldest daughter should be at least engaged before the youngest gets married. You should date more. Or we can find you matches. Rishtas. Maybe someone will want to marry a woman so independent at your age.”
His arguments, which were normally tepid, were becoming more and more frequent. It didn’t help that her grandmother, Dadi, who Kareena also had a tendency to fight with on a regular basis, sided with Dad.
Dadi’s arguments, however, were now paired with subtle passive-aggressive acts like cutting out a picture of Kareena’s head and pasting it on the body of a bride that she tore from Indian Matrimony Vogue Magazine, which was then left tucked in a holy book in the temple room.
Kareena stood in front of her bathroom mirror, cringing at the memory.
Well, she was finally going to make everyone happy.
She was going to start dating again. She was ready. The list of qualities she wanted in her perfect man was ready to go. It had been waiting neglected in her notes app for far too long.
After she finished her makeup, she put on a white button-down collared shirt and a cobalt-blue sweater vest. She dropped a cute pair of floral heels in her tote bag that she’d wear when she finally got to the office.
Exactly forty-five minutes after she texted her client back, Kareena scanned her bedroom to make sure she didn’t forget anything. It was the bedroom she had returned to after college. The same one her mother designed for her when her parents built the house. She had the same standing mirror, open closet, and desk shoved in one corner, with meticulously arranged framed photos with Bobbi and Veera and her law school Bluebook. The only major upgrade was the TV and stereo.
“Hopefully my morning will improve with food,” she mumbled as she picked up her bag. It was time for birthday paranthas. The stuffed spicy flatbread was exactly what she needed to course-correct her day.
She opened her door, and instead of hearing the sizzling sounds of ghee in a hot pan, there was only silence. The delicious aroma of spices was missing. Usually, the smell of birthday paranthas permeated the house. Maybe Dadi was waiting for her?
Kareena paused in front of the framed photo of her mother that took up most of the freshly painted hallway wall. The large portrait had a string of fake marigolds tucked into the top corners, so it draped like a necklace over Neelam Mann. Her eyes were full of love, and she looked so happy.
“Miss you every day, Mom,” Kareena whispered. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and to the base of the picture. “I feel you every time I take care of our house and work on your car. My car now.”
After saying a quick thank-you prayer in the temple room next door, Kareena lugged her tote bag downstairs, and through the narrow hallway to the kitchen in the back of the house.
“Hello, I’m here— Oh. Um, what’s going on?”
Instead of seeing Dadi in the kitchen hovering near the stove, Kareena’s grandmother and father were sitting at the dining table with bowls of cereal. Over a dozen glittery gold letter boxes sat between them. Dadi was on her large tablet, while her father was reading something on his cell phone. Neither of them spared her a glance.
“You guys are having cereal?” Kareena asked.
Dadi sat back in her velour maroon tracksuit. Her freshly dyed black hair was wet from her shower and combed back in a short severe style accentuating the happy lines around her mouth and eyes. “If you want something, you can make it yourself. I taught you how.”
“Okay, but . . . well, aren’t we celebrating?” Kareena responded in the same mix of Hindi, English, and Punjabi her grandmother used.
Dadi’s eyebrows furrowed. Then with a look of surprise, she motioned to the gold boxes with her chai cup. “Oh this? Your sister wants us to look at invitations. She plans on personally delivering these gold boxes with scrolls in them to all her guests. You may have to help her. Her wedding is less than a year away, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” Kareena said. She’d known since the day her sister announced her engagement. It was right after Kareena had shared the news that she accepted a position at Women Who Work as their general counsel, which wasn’t received with nearly as much excitement.
“Why are you standing like that over there?” her father asked. He sounded irritated, which was no different than how he normally sounded to her lately.
Kareena dropped her tote bag and pressed a hand to the ache in her chest. “This is a joke, right? You two couldn’t have . . . I mean, I know I’ve been working late, and I haven’t seen you for the last few days, but there is no way that you don’t remember. It happens every year.”
When her father and grandmother looked at each other, then at her, Kareena knew.
They’d forgotten.
She hadn’t woken up particularly happy about her birthday, but damn it, she was really looking forward to those paranthas. And maybe even a moment that was about her. A moment that didn’t revolve around her sister or her sister’s wedding, or her sister’s YouTube channel.
Kareena should’ve been angry, but after so many disappointments recently, this was expected.
“Happy thirtieth to me,” she mumbled.
Her father and grandmother must’ve heard her because their eyes went wide.
“J-just kidding!” Dadi said, and bolted from the table. She hobbled forward, arms out for a hug. “Happy birthday, my bachcha! How could I forget my May grandbaby?” She squeezed Kareena around the waist.
Kareena patted her grandmother on the back. “It’s fine, Dadi.”
She met her father’s eyes as he rose from his seat. He was dressed for work in khakis with a phone clip on his belt. “You don’t want to celebrate today anyway,” he said as he rounded the table to give her a hug. “Thirty is your first infertility milestone.”
“And to think, I wanted to spend my morning with you both. Well, if there are no paranthas, I’m going to catch an earlier train into the city.”
“No, no sit!” Dadi said motioning to the table. “Your sister wanted gobi paranthas today during lunch while we reviewed her wedding invitations. I’ll just make them now for you.”
Kareena didn’t miss the double standard that existed for her sister when it came to food. “You know I hate cauliflower paranthas. Leave it, Dadi. It’s fine.” Damn it, what did she have to do to get that kind of treatment from people she loved?
Oh, that’s right. She had to get married.
Her grandmother was already taking out the Corelle cups and plates with the cornflower blue floral design on the edges from the cabinets Kareena refaced the month before. Then came the ceramic yogurt container with homemade dahi, the mango pickle, a Tupperware container of dough, and a matching container with dry durum wheat flour.
“It’s already prepared,” Dadi said. “Just sit, it’ll take me two minutes to make.”
“Dadi, it’s fine.” Kareena really hated cauliflower paranthas. It was like putting garam masala on farts.
“You shouldn’t be shouting at Dadi,” her sister said. Bindu strode in from the mudroom with her cascade of perfect curls. They flowed around her like the loose fabric of her maxi dress. Her hooped nose ring sparkled, and her bangles clicked as she dropped a gift bag to the floor.
“Happy thirtieth birthday, big sister!”
Holy crap, her younger sister actually remembered her birthday. Kareena had to admit it was a nice surprise that she showed up at all, since Bindu spent more time with her fiancé now than anyone else.
Kareena opened her arms for a hug. Like a musical fairy, Bindu gracefully returned the gesture. That’s when Kareena smelled something . . . earthy.
“Seriously, wake and bake, Bindu?” she whispered against her sister’s ear.
Bindu’s eyes sparkled. “Better morning sex,” she whispered back. “But don’t worry, I Ubered here.” She held out the birthday bag. “Happy birthday,” she said loud enough for Dadi and Dad to hear. “Now why are you fighting this time?”
Kareena motioned to her father and grandmother. “They forgot my birthday.”
Bindu gasped. “Seriously?”
“Have some breakfast,” Dadi said, motioning with a rolling pin. “You too, Bindu.”
“I’ll sit. Hey, is that gobi paranthas? I thought you were going to make that for me later.”
“It’s for birthday paranthas!” Dadi said. Her voice had a false pep in it that no one was buying.
“Well, I guess that’s okay then,” Bindu said, pouting. “I’m teaching a calc class at a sister campus later today, so I should eat something heavy now to last me. Oh! I actually came here to talk to you, Daddy.”
And there it was, Kareena thought. The real reason why her sister got out of bed and spent her precious time coming over to the house so early. Because she wanted something from her father. Since he was always in a better mood in the mornings, Bindu could get her family obligations out of the way and also talk to Dad at the same time.
“What is it, princess?” he said in Hindi.
Bindu flipped her long hair over one shoulder and pressed her palms together, already pleading her case. “I was thinking about having an engagement party in early September. The wedding isn’t until next year, and we should really celebrate with friends and family. We can make it a big, festive event that will coincide with Loken’s family’s trip from Italy. Catering, DJ, open bar, all of it.”
“Engagement party?” Dadi called out. She swung her spatula around like a conductor. “Yes! What a wonderful way to celebrate Loken’s family visit.”
“That should be fine,” Kareena’s father replied, leaning back in his chair. “But I’m not paying for it.”
“Daddy.”
“Beta, I told you that I have a set amount of money for both you and your sister. You get it as a down payment on a house, or you get it for the wedding. You’ve used every last cent of your share for this extravagant Italian desi wedding. And with two caterers! Because god forbid their vegetarian food is cooked with the same utensils that are used for the nonveg meals.”
“Dad,” Kareena chided. “Be respectful.”
He waved a hand in her direction. “I have nothing against veg food, but I don’t need anyone else making me feel bad about my goat meat.”
“Excuse me, but this is about me,” Bindu said, pouting. “It’s embarrassing Loken has to chip in, but I guess we’ll have to do it.”
“How is it embarrassing?” Kareena asked. She took Dadi’s chai cup and took a sip. “Your fiancé is from the richest Gujarati family in Italy. I’m sure that he can afford to cover something.”
“Not your business, big sister,” Bindu shot back. “Oh! Daddy, one more thing. If we do this engagement party in September, it’s not going to interfere with your retirement plan to move to Florida, right?”
Kareena spewed chai all over the table. “What?”
“Bindu, she doesn’t know yet.” Her father pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heartfelt annoyed sigh.
This had to be a joke. “You’re retiring? In Florida?”
Kareena waited for a response, but the kitchen was pin-drop silent.
“Are you . . . are you selling the house?”
“Kareena . . .”
“Oh my god.” The words were raw in Kareena’s throat, like bile had burned her and she was struggling to speak.
Her family looked at one another, down at their plates, at the floor, anywhere but directly at her. Dadi turned her back and fixated on the stove.
“Please tell me you aren’t going to sell Mom’s house,” Kareena exploded. It was a living, breathing entity that held all her favorite memories. And somewhere, between fixing pipes, changing wallpaper, adding her shed in the backyard, and replacing window treatments, the house had become hers, too.
“Dadi and Dad said you were going to be emotional about it,” Bindu replied as she picked up a napkin to clean some of the chai spray that landed on the table in front of her. “And you are kind of proving them right, Kareena.”
Kareena pushed back from the table, her brain racing to try to compute what was happening. “This is Mom’s home. It’s her dream home. She designed and built it from the ground up! We built it from the ground up.” Kareena had even helped repair doorknobs and light fixtures in an effort to keep her mother’s vision and passion alive. “Dad, why am I only finding out about this now? Why does Bindu know about it before me?”
“Beta,” her father said gently. He folded his hands in front of his empty cereal bowl. “I know how close you were to your mom and how much this house means to you, too. How you thought maybe one day you’d live here. But I think it’s time we all moved on. I can sell it, and then take the money and buy myself a retirement home. Your sister is moving out soon, your grandmother is thinking about moving back to India—”
“Dadi is going back to India?”
“Your father has worked hard almost all his life,” Dadi said as she prepared a parantha. She pinched dough and rolled it into a small ball before flattening it with a slap of her palm. “It’s time for him to enjoy himself. And for me to go back home.”
“Dadi, you’ve been here for eighteen years,” Kareena said. “This is your home. And Dad, this house meant a lot to you, too. I refuse to believe that you’re going to sell it without talking about it with me!”
“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Bindu said. She scrolled on her phone as if nothing of importance was being discussed at the table. “He’s been hinting about this forever. Mom isn’t here anymore. He can do whatever he wants with the house. It doesn’t automatically belong to you just because you painted a few walls.”
Kareena pressed a palm to her breaking heart. Did no one else care their home was going to be sold off? Or at the very minimum, did no one else see how wrong it was for them to cut her so cleanly out of a major decision? She’d been the one taking care of it all while her father worked and her sister did god knows what on YouTube and her grandmother went to card parties in the afternoons.
“Your mom loved this house,” her father said quietly. “But it’s important for all of us to move on. And we, your sister and grandmother and I, all agree. The only reason why it hasn’t fallen apart yet is because of you, but you have to move on, too.”
“Sit down and drink some water,” Dadi said. “You’re wheezing again.”
This was getting nowhere and fast. Kareena turned back to Bindu. “You’re completely okay with losing our mom’s home, Bindu? For real?”
Bindu shrugged. “It’s just a house. Loken and I are thinking about getting a place closer to the college so it’s easier for us to get to work.”
Kareena pressed her palms against the table and leaned in toward her father. “Dad, you’ve always known that I wanted this house!”
“Which is why I didn’t ask you.” His eyes looked sad like they always did when he thought about Kareena’s mom. “You have our old car. You can focus all your attention on fixing that, rather than trying to renovate a family home as well.”
“Fine, then I’ll buy it from you. Just like I bought the car from you before you tried to sell that off as well.” She had savings. Her entire financial plan would go to hell, but she’d move things around if she had to. She had to at least try.
Her father leaned back and let out a laugh. He patted his round belly as if she’d told a joke instead of offering to save her childhood home. “There is no way you could afford the down payment on this house for what I’m listing it for. Especially not now with your job that pays you so little compared to what you used to be making.”
His words were like a dozen tiny cuts. Dream job or not, she wasn’t earning enough for parental approval, apparently. But that didn’t matter right now. She had to figure out how to stop this madness. She had to stall as long as possible.
“When are you retiring?” Kareena asked.
He raised an eyebrow in her direction. “December. I’m listing it end of September.” He named a figure that had her eyes go wide. Damn New Jersey housing market.
September was not nearly enough time to save for a large down payment. Kareena looked at Bindu, then at her grandmother who was eyeing her from the kitchen. Then she homed in on the gold letter boxes on the table. The answer seemed both absurd and perfect at the same time.
“The wedding money,” Kareena blurted out. “You said you had wedding money set aside for me. Why don’t you give that to me now to use as a down payment for the house?”
“No way,” her father said. “That money is only available to you once you’re engaged. Which I’ve been trying to encourage you to do for the last six months.”
The only people in the world who ever made her want to throw things were her family. “I don’t understand why you won’t just work with me here! If that money is earmarked for me, anyway, then think of it as a birthday present. You know, for the birthday you forgot?”
Her father gave her an exasperated look, as if she was the one being completely unreasonable here. “I started saving that money because your mother and I wanted to give you and your sister a wedding gift. We didn’t have anything when we started our lives together, and our hope was to give you a nest egg for when you begin your future.”
“News flash! I’m thirty. My future has already begun. I don’t need to be married to have one.”
“Call it tradition,” he said mildly. “These are the rules. I’m not changing them. If you want the money, then you have to find your jeevansathi first.”
Jeevansathi. Soul mate. Kareena wanted one in her life so badly, but actually finding her match was time consuming, and painful. That was one of the reasons why she’d pushed it off for so long.
“What an excellent idea!” Dadi said, waving a spatula in the air. “Beta, I can always reopen your Indian dating profile. You know, you can find someone in time for your sister’s engagement party. Loken’s family won’t worry that there is something wrong with us then because the oldest daughter is still single.”
Kareena had to take even breaths just so she wouldn’t strangle anyone. This is what she hated the most about her family. It was as if they never listened to her, and she ended up screaming at them at the top of her lungs just to get them to pay attention. “I’m not getting engaged or married just because my younger sister is getting married! That’s such an archaic practice and I expected better from both of you. And, Dadi, your matchmaking skills aren’t exactly great.”
She still had nightmares from the date in law school.
“Beta, it was one bad match, and his prison sentence was only six months. It’s not like he killed someone. Just some bad checks, no?”
“Oh, that makes it so much better.” Kareena waved a hand at all three individuals staring at her. “I want a freaking love marriage. Hearts, flowers, the works. Someone who understands me and doesn’t make me lose my ever-loving mind.”
“I think you know that people don’t like your abrasive personality,” Bindu said. “That’s why you’d rather listen to Taylor Swift under a weighted blanket and drink chai while reading romance novels than go out and meet people.”
“Hey, asshole, I’ve been working,” Kareena snapped.
“Language, Kareena!” her father and grandmother shouted at the same time.
“Whatever. I was planning on dipping my toes back into the dating world to search for Mr. Perfect. If that’s what it takes to get the money for the house, then fine. I’ll get married. But it will be a love marriage.” Her skin itched at the very idea, like her food allergy was acting up, but desperate times.
Dadi snorted. “Even I know that it’s not as easy as you think it will be,” she said in Hindi. “Bindu is right about your attitude, beta. And things are different for you kids now. Everyone is so picky.”
“And attitude or not, love sometimes takes time,” Kareena’s father added. “I know you’ve always wanted this house, but I have to do what’s best for me, too.”
Out of everything she expected to happen on her thirtieth birthday, this was definitely not it. Her mother was in every beam, every stud, every original nail that built the home, and Kareena couldn’t lose it. Because once it was gone, it wouldn’t just be her mother. It would be a part of her soul, too.
“It’ll be fine,” Dadi said in Hindi as she crossed the kitchen to put the stack of paranthas in the center of the table. “Now. Why don’t you eat? I’ll drive you to the station.”
“The car!” Kareena burst out. She’d completely forgotten. “Where am I going to keep it?”
“Maybe you can sell that junker for parts,” Bindu murmured as she scrolled through her phone. “It’s so old.”
Kareena didn’t even bother rewarding her sister with a response. Her car was rare enough that if she did sell it, she’d probably make enough to supplement the savings she’d had for the house. But the special restoration project on her 1988 BMW E30 M3 was her pride and joy. It was a symbol of how far she’d come since she lost her mom.
“Now enough of this talk,” Dadi said. “Sit and have some food so you can calm down before going to work.”
Kareena had completely lost her appetite. She picked up her tote bag and slung it over one shoulder. “I have to go.”
“Wait!” Bindu said. She ran over to the bag she’d carried in with her and held it up for Kareena. “Two things. First, I’m taking Dadi’s car to an interview tomorrow. It’s with a local TV show. They’re talking about dating, and I need someone to drive me so I can prep my notes and makeup and things like that on the way. Will you do it?”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever.” She would have agreed to anything at that moment to make her escape.
“Great! Second, I got you a gift.”
“Bindu, I’m really in a terrible place right now. I’ll open it when I get home tonight.”
“No, open it now!” Bindu said. “It’ll make you feel better. I promise.”
Kareena eyed the bag. The last time her sister had brought her a gift, it was homemade brownies that made her so paranoid, she had to have her friends spend the night to convince her that aliens with Mumbai accents weren’t going to abduct her in her sleep and take her to an ice planet.
“Thank you,” she mumbled as she opened the bag and pushed aside the tissue paper. She was praying for a wad of cash but that was doubtful.
It took Kareena a moment to realize what was inside. The white box was labeled Asian Sensation and pictured a large, tan colored, U-shaped vibrator. It was a modern design that didn’t look like a penis. Quote bubbles read “waterproof” and “rechargeable.”
“Bindu, please tell me this is not a—”
“Yup!” Bindu said. She tossed her hair back and let out a screeching laugh. “You’re always so uptight, so I knew this would be the perfect gift. ...
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