Dating Dr. Dil Read online

  “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.”

  “What? What is it?” Dadi asked. She hurried over from the table.

  “You know,” Kareena said as she pushed the tissue paper back in place to cover the brown sex toy. “One day I may find this hilarious. Today is not that day.”

  Bindu doubled over, wheezing.

  Without a second thought, Kareena passed it to her grandmother. “Why don’t you take this, Dadi? Bindu knows it’s not my style. Bindu, you’re going to tell her what it is, right?”

  Bindu’s face went sheet white.

  Kareena shoved her glasses up her nose and turned to leave the kitchen. “I hope all of you realize how truly shitty you all are acting right now.”

  Her father’s expression turned thunderous. Her grandmother looked appalled at her language, and her sister was still pale now that Dadi was holding the vibrator gift.

  Kareena strolled out of the house and started walking toward the train station before anyone could say another word to her. “Happy thirtieth birthday to me,” she said in a tear-soaked voice. “Happy fucking thirtieth birthday to me.”

  Interstitial

  Indians Abroad News

  Dear Readers,

  It’s important to remember that your single children are born in a generation that is different from yours. To start, you must first learn why your children are against marriage. It is then your responsibility to convince them that they are wrong.

  Mrs. W. S. Gupta

  Columnist

  Avon, NJ

  Chapter 2

  Kareena

  Aunty WhatsApp Group

  Farah Aunty: Happy birthday, darling!

  Falguni Aunty: Happy birthday, sweetheart. Your mother would be so proud of you and all you accomplished.

  Mona Aunty: I have money for you, beta!

  Sonali Aunty: ::religious birthday meme::

  Sonali Aunty: ::religious birthday meme::

  Sonali Aunty: ::religious birthday meme::

  “I have no idea what I’m going to do,” Kareena said as she took another sip of her drink. “You guys know how important that house is to me. To my mom.”

  “Here, let me call for another cocktail,” Veera said. Kareena watched as her friend gracefully lifted a hand and grabbed a server’s attention.

  Phataka Grill, the brand-new restaurant right in the middle of Jersey City, was a charming throwback to an old-fashioned Indian canteen. Bollywood movie posters hung haphazardly on exposed brick walls, and the chairs were painted bright colors with aluminum backing. Sexy seventies Bollywood remixes were barely audible over the sound of conversation from packed tables. It was the perfect place to get inebriated.

  “Thanks,” Kareena said as freshly made drinks were placed in front of them. “I need this. And you two.”

  “I still think that you should’ve let me throw you a party to help get your mind off things,” Bobbi said, swirling her lychee martini. “We could’ve rented a limo to take us into the city where we would sweat our asses off dancing at a club, then hook up with sexy men we regret in the morning. Oh! And cupcakes. Cupcakes after dancing and hookups.”

  “I’m just not in the mood, guys.”

  “The last time we went was what, five years ago?” Bobbi asked. “Right before your dating moratorium. God, does your waxer find cobwebs in your coochie?”

  Kareena threw a napkin at her best friend. “Oh, shut up. You work more than I do, and I don’t see you getting regular checks for your jalebi.”

  Their server arrived with plates piled high with biryani, butter chicken, veggie tandoori platters, and naan. “Here you go, ladies,” he said, his New Delhi accent as thick as his full head of curling black hair. “Let me know if you need more drinks.”

  Kareena began piling food on her plate after the server left. Hopefully it tasted as good as it looked. She was starving since she hadn’t gotten a chance to eat all day. That along with her restless sleep meant she was eternally irritated.

  Bobbi leaned across the table, her cleavage on display. “You would’ve had such a kick-ass thirtieth that your mom would be calling in from her next life to join in, and then give you advice on how to keep the house.”

  Kareena snorted. “I doubt that. Besides, most of our mutuals wouldn’t show up. Everyone we know is either in a long-term relationship, engaged, newly married, or popping out children. Do you think they want to celebrate a single friend turning thirty? Their calendars are filled with cake tastings or mommy playdates. If they do, by some miracle, have an opening in their schedule, they’ll end up judging me and saying things like ‘you’ll know when you find the right one,’ or ‘you’re so lucky to be single without responsibilities.’”

  Veera squeezed Kareena’s arm. “Don’t be like that. I’m sure everyone would’ve come to support you. Thirty is a big deal.”

  “But only because we make it that way,” Kareena said.

  Her best friends, the same ones she’d met during freshman orientation at Rutgers, the only other Punjabi girls in her seminar classes, watched her, patiently waiting for her to adjust her glasses, step up on her proverbial soapbox, and explain.

  “At thirty, people have all these expectations of how many life milestones I should’ve achieved, but how can I do any of those things when I don’t have enough money to buy my mother’s home, my car is still in a shed in my backyard, and trying to find true love makes me nauseous? Even though that’s what I want. And in the past few months, that’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

  Veera and Bobbi glanced at each other then back at Kareena.

  “What do you mean?” Veera asked. “You’ve been thinking about true love? Like . . . dating?”

  Kareena nodded. “I have the job I want. Now it’s time to get the family I want.”

  “Girl, sometimes, life doesn’t go according to your spreadsheets and timelines,” Bobbi said. “Finding love may take some time.”

  “Which I don’t have,” Kareena said.

  “Wait, you said your dad has the money, right?” Veera asked. “Are you going to . . .” r />
  “Try to find a guy in time to get engaged and ask for my dad’s wedding gift to pay off the house?” Kareena downed the rest of her drink. “That’s the idea.” She’d been thinking about it all day. Even if she put less than 20 percent down for the mortgage, she wouldn’t be able to afford the house. It was in a prime location and way out of her price range. Getting married was the only option she had.

  “I thought you wanted hearts, flowers, and romance,” Veera said. “Please tell me you’re not giving that up.”

  Kareena shook her head. “I’m making one promise to myself in this whole mess. I have to fall in love with this person before I commit to marry him. I want heart eyes, and racing pulse. Romantic gestures, and conversations about forever. I want all of it. He’ll be my jeevansathi even though our falling-in-love journey will be a little shorter than expected.”

  “Jeevansathi,” Veera said. Her expression became dreamy, and she clasped her hands together. “That word is so romantic isn’t it? Life partner. For someone who puts up quite a shield, it won’t be easy, Kareena.”

  “Like a needle in a fucking haystack,” Bobbi added bitterly.

  “Oh, I know. My dad hinted at the same thing. And there is a good chance I won’t win. But I have to try. For my mom.” And for myself, Kareena thought. The house meant so much to her, but it would be meaningless if she had an arranged marriage that was built on compromise only. She didn’t want her life partner to be practical. She wanted him to be . . . well, she had a list.

  “Where are you going to find these guys?” Veera asked. She grabbed a naan and began tearing it into small pieces.

  “I think online is my only choice, to be honest.”