From Twinkle, With Love by Sandhya Menon (13)

Thirteen

Saturday, June 13
My room

Dear Nora Ephron,

I took a shower, changed into comfy pj’s, and was sitting here doodling when my computer dinged. E-mails below.

Is it just me or does he sound … less than enthused? And, okay, if we’re being perfectly honest, I sound < enthused, too. Sahil’s and my notes about scene blocking have more chemistry than that set of e-mails, honestly.

But … I mean, I’m not completely surprised. Sahil and I shared something on the Ferris wheel. There’s something between us that I’ve never felt with anyone else.

Still. I know I need to give N a chance. How can I give up on that picture of shiny, future Twinkle because of a boy I just met?

N and I need to meet soon and figure this out.

Love,

Twinkle

Sunday, June 14
My room

Dear Mira Nair,

I barely slept last night. I stared at my ceiling for hours, and then at the strand of twinkle lights on the wall from which I’ve hung pictures of Maddie and me, and Dadi, Mummy, Papa, and Oso. I have a few pictures of Sahil, Skid, and Aaron, and the rest of us on set from last week that I need to put up too. Then I stared at the wall beside my bed thinking the blank boringness of it would lull me to sleep, but no. My brain refused to shut off.

For a minute I had felt like my life was going according to plan. The movie was coming together, Maddie was going to be the lead, and N had begun to e-mail me. It felt like I was getting backdated karma for being a good person. But now? Everything feels muddled and confusing.

The movie is still going well, but Maddie being the lead has only led to even more distance between us somehow. And sure, N e-mailing me is still exciting because it might be Neil … but at the same time, I can’t stop thinking about Sahil and me. How right that feels. How easy it would be. But then what about that image I’ve always had—of leaving the groundlings behind? Of being with someone like Neil? Of being seen for the first time ever in my life? No matter how hard I try, I feel like I can’t make the different parts of my life work together.

So I just lay there and lay there and lay there and I had barely closed my eyes when the doorbell rang this morning.

I put one pillow over my ear because our house is tiny and anyone standing in the living room and talking at a normal volume basically sounds like they’re standing beside me and talking into my ear. My door opened with a soft click, and I squirmed deeper under my covers. Hopefully it was just Mummy coming in to put my clothes away and not to wake me to see some horrible auntie who stopped by because she clearly has no sense of time or propriety. Everyone knows Sunday mornings are for sleeping in. Everyone except aunties from the Indian association.

But then I felt a small hand on my shoulder and smelled rose oil. “Dadi?” I said, my voice crumbly. I turned over to see her smiling exuberantly down at me, her eyes bright and shining. Dadi is 121 percent a morning person.

“Desi ladka aaya hai,” she said, putting one hand under her chin like some coy Bollywood actress from the sixties. “Bahut … Oh, how do you kids say … haan, bahut cute hai! Kehta hai tumhara producer hai.”

I sat up suddenly. A cute boy who happened to be Indian and my producer? There weren’t too many of those. Oh my God, I must look—

“Beautiful,” Dadi said, running a hand over my cheek.

I groaned. Dadi was never an objective judge of whether I looked beautiful or perfectly hideous. And first thing in the morning surely fell in the latter category. “Dadi, why is Sahil here?” I asked, hopping out of bed and running to my closet.

“I don’t know, beta,” she said, looking surprised. “I came here to tell you.”

I went to the bed and pulled her up gently by the hands. “Then can you please go out there and find out? And run interference for Mummy and Papa?”

She chuckled. “Okay, okay. I shall return soon.” The voices swelled as she opened the door and then shut it again. What was Sahil doing here?

I wriggled into my jean shorts, pulled on my Wadjda T-shirt (one of the best films ever, and one of the only ones I’ve forced convinced Maddie to watch that we both loved), and threw on some of Mummy’s magenta glass bangles that I stole a long time ago. Then I crept into the bathroom and brushed my teeth and washed my face in, like, twenty seconds. When I was done, I took a deep breath and walked back down the hallway. I could hear my heartbeat thudding in my ears, half in anticipation and half in dread. Because I knew I was going to be overjoyed to see Sahil, as I always was. And I probably would forget all my resolve to keep things strictly platonic until I could figure out where this whole N thing was going.

Sahil grinned at me from the couch and I instantly grinned back as if I’d learned nothing at all. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d hold you to your promise to come to my place and eat my dad’s pancakes. That is, if you still want to? I know this is out of the blue. …”

“Oh, yeah! No, I definitely want to.” I went to sit by him on the couch, my mind thrilling as the memory from the carnival slipped back in. How he’d held me close on the Ferris wheel. How we’d finally just confessed our feelings to each other, one groundling to another, seeing and being seen. Even if I had told him things couldn’t go further than that, it had felt so good to say the words out loud. And to hear what he’d said back to me, to see that softness in his eyes when he looked at me, the gentleness of his hand when he gripped mine. I smiled shyly at him. “You look pretty grab for so early in the morning.”

He did too. He was wearing a button-down shirt again (green this time) with the sleeves rolled up, and khaki shorts. His hair looked like it had been gelled, and he smelled amazing. It was like he’d made an effort to come meet my parents. He’s perfect boyfriend material, my heart said. Swoony, respectful, smart, kind, passionate … It was still extolling Sahil’s many, many virtues when he said, “Thanks.”

Mummy laughed from the armchair across from us. “Twinkle never wakes up at eight a.m. on the weekend!”

I glared at her, feeling this weird mixture of angry sadness I only felt around Mummy (and felt a lot around her, to be honest). Now that we had a visitor she wanted to talk like she knew everything about me? Now that Sahil was sitting here, she wanted to appear to be a mother, someone who gave a crap. But why couldn’t she do that for me all the time?

“True,” Papa added. “She wakes up at noon and has lunch directly!”

But before I could say anything salty about how would he know because he was more concerned with the schedule of his kids at his job, Dadi came in with a silver tray completely buried in biscuits from the Indian store. “Sahil,” she said. “Would you like some biscuits? We have kaju pista, chocolate bourbon, Butter Bite …”

“Dadi,” I said, shaking my head. “He came over to invite me to breakfast that his dad’s making. I don’t think his parents would be too happy if he ruined his appetite here.”

Dadi’s face got all soggy like a piece of notebook paper left in the rain. “Oh …”

“No, no,” Sahil said, hopping up from the couch and going over to her. “These look delicious!” He stuffed three in his mouth, gobbled, and swallowed them in record time. Then, looking around with a mischievous grin, he said, “Teenage boy’s metabolism.”

Everyone burst out laughing. Everyone in my family liked him right away, even Mummy and Papa, who were generally suspicious of boys. And how could they not? Sahil is like gentle sun on a winter’s day. You automatically want to turn your face to it and soak it up.

Well, I left because I needed to get my shoes from my room and I’ve been in here a while, so I’m gonna go now. More later.

Love,

Twinkle

Sunday, June 14
Sahil’s room (craziness!)

Dear Ava DuVernay,

We drove up farther north of the city, where some of the richer kids in school live. I kept glancing at Sahil as we drove; it was like my eyes were magnets and he was Iron Man. I’d never noticed before how the hair on his arms ranges from a deep black to a reddish brown, or how his fingers are just the right amount of big and gentle-looking. Occasionally he’d catch me looking and grin at me.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said after a few minutes. “You can’t deny it, T. You and me? We’re like … like Dracula and his castle. Meant to be.”

One thing that made my heart race was how Sahil could be so adorkable around me sometimes, tripping over his shoes and stuff, and other times, he was so smoothly, dashingly confident. He wasn’t afraid to take control, to tell me how he felt. It’s like his personality was an aphrodisiac made specifically for one Twinkle Mehra.

I snorted to cover up how off-balance he made me feel. “You are such a dork.”

“You know you’d miss it if it was gone.”

I laughed. He was joking, but his words tugged at my heart as thoughts from last night filtered into my brain. After what we’d shared at the carnival, I knew losing Sahil would leave a gaping hole in my life.

I blinked back to the present moment as we pulled past the gates of Sahil’s subdivision. It was pretty fancy, with big houses with outdoor fireplaces and big front yards and pillars and stuff. Things you never would see in my neighborhood, unless you counted Mrs. Wilson’s rotting “deck” made of two by fours, which she began to put together herself but never bothered to finish. Mrs. Wilson is a little flighty like that, which is why she sometimes pays me to go knock on her door and remind her to clean her hamster cage. She doesn’t own a hamster. Yes. I have many questions too.

Sahil turned down a street and pulled up a driveway to this sprawling gray house with giant windows. “Oh my God,” I said. “You have four garages?”

Sahil winced. “Yeah … but they’re all really small?”

We both laughed together.

“Come on,” he said, pulling into one of the garages and shutting off the engine. “Let’s go inside so you can meet the parental unit.”

Sahil’s house was just as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. There were statues and pots and paintings all over the place, with spotlights shining down on them like in a museum. “Oh my God,” I said again, walking over to a metal plate on the table with what looked like little vines etched all over it. Dadi had a similar one in her “room” (just a big laundry closet Mummy and Papa converted for her when she insisted I should take the second bedroom, which was too small for two beds). This one was much bigger, though, and looked like it was made of real silver. “Your house is so cool.”

“That’s from India,” a female voice said.

A tall white woman in a gray tunic and white leggings was smiling at us. Her eyes were green and her brown hair was pulled back into an untidy bun. An oversize watch hung loosely from her wrist. She was beautiful in an earthy kind of way, like she enjoyed messy things that made you sweat—gardening and rock climbing and stuff. “I love it,” I said.

“You must be Twinkle.” She came forward, still smiling warmly, and clasped one of my hands in both of hers. “Sahil’s told us so much about you—”

Sahil cleared his throat theatrically.

“… your directorial skills,” his mom amended, laughing. “I’m Anna.”

I laughed too, even though my cheeks were flushed. What would Anna Auntie say if she knew I was crushing on both her sons? I bet she wouldn’t be so welcoming. “That’s nice to hear. Sahil’s been a great producer.”

I followed her into the kitchen, where a man stood at the stove with a dish towel over one shoulder, flipping pancakes. He was almost as dark-skinned as me, with thick glasses and a balding head. “Twinkle!” he called jovially. His voice had just a bit of an Indian accent coating his American one. “How are you? My name’s Ajit. I’m Sahil’s father!”

“I’m fine, Uncle,” I said. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Uncle!” He beamed at Anna Auntie and poured more batter onto the griddle. “What did I tell you? Indian kids, best manners in the world!”

Anna Auntie rolled her eyes good-naturedly, like she’d heard this a million times before. “Yes, dear, I know. Our kids aren’t so badly behaved themselves.”

“But being only half-Indian, my manners are only half as good,” Sahil said. “But I did manage to call your parents Uncle and Auntie in the nick of time.”

“That would explain why they were so obsessed with you.” I turned to Anna Auntie. “My entire family loves Sahil. They usually don’t even like boys.”

Sahil took a mock bow and his mom flapped her hand at him. “No one likes a show-off,” she warned.

“Except Twinkle’s parents, apparently,” he said, carrying a glass carafe of orange juice over to the table. Was a carton too trashy? We didn’t even have carafes at my house. If I asked for one my parents would probably laugh until they cried and then say, Why don’t we just burn some money for fun?

“I think it was more your charming producer demeanor,” I said, just as Ajit Uncle brought over a platter of pancakes. I stared at him. Papa would never serve us, and especially not wearing a frilly apron around his waist. I hadn’t noticed it before because he’d been behind the stove. It had hummingbirds and hearts on it. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t be rude in my staring. I mean, he’d just complimented me on my manners and everything. It was cool to see an adult man not caring about society’s artificial rules for masculinity, though.

We all sat, with Ajit Uncle and Anna Auntie taking seats across the table from Sahil and me. Two chairs at the head and foot of the table sat empty.

“So … is Neil here?” I asked, trying not to be too obvious about why I was asking.

“He’s at his friend Patrick’s house,” Ajit Uncle replied. “He’s at practice so much that he tries to see them as much as he can!”

“Wish he felt the same way about spending time with us,” Anna Auntie added, laughing. “Right, Sahil?”

Sahil, I noticed, had gone still. He wasn’t looking at me as he poured himself some milk. Right. That whole sibling rivalry thing. “Yep,” he said with forced heartiness.

I took a bite of the pancake and almost fainted. “Oh my God,” I said, after I’d swallowed. “This is … You should open your own restaurant!”

Ajit Uncle laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“Papa’s being modest,” Sahil said. “He basically cooks every meal around here.”

“Hey, now,” Anna Auntie said between bites. “I make mac and cheese.”

Sahil snorted. “Out of the box.”

“Yes, but I add hot dogs and red pepper flakes to it.” Pointedly, she added, “My own recipe. That Sahil loved, FYI, until two years ago.”

I laughed. “I think it’s great that Ajit Uncle cooks. My mom and dadi are the cooks in my place. But they never make peanut butter chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Twinkle’s a bit of a peanut butter chocolate nut,” Sahil said. “Skid’s always trying to convince her to branch out, sweets-wise, but she’s stubborn.”

“I know what I like,” I said. “I can’t help it.”

“A person who knows her own mind is a rarity,” Ajit Uncle said, tucking into his third pancake. “Tell me, Twinkle, where do you plan to go to film school?”

“Papa,” Sahil said, rolling his eyes. “Not everyone knows what their plans are down to the location of their future college at this point in their high school careers. And some people don’t go to college right away.” Speaking to me, he added, “Sorry. Hazards of having overachieving parents. Papa got his PhD at twenty-eight and Mom was the youngest person in her department to achieve tenure.”

“No, it’s okay—” I began, but Ajit Uncle cut me off by protesting mightily.

“Now, now, Sahil, I know college isn’t the right path for everyone! But, Twinkle, I assume going to film school affords you some opportunities you wouldn’t otherwise get, no?”

“It does, I’m sure,” I said. “I mean, George Lucas is one of the most famous examples of someone who got his start at USC’s film school, which also happens to be my dream school. But …” I shrugged, wondering if it was crass to say this in their circles. But then I decided I didn’t care. This was my truth and I was owning it. “I’m not sure I can afford it, to be honest.”

“That’s a travesty!” Anna Auntie said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice. “The state of higher education in this country is enough to give anyone hives. The average college student—”

Sahil looked at me, biting his lip to keep from laughing, and I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped my mouth.

Anna Auntie narrowed her eyes and gestured with her fork between the two of us. “What was that?”

“Busted,” Sahil said. “Nothing. I just told—excuse me, warned—Twinkle that you guys can get a little intense about higher education.”

“But,” I hurried to put in, “he also told me that you guys sponsor one UCCS student a year. Which is amazing.”

“In-state student,” Anna Auntie said. “We also get a break from the university. It’s the only way we can afford to do it. But we see it as a calling, being professors and all. It’s all about making higher education affordable and accessible to more people.”

I smiled and tucked into my second pancake. I liked Anna Auntie and Ajit Uncle. They felt like good people. And the way they looked at Sahil, it was obvious they loved him to bursting. It made me a little sad, too, as if my own family were two thousand miles, and not a twenty-minute drive, away.