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Etiquette was another way to maintain the divide between the classes. People with wealth created arbitrary rules of behavior—how to walk, talk, laugh, eat—and called it etiquette. Those without it were uncouth. Not worthy.
As immigrants to a new country, all you ever wanted was to prove that you were worthy. You deserved to be at that table of the richest people with class. Hence, you didn’t talk about your wealth. You internalized the rules of etiquette and hoped that you found a seat at the table on an equal footing. But histories of colonization and enslavement meant that people of color had to keep clawing our way out through a sea of racism and privilege. And when we did, some of us turned around and used that privilege to further the exploitation of others.
Not Sujit, though. The resounding conviction comforted me further into this easy camaraderie.
I could let it all out in his presence. “When I was little, Dad didn’t have this sprawling business. He was a small-time realtor. Until I was about five, we lived in a small two-bedroom apartment. But both my parents are hardworking. Mom helped by staging open houses and selling Indian clothing and jewelry as a side hustle. This model is pretty commonplace now, but at the time, only a few people did it as a home business. Dad learned the property business quickly, took out massive loans, made smart investment decisions, and the business grew. From fifth grade onward, I only attended elite schools. We moved several times, each time into a bigger house in a richer neighborhood. It was one way to establish status, especially for an immigrant family, but I didn’t know that. My brother has onlyever seen the riches because he doesn’t remember the life before we became wealthy.”
I exhaled and let the silence between us get subsumed by the gentle sounds of the restaurant.
“My brother is wealthy because he helps others make money,” Sujit said with a laugh. “But if you meet my parents, they behave as if they are still those struggling immigrants. They still think twice before buying anything that isn’t groceries.”
I’d love to meet them someday, I wanted to say, but that statement came with inferences, implications, and a bitter history of heartache. Wasn’t it the same day Tara broke his heart that he’d introduced her to them? I kept my mouth shut.
“Go on, read one more dish on the menu. I know you want to,” he nudged.
“Okay, one more. It will be the last one, I promise.”
He sat back with his drink.
“For the Love of the Unctuous.”
“What? That’s a new addition. What is it?” He pulled his menu open and looked for it. “Oh, it’s sausage and peppers,” he laughed gently.
He ordered For the Love of the Unctuous, and I got Scandal Under the Skirt.
“Potpie is my favorite, but I can hardly find a place that makes a good one. The best places don’t have them because it’s seen as rustic and homey, not gourmet food. But the best things in life are simple, aren’t they?” I said, cracking the delicate puff pastry with the spoon.
He nodded as he sliced into his sausage.
So are the best relationships, I thought as I watched him enjoy his food just as much as I did.
SUJIT
When we drove back to my place that evening, I pulled out Catan while she changed into lounging clothes. I spread the board out on the custom-built gaming table that sat discreetly in a corner masquerading as a console.
Her eyes grew wide and her eyebrows lifted when I drew back the top to uncover it, complete with pull-out player stations to hold cards, game pieces, and drinks. I had dreamed about getting one when I was in college but couldn’t justify the outrageous cost of the custom-build. When I moved into this penthouse, it was the first thing I bought, even before I had furniture to sit on.
Aarti settled in a chair I had pulled from the dining table. Getting things custom-built had its advantages. I’d specifically asked for dining table chairs that could be repurposed for gaming.
My friends and I had maintained a strict no friends, no partners policy for our game nights, but I was confident I could get them to bend the rules for my attractive houseguest.
“So settlements go between the tiles and roads along the tiles?” she asked. I nodded. “Butalongthe tiles is alsobetweentwo tiles, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but only the settlements will determine what resource cards you get.”
“Ugh, this is too difficult. I’m buzzed, and you’re taking away all the fun of my martinis.”
I smiled, and she steadied her gaze on my face.
“What are you looking at?” I asked, fiddling with the cards in my hands.
“Do you know how gorgeous you are with those dimples?” she let slip, then averted her eyes with a shy smile.
I shuffled in my seat, stumped by her compliment. “Yes, I’ve been told.”
“By Tara?” she asked, looking at me with a diffident gaze.
“Among others. Mostly by the women in my family who dote on me. I heard that even more after the breakup. My family has been walking on eggshells around me. I mean, I’m a grown man, I can handle a little rejection, a little heartache. But everyone from my mom and my aunts to my cousins, my sister-in-law, and even Devi have been treating me as if I’m fragile. For years, they hounded me with pictures and résumés of young women, and suddenly, everything stopped. I think it’s my sister-in-law’s doing. I think she’s convinced everyone I need time to heal.”