Page 7

Six. Chechi got laid!

Vera

I wake up with a smile, stretch and release a loud satisfied groan. I’m deliciously sore. Every inch has been touched, teased and pleased , and my muscles respond to it. We fell asleep soon after he dragged a third orgasm out of me and later in a sluggish daze, we woke each other up for more. The way he coaxed and manipulated my body…it was glorious.

Even though his scent lingers on the sheets, I’m glad he stuck to our deal and left early this morning—with a core throbbing kiss on his way out.

Smiling, I turn my head into my pillow and squeal. Best sex ever !

Pushing myself into a sitting position, I brush my hair out of my face and look around the room. The curtains have been drawn, keeping the warm Saturday sun out of my face, and my clothes are folded and set on the edge of the bed. But it’s what’s on my bedside table that makes my eyebrows shoot up—a pile of condom wrappers and a pink post-it.

In the neatest handwriting, it says:

Thanks for the best night. In case you’d like for us to cross paths again, here’s my number. If this is the last time I’ll see you, know you rocked my whole fucking world.

- EJ

In the last three years, casual sex and one night stands have been more than enough. There’s no guarantee your partner for the evening will be fun, but sometimes you have to take the risk. After Rakesh, I haven’t allowed myself to think about more. Getting hurt has left me jaded about love, and I don’t need a third time to remind me of that. Besides, I don’t have the energy for a relationship. When I’m not working and building my company, I’m spending time with my friends and family. There might be room in there for romance, but it’s no longer a priority. And being told that someone else needs to be my first thought at all times is asking for too much.

Shaking my head, I slide his note in the drawer and toss the wrappers away. I may not hook-up with the same person twice, but there’s no harm in keeping his number. You know, for a rainy day .

With another stretch, I head for a shower and scrub myself clean. Standing in front of the mirror as I brush my teeth, I catalogue the marks he’s left on me—hickeys on my neck and breasts, beard burn on my thighs and a few more love bites in places my clothes will hide. I don’t want to be late, but I take a few minutes to cover spots with makeup and get ready for family lunch. I even make sure to slide on earrings before I leave, because my mother has a habit of doing a checklist every single time she sees me.

An hour later, and very much on time, I walk into my parents’ house. There’s noise coming from everywhere and the chaos comforts me. I’m not a big fan of large social gatherings, but when it comes to my family, I crave it. The scent of hot food wafts over and I sigh happily. Leaving my bag on a chair, I wander further in and see my father and two brothers yelling at the television.

“That was an easy catch, you idiot!”

“What a dumb move that was.”

“Stop the fucking ball!”

Of course they’re watching cricket. Trust me to be born into a family of cricket fans. I loved the sport as a kid, knew the stats of every player and understood the rules better than anyone else. I even played with my brothers and neighbours. But over the years, the sport lost its meaning for me. I blame the fans, really. And the ICL.

I lean over the back of the couch and drop a kiss onto my father’s cheek, he turns to flash me a smile.

“Hello my most beautiful child,” he says, standing up to hug me. It doesn’t matter how old I am, when my father holds me, I revert to being a child.

The embrace doesn’t last long, because my brothers are yanking me out of my father’s arms and squishing me between them. They’re taller and broader, smooshing my face into their stinky armpits and messing up my hair. This is how they show affection and I hate it.

“Ugh, get off me! You’re both disgusting.”

Varun, my older brother, chuckles. “Did she say we’re stunning?”

“I think she said we should start humming,” Vikram, my younger brother, announces. Then they’re squeezing me harder.

Every attempt to scream for help is foiled by the neanderthals muffling my voice and hugging me tighter. They’ve been doing this to me since Vikram was old enough for Varun to bully, and they will never stop. The harder I fight them, the stronger their grip on me is. It doesn’t matter that my name and company has appeared in well-respected magazines or I’m one of the few women under fifty to be a CEO in South India. To my brothers I’m still the sister they like to annoy.

Now I understand why my youngest sister, and baby of the family, ran as far away as she possibly could.

“Mathi? 1 !” my mother admonishes my brothers in Malayalam, gentle slaps echoing before they release me. I collapse dramatically against the woman who birthed me. “Look what you’ve done to her now.”

Looking myself over, I shrug. “What’s wrong with me?” Smoothing down my hair and straightening my dress, I allow her to do her usual perusal.

This ‘checklist’ thing started soon after I moved out of the house. As much as my mother has evolved, there are still some things she’s retained from my grandmother. Analysing me from head-to-toe is the main one. If my hair isn’t tied up, it needs to be neat and combed. It was, until my brothers messed it up. Check . I must always wear earrings or the piercings will seal shut. Check . My arms and legs, especially my elbows, must always be moisturised. The Chennai heat be damned. Check . And finally, my breasts need to be at the correct level or they’ll be saggy when I get to her age.

“I think you need new bras,” she says in a stage whisper.

I was so close! I sigh. “I’ll get right on that.”

She shakes her head at my sass, but hugs me anyway. “So good to see you, chakkare? 2 .” The affection is brief and when she releases me, I follow her to the kitchen where she’s been cooking up a storm.

In the Thomas family, it’s tradition to meet every Saturday. There are times when we pick another day to accommodate other plans—Varun is the creative director at a video game studio, Vikram is a batting coach for a local sports centre and before my sister left, she was taking music lessons for kids. Having a meal together as a family is a must. Tamara joins us quite often, but her schedule is way more unpredictable than mine, so she has an open invite to show up whenever.

As I pick at the fried potatoes, Chinnakka? 3 —the older woman that’s worked in my parents’ house since before I was born—squeezes my cheeks before returning to her cooking. I pop the food into my mouth as my mother tsks loudly.

“I think your brother might be wearing your makeup.” At my frown, she continues, “So, who was it? Someone I know?”

Still drunk from a party the night before, I came out to my family at breakfast when I was twenty-one. I’m pretty sure I slurred through my entire confession, but none of them flinched. In fact, my mother asked if the reason I was telling them was because I had a girlfriend. They’ve taken my queerness in stride, asking questions about the alphabets in LGBTQIA+ every time they forget, inquiring about my relationships and making sure I’m happy and safe.

At the same time, after Rakesh, I’ve never told them about people I date. Because none of them stick around and I don’t want to give my folks any hope. Hook-ups don’t need to leave the bedroom anyway.

“What are you talking about?”

She gestures to my throat with a gleeful expression. “Whoever they were, they left a mark on you that’s visible from the moon.”

Running from the kitchen to the bathroom, I lock the door and look in the mirror. And right there on my collarbone is a bruise courtesy Elias’s mouth that is indeed visible from the moon. Fucking Elias . I could reapply the concealer, but decide to gather my hair over on that side to hide it. It’s not like my family thinks I’m a virgin or a saint anyway.

Muttering to myself and cursing Elias, I walk out as Chinnakka finishes setting the table. My mother calls for the rest of the family and I slide into my seat, picking at the potato dish again. Even though we do this once a week, I’m always surprised by the amount of food that’s served. There’s the staples of brown rice and beef ularthiyathi? 4 , sambar and a million vegetables all prepared in the standard Syrian Christian style of cooking. In short, everything has coconut oil and it’s fucking delicious.

Varun sets a glass of beer beside my plate as Vikram sits across from me and wiggles his eyebrows at my hickey. I flip him off and he smirks, nudging my mother to look at my throat. She waves him off and starts passing the food around. Honestly, he’s thirty-five and still behaves like a kid.

My father smiles, looking at each of us. “It’s so good to have my kids under the same roof.”

“Ach, one kid is missing,” my mother corrects him and pulls out her phone.

The sound of a FaceTime call echoes through the room as we plate our food, my brothers and I fight for dishes even though we know we’ll get a spoonful of the beef and curd.

“I just fell asleep,” a groggy and whiny voice says once the call connects.

“I texted you yesterday about calling today.”

My younger sister grunts and after much rustling, a light comes on and her face is visible. Viola’s makeup is smudged and dried on her face, making her look like a sick raccoon. She’s twenty-seven—thirteen years younger than me and eight years younger than Vikram—and the rainbow baby of our family. As you can imagine, my parents spoil her rotten and she likes to take advantage of it as often as she can.

“Oooooh, I see that chechi? 5 got laid!” she squeals and my mother tsks at her.

I hate the term ‘chechi’, but given the age difference, we all have to suffer. However, when it’s us siblings, she calls me whatever she wants.

Varun narrows his eyes as he stares at the offending mark on my skin. “Who was it?”

“Yeah, chechi, tell us!”

I glare at my siblings and see my father watching us curiously from the corner of my eyes. I wave them off. “Not at the table.”

“Ugh, you’re so boring,” Viola adds and answers all of our mother’s questions. Mostly why she’s going to sleep at two in the morning when she’s got extra classes.

My parents thought after Varun, Vikram and I moved out, they’d get to keep Viola at home. But my sister had big plans and a year ago moved to Boston for her Masters at Berklee College of Music. We’re so proud of her even if it’s been pretty rough for my parents with an empty house.

Once the call ends, silence descends on the table and I can feel the tension. Between mouthfuls of food, I look around at my family and sigh softly. It’s one thing to know your children are adults with active social lives, but it’s a whole other thing when one shows up with a hickey and another is going to bed way too late.

When we all lived under the same roof, there were rules and we followed them perfectly. We were grounded if we broke even a single one. They can’t enforce too many rules now and I can see it bothers my father. He’d never say anything, but I can guarantee my parents are going to have a long conversation about this afterwards.

Breaking the quiet, my father regales us with their travel plans for the year. Ever since he retired, my parents have been travelling all over the world. We try to sneak our way into these trips, but we haven’t been successful yet. My brothers update us on their busy lives and I tell them all about the last few pitches we made. They kindly cross their fingers for me too.

Once we’re done eating, my parents retreat to the couch while the three of us clear the table. Chinnakka cooks, sets the table and washes up afterwards, but we always help with clearing up. While Vikram digs in the fridge for dessert, Varun drags me through the back door and pokes the bruise.

“What the fuck? Stop it.” I shove him off and he frowns.

“So, who was it?”

“A guy I met at a bar.”

“Does the guy have a name?”

I roll my eyes. “Does it really matter?”

“How many marks did he leave on you?”

“For fuck’s sake, why is this important?”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Seriously, Run? They’re hickeys . I wasn’t his punching bag.”

He stares at me and storms back into the house. I sigh, dropping my head. In his last relationship, Varun was a punching bag for his almost-wife. For years, he kept the secret and only told us once they broke up. I’ve never shown up with bruises before and didn’t realise they would trigger him. When I find Varun on the front veranda, I stand beside him and stare out at the garden.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “That was a terrible choice of words and I didn’t mean to trigger you.”

“I was worried about you.”

“I know. But I promise, all of it was consensual.”

He glances at me, concern still in his eyes and nods slowly. “Still not going to tell me who he was?”

“His name is Elias. Got stood up by my Tinder date, so I spent the evening with him. Mallu, if you can believe my luck.”

“Don’t tell Amma, she’ll think you’re ready to marry him.”

I grin and nudge him gently. “She’d love him, if I’m being honest. But it was just one night.”

“As long as you were safe.”

“Very safe, I promise.” I watch my big brother for a moment and smile when he looks at me. He nods again and with a quick kiss on my forehead, walks back into the house. I inhale deeply and close my eyes, allowing myself a few minutes to catch my breath. Then I join my family as dessert is served and gossip is shared.

Tamara

ARE YOU ALIVE? OR DID BLURRY HOTTIE KILL YOU?

I’m alive.

Tamara

I’ve been texting for close to 12 hours and that’s all you have to say?

My phone died and I forgot to charge it.

Tamara

And here I thought YOU had died.

You never sent me his license and all I got was a blurry set of pictures of a man kissing your neck.

Also the video was useless, but he sounds DELICIOUS. Was he?

Hmm…he was something, all right.

Tamara

Gimme all the details

I showed up to family lunch and put a hickey on display.

Tamra

WHAAAAT!?

Wait, A hickey? How many did he give you?

I’m glad I know how to use makeup.

Tamara

Oh my god, you slut.

Sluttiest I’ve ever been and it was totally worth it.

Tamara

I need a night of drinks to catch up on all of your filthy shenanigans

Ladies night this Wednesday? Big discount on drinks.

Tamara

I’ll be there!