Abby Spencer Goes to Bollywood (21 page)

I know in a few hours I’ll be at the airport, boarding my flight home and I can’t eat a bite. Especially not after how sick I got on the flight here! I stare at the vegetable sculptures that decorate the platters and fight back regrets.

“Abby, I am tired,” says Grandma Tara. “Do you mind if we skip the party and go home and be together?”

I almost hug her in relief. This is the first time she’s gone out except for doctor visits since she was ill. Of course she’s tired. And so am I.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Dad and Rani approach us.

“You say your good-byes, I’ll wait for you.” Grandma Tara takes a seat on a sofa nearby.

Can we make a dash for it? The thought of saying good-bye to Dad and Rani makes me choke up. I can’t think of anything I want to do less.

Rani hugs me with surprising warmth. “Abby. I know you’re leaving in a few hours. I’m so sorry we couldn’t spend more time together. You look beautiful. This dress is so you.”

She kisses my cheek and I hug her.

“I’ll leave you and your dad to say your good-byes.”

Dad looks sheepish. He holds my shoulders. “I hate good-byes, Abby. It’s not my thing.”

Another thing we have in common, Dad, I want to say.

I gulp.

“Your grandmother wants to take you home. You have a little more than an hour before you have to leave for the airport,” he says looking at his wristwatch.

Then he looks into my eyes. “Abby, I wish things could

have been different, and you could have stayed longer, but I know you have to leave today to make it back to school. Thank you for coming. You have no idea how much it meant to your grandmother.”

Before he can say more or I can tell him I love him, a bunch of noisy people walk over and ask to meet me. They seemed to be Dad’s childhood friends. Dad introduces me as his daughter.

I don’t register anyone’s names. More chitter chatter.

Grandma Tara reminds us it’s time to go. Dad hugs me again, and then Grandma Tara, Salima, and I are in the car, and Shiva was driving us home. I guess that’s fine, neither of us likes good-byes anyway.

In the car, I replay Dad’s words. I know how much my visit meant to Grandma Tara already. But what had it meant to him?

He said he wished it had been different. How? Does he wish I hadn’t ruined it all?

Did he really mean that he wishes I could stay longer? I know what a great actor he is already. Was he acting?

I stare at the lights twinkling around Marine Drive and remember when Dad told me that they’re called the Queen’s Necklace. Through the moisture in my eyes, the lights flare and melt.

Chapter 27

I take off Grandma’s earrings in my room and place them back in their little velvet box. I can’t possibly take them, not after what I did. I snap the box shut with regret and leave a note on the dresser saying,
Grandma Tara, I’m sorry. I don’t deserve to have them. Abby.

While saying good-bye, Grandma Tara hugs me a million times. She obviously does not dislike good-byes. She holds my face between her soft, lined hands and says, “
Beta
, I want to get strong again so I can travel to America and see you graduate. Thank you for coming to see me.”

What can I say to that? You’re welcome? My words are stuck in my throat.

She smiles at me and says, “At my age you can’t leave

unfinished business. Abby, I do wish life had been different. Naveen and I will go through all of my husband’s papers. We should have done it years ago.”

The lump in my throat is a boulder. I nod. I will not bawl.

My knees feel weak as I walk out the door.

I want to say
I’ll see you soon
, but don’t trust myself to speak. Do people miss trouble? No one, not even Grandma

Tara, had invited me back.

After looking back at her one last time, I get into the car, and Shiva drives me to the airport. I check my watch, a few minutes before midnight.

I look out into the night. What if Dad’s film flops? I shake my head as if it’s an Etch-A-Sketch and I can wipe the thoughts away. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.

At the airport, a chaperone meets us in the lobby. “Abby, I remember you!” Shiva’s voice is weighed with

emotion.

“Oh, Shiva, I will think of you too!” I say.

He extends his hand. Maybe he thinks it might be inappropriate to do anything else or maybe he’s embarrassed. I don’t care. I hug him tight. Startled and thoroughly uncomfortable, he pats my back.

I leave before I get too emotional.

My chaperone whisks me through immigration, customs, and security. It’s all a big blur.

When called to board, I turn and walk around the waiting area again. As if I need to see India with all its contrasts and beauty and its warm people one last time.

“Are you okay?” the flight attendant asks when she sees my dejected face.

“I’m fine,” I reply.

She gives me an uncertain smile and walks down the aisle. A few minutes later, she returns with a questioning smile and a sealed blanket, “Aren’t you Naveen Kumar’s daughter?” she asks. “I thought I saw you in the newspaper.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I am. I hope the headlines you read weren’t too nasty.”

The flight attendant blushes.

Now there’s a difference from ten days ago. I can admit to being my father’s daughter publicly.

Buckling up, I think back to when I had yearned to meet my father. Now I know my father, my grandmother, Shiva, Mina, Bina, Rani, Salima, and so many others.

When the plane takes off, I’m exhausted from feeling so much. I had my first kiss but the boy I like lives in a different city. I should be glad he lives in the same state, I know, but why can’t he be in my city? Not fair!

When will I see Dad again? Ever?

There are so many things I wanted to see and do. I wanted to see the Taj Mahal and the Rajasthan Desert with Dad and attend a cricket match and learn Hindi, eat Shiva’s paneer, and attend a big fat Indian wedding, and get henna done on my hands.

Will we exchange Christmas and birthday cards? Even my orthodontist sends me those.

The thought of Dad communicating as often as the orthodontist is the last straw. The tears come in bursts like the dancing sprinkler at the water park.

The woman sitting next to me looks alarmed. On my way over, I scared away my co-passenger by barfing. Now I’m hysterically sobbing.

And when I sob, I snort and set off my sinuses. So then I have to blow my nose. Honk! Honk!

There’s a goose in first class. Awesome.

Abby, seriously, get a grip, or the airlines will put you on a no fly list.

Twenty-eight exhausting hours later, Mom stands outside the customs gate with her arms outstretched. “Abby!” she shrieks. “Abby!”

I ran the last few feet. Not easy to do while pushing a cart loaded with suitcases. I get a look and an under-her-breath “Kids these days!” from a woman wearing pearls and a boxy suit.

Mom and I hug.

“It’s good to be back, Mom.”

Mom holds me at arm’s length and looks me over. Then she hugs me again. “Oh Abby, I missed you.”

At last, I’m with someone whose life I hadn’t messed up. The air is crisp and cool when we step out.

The drive home makes me aware of how much I’ve taken for granted. The wide, clean roads, the relatively cleaner air, the uncontaminated water, and Mom.

We drive straight to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

Grandma has saved leftovers from Thanksgiving for dinner. Grandpa does what he calls a jig, singing, “Happy, happy, Thanksgiving, dear Sparkles!” and swings me around the kitchen.

I’ve missed Grandpa calling me Sparkles. In spite of my fatigue and jetlag, I make a plate, loading it with turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes, and of course pie.

I’m home.

I feel a twinge when I look at my wristwatch, still on India time.

Before I eat, I dial Dad’s phone number to let them know I reached home.

Shiva answers. “A-bby,” he says. “A-bby, you in home.” “Yes, Shiva, I am.” Thousands of miles away.

“I make
pooris
, but you not here,” he says. “Oh, eat one for me,” I reply.

Then in turns, I speak to Grandma Tara and even Mina and Bina.

Dad isn’t home.

Grandma Tara says he’s in Delhi for the premiere and will be doing a whirlwind publicity tour, visiting a different city each day for the next ten days.

“Abby, this morning I woke up and you weren’t practicing your violin. I miss your music. Record songs and mail them,” says Grandma Tara. “Naveen called and said to tell you he misses you and will talk to you once he’s home.”

Why can’t he call me himself? Is Grandma Tara making up the part about Dad saying he misses me? Maybe he’s forgotten me already and Grandma Tara is being kind.

“The house is not the same without you, Abby,” Grandma Tara says before she hangs up.

I miss them all already.

I want a
poori
on my Thanksgiving plate. I want to clone myself and be in two places.

I show Mom, Grandma, and Grandpa some of the million pictures I took.

Before falling asleep, I call Priya and tell her about the newspapers and how the story was leaked, but ever-optimistic Priya wants to talk about the premiere and how she saw me on Asian satellite TV instead.

“Abby, I recorded the red carpet, and I loved your dress.

I’ll host a viewing party. You’ll be the guest of honor of course. Vivian, Karishma, Emma, Michelle, and Zoey are coming. Did I forget anyone? I’ll buy some red construction paper and make a red carpet. Should I tell my Mom to fry some samosas?”

Priya is on a roll. She doesn’t really need me to say or suggest anything.

At least I still have my friends.

I decide to text Shaan.
Hey. It’s Abby. I’m home.

Almost instantly my phone pings. He’s been waiting for me to get home. Smug happy dance.

Can you walk over? Sigh

I text back.
I would if I could.
Too bold?

I would if I could too, Abby.
Can I call you? I want to hear your voice.

Of course you can

I want to hear his voice too. I also want to grin back at his silly goofy smile.

I answer the phone on the first ring. His familiar voice makes me miss him more.