"Here, try this." I turn my attention from the plate of chocolate cake to my husband, whose holding a piece of neatly cut apple with almond butter spread on one side. He inserts half of the apple into his mouth, leaning into me to deposit the other part.
I gulp, noticing everyone's eyes on us. My relatives are jerks.
I receive the apple into my mouth, and our lips briefly touch, alighting goosebumps over my skin. I moan, the delicious combination of the two foods swirling in my mouth.
I swallow it hungrily, asking for more. "How's that?" Aniket asks, his eyebrows rising to the ceiling.
I bit my lip gently, blushing at the thoughts running inside my head. "Good."
Aniket chuckles, putting another piece of almond-covered apple into his mouth. In my peripheral vision, I watch as a jealous Aunt notifies my mother of our romance, and my mother stomps up to the both of us as if we were teens engaging in unneeded intimacy in front of elders.
"Hey, ma." I greet, as if nothing happened. My mother nods curtly in response, narrowing her eyes at the both of us, clearly criticizing our behavior.
"What are you two doing?" She growls in a low voice, reprimanding the both of us.
I open my mouth to answer, but Aniket has beat me to it. "Celebrating Krithi's birthday, of course. What do you think we're doing, ma?"
I purse my lips, smiling wickedly as my mother starts to stutter out a nervous response.
"Krithi, I think you should get going. Aniket has things planned for your day." She tells me instead, unable to face Aniket so boldly. She struts offf, uncomfortable underneath Aniket's scrutinizing gaze.
I huff, getting off of the chair. "You need to change." Aniket says, making my eyes widen. What's wrong with me now?
"What?"
"Your dress. You got almond butter on it." He says, wiping the sticky substance from under my bosom. He looks up, pursing his lips at me. "Honestly, Krithi, you need to learn how to eat without spilling food all over yourself. You're worse than Aruvi."
"Hey, it was sweets. I couldn't refrain myself." I argue.
"You've got some chocolate cake on your face too." He leans in, kissing my cheek and briefly licking it off. "There." He says, and I wipe my cheek, looking at my hands to see if I smeared the chocolate cake on it. "It's gone now."
I nod, smiling at him gratefully. I know my relatives are trying to keep their spying casual, but it's noticeable from all the way over here.
"I have to make an announcement, and then I'll come upstairs to change out of this horrible saree, alright?" He nods, grinning at me like I've just granted him three wishes.
"Hello, everyone!" I call out, grabbing my relatives' attention. "As you know, we're pregnant." I point between Aniket and I. "But there's been a recent change in our pregnancy." Everyone gasps, the aunties talking amongst themselves, concluding that I've lost the baby like the irresponsible twit that I am. Before they could turn the whole thing around and say I got an abortion, I speak up, "We're having twins." I announce quickly. The whole room looks at us, their shocked faces morphing into smiles and genuine happiness after a moment.
Everyone claps, and my Ma and Pa appear from nowhere, leaving their hosting duty behind to come greet us. My father engulfs me in a bear hug, while my mother nods at me proudly.
Geez, if I knew getting pregnant would make them this happy and help me gain their approval, I would have done the deed a long time ago.
"Mmwuah." My dad kisses me sweetly in the cheek, hugging me again. I can't read his expression, but I hear him as he growls at Aniket who stands behind me. I chuckle at his protective behavior, pinching his cheek and kissing my hand.
My dad smiles at me, "you've made me proud, Princess."
"All my other achievements have never made your proud. What's so different now?" I ask teasingly, and he stutters, smiling sheepishly without an reply.
"Let me answer that question." My mother says, barging into our father-daughter conversation. "We are proud of you, as you are a well-known doctor; you married a wealthy man, and etc. But to know that you're carrying the future of our family; to know you are carrying the light onwards— that means so much more to us than what you've accomplished so far in your life.
And let's give a round of applause for the part-pooper everybody...!
"Whatever." I say nonchalantly, waving her off for ruining my good mood. I turn without another word, running up the stairs to change into something comfortable for my day out with Aniket.
Aniket is following me up the stairs, trying to stop me from sprinting. "Slow down, woman. How many times do I have to remind you that you're pregnant?" He hollers, and the house grows quiet as everyone overhears his scolding silently.
I give him the middle finger, my anger adding from my mother's blatant statement about my accomplishments— or the lack thereof.
Aniket sighs behind me, scooping me up in one lift. "Such a disobeying lady. What should I do with you?" He says, kissing my temple as he leads us to my bedroom.
"I hate how my mother said that I haven't made her proud till date. How the hell am I supposed to be happy on my birthday when my own mother can't come to see my accomplishments?"
"Stop seeking her approval or else you're going to become that kind of mother."
"I don't get it, Aniket." I go on. "Am I not the perfect child? Why is she so repulsed by me? What did I do wrong?" I wail.
"Baby, you didn't do anything wrong. Like you told me, I do not posses the qualities of my adoptive father. I'm the kind of cruel father he is. I've realized that through Aruvi. I've changed. But I'm starting to notice that you follow you're mother to the dot. It's not healthy."
"I don't understand, Aniket. You don't even know my mother well." He steps into the room, closing the door behind him and letting me down on the ground gently.
He starts to undress the saree my mother neatly pinned on me this morning. The embroidery on the piece was simply the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life, the intricate details of the artwork astonishing me to the core. How could a person weave this piece?
"I seriously hate these things." Aniket says, unpinning my pallu. He throws the pin onto the vanity table, pulling the saree off my shoulder. He moves on to the bottom half, grinning wolfishly. "Although seeing your bare waist all day is a plus." He says, removing the rest of the saree.
"Aniket! Focus!" I yell at him, earning a chuckle.
"Sorry, ma'am." He says, pretending to tip his non-existent hat. The action relieves a giggle from me, shocking myself in the process. "But seriously, I can tell that you and your mother are not that different. You both posses this obsession with perfectionism, and you're both like a reincarnation of Hitler in a female form. Discipline and compulsive planning are your core beliefs." He remarks, while my jaw is hanging like Frankenstein's doctor still hasn't screwed in the parts.
"Hmph." I huff, turning my back to him as I remove my blouse. He strides into the closet, probably out to pick a dress for me; as if I lacked in the fashion department as well. I sigh, shaking my head at the insignificant amount of trust they've put into me. It's appalling how I would trust my life in their hands, yet they couldn't put heir belief in me for the smallest of things. In choosing the dress, protecting my baby, nurturing Aruvi; they have no trust in me.
As if I am the irresponsible person here. Aniket can't even pick up his own dirty laundry; my mother knows nothing but to criticize other people; and my father pretended like nothing was ever wrong in the family. Mayma is a optimistic person, with her hope and all the lectures on believing in fate and whatnot. Prakash— I don't even know how to classify him. He's the evil witch in my story.
"Do you like this one?" Aniket asks, coming out with a white dress in his hands.
I turn, and he notices the dark expression my face and approaches me, concern flicking over his face breifly. He masks it well, knowing I hate the mere concept of pity and empathy.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He says, striding over to me and lifting my chin. "Did I do something wrong?" I shake my head. "Then why are there tears in your eyes?" He asks, patting my eyes so they won't run out. "I promised your father that I will never make you cry. I love you too much and this is not the sight I want to see; especially on your birthday. It breaks my heart." He pauses, sighing. "I wanted to spoil you, like the princess you are."
I lean into him, clutching his white sweater in my hands. He tenses, but wraps his arms around me. I feel his mouth quirk up in a grin all of a sudden. "And why are you wearing my gift? I thought you promised you will never wear that?! You even bashed my fingers in the drawer for asking that simple question, remember?" He interrogates, erupting a blush in my heart-shaped glowing face.
"I-I—
I hate to be inarticulate.
"Y-you what, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?" He mocks, picking me up in his arms. His eyes are fixated on my chest, as if it was his favorite kind of chocolate.
"Stop staring." I retort after my mind starts to work again. It was the best I could come up with. I am used to speaking with my fists.
Aniket clears his throat. "You were staring at me the whole time too, so I guess it evens out." He argues, earning a pinch from me. I twist the muscle in his chest, and he yelps in pain, bellowing back from me.
"That wasn't nice, lady!" He yells, making me laugh. Aniket stands, watching the grin grow on my face. He takes a stride, closing the gap between us.
"I never want to see a tear in your beautiful brown eyes. Do you understand?" He asks, lifting my chin to meet his darkened gaze. I nod in yes. "Promise me."
"It depends on you, Aniket." I tell him, challenging him to my metaphorical duel.
"Well, I promise then. I solemnly swear that I, Aniket Pandya, will never do anything to make you cry."
He reads Harry Potter, the geek.
"Too bad, you already broke the promise."
"Wait what?" He asks, confused. I point to my belly, and his eyes follow warily. I will definitely cry when I'm birthing the twins.
"You witch." He yells, picking me up.
I laugh in his face, "ha!" He twirls me around, the dress still in his hands.
"That's not nice, either, and it's going to make me cry!" I warn, dizzy from all the spinning. He lets me down, gazing me into my eyes.
Our foreheads make contact, his warm breath fanning across my cheek. "Well, I already broke the promise, didn't I? So it doesn't count."
I laugh, pounding my fists on his chiseled chest. Suddenly, I realize something. He's better at distracting me than I am at distracting him.
Why is he more perfect than me?
*************************************