As the only child of Sonal and Prashant Pujari, perhaps the wealthiest couple in our circle, Preeti’s milestone moments have always been given the royal treatment. Her childhood birthday parties resembled carnivals, her college graduation gift was a fully funded girls’ trip to the Maldives, and her engagement photo shoot took place at a palace in Udaipur. So for our community, today is the social event of the summer.
Well, of June, anyways. Shilpa Aunty’s son gets married in July, and no one could possibly steal his (her?) thunder.
We’re at a lakeside country club that the Pujaris belong to, a couple towns over from Gilmore. The theme for the afternoon is aBridgerton-style tea party, and the Pujaris have stuck to it well. The event space overlooks the water, and tiers of pastries and finger foods are centered around standing tables for gueststo mingle and eat at. Pink and blue florals aptly complete the aesthetic—today doubles as a gender reveal for Preeti’s baby. The Pujaris asked every family to wear the shade of their guess.
The twins believe it’s a boy, so it felt like the perfect occasion to break out the baby-blue dress I purchased for a formal I never ended up attending last year. The neckline is flattering though modest enough for a family day, and the skirt just brushes the straps of my heels. The look is slightly disrupted by the laptop bag slung over my shoulder, but desperate times, desperate measures. My revised research proposal is due to Valdivia today, so after some pleasantries and snacking, I plan to dip and find a quiet spot to finish it.
It’s also the perfect occasion for Ajoba and me to engage in our favorite shared activity: people watching. Or aunty watching, really. It’s the world’s worst-kept secret that Sonal Aunty and Shilpa Aunty can’t stand each other, a feud that’s been going on longer than I can remember, and it’s always a delight to witness their interactions in the flesh. As usual, Shilpa Aunty does not disappoint.
“Oh, gosh,” I whisper, coming to a halt when I see her. She’s impossible to miss. In a sea of pinks and blues, Shilpa Aunty pops out of the space in a bold black jumpsuit.
I clap a hand to my mouth, eyes wide with laughter. I turn to Ajoba. Sanju and Nabhi dashed away at the sight of one of their friends, and Aai Baba are off making small talk, so it’s just the two of us. “There’s no way.”
Ajoba’s eyes twinkle. “I wonder what gender Shilpa thinks the baby is,” he says.
Across the way, Shilpa Aunty beams as she chatters animatedlywith another guest, her hand grasping her husband’s arm. He’s dressed in an inoffensive navy button-down. I have to admire the diplomatic choice. Technically, he’s on theme, but the color is dark enough that it could also be confused for solidarity with his wife.
“Maybe she thinks the baby’s nonbinary,” I suggest.
“Maybe she is simply opposed to the notion of a gender reveal,” Ajoba says, and I know he’s speaking for himself. He wrinkled his nose in disgust when I explained the concept, groaning when I supplemented the information with social media videos of squealing soon-to-be parents.
“Or maybe she just has horrid manners,” I say, and Ajoba nods.
“That’s far more likely,” he says.
I help myself to a glass of rose chai from a passing waiter, and then we walk through the space, sipping and pausing to chat when prompted. It’s a large enough crowd that we can get a little lost in it; Preeti’s friends and the Pujaris’ other contacts, in addition to our usual community crowd, make for a robust guest list. I notice Kush standing with his father not too far away. They’re both in salmon-colored shirts that look rather sweet. I make a mental note to discuss our next driving lesson with Kush after I turn in my proposal. I intend on keeping my earlier promise to Simran.
Neena Aunty approaches me when Ajoba’s in the restroom and I’m on my second cup of chai. She wasn’t at Ajoba’s birthday, so I haven’t seen her in several months.
“Rani!” she exclaims, wrapping me in a tight squeeze. She gives me a once-over after releasing me. “Looking so beautiful,although we Satoors are team girl,” she says, gesturing to her pink frock.
“That’s a lovely dress,” I say. “And we’ll see soon enough.”
She frowns at my bag. “Why the backpack?” she asks next.
I blush at the rudeness. “I have a bit of work to take care of,” I explain. “But hopefully I’ll get it over with soon.”
“Work! I thought going to school for English meant none of that, no?” She laughs too loud at her own joke. “I’m only teasing,” she says, putting a hand on my arm.
I try for a smile and hope it doesn’t come out as a grimace. I consider explaining my summer job and research to her, but think better of it. The last thing I want is to extend our conversation.
This is one of the reasons I dread our family functions sometimes. I can’t tolerate the scrutiny and constant commentary guaranteed to follow.
Once I manage to shake Neena Aunty off, I head out in search of a quiet corner to get started, but I don’t get far. Aai Baba pull me away to give Preeti our well wishes as a family, and it’s another ten minutes of pleasantries, passive aggression, and unchecked curiosity from the twins about Preeti’s pregnancy.
“Will you be sad if it’s a boy?” Nabhi asks.
“Is that heavy?” Sanju asks, pointing at her belly, and Baba hurries to shush them.
“It’s nice to see some guests have adhered to the theme,” Sonal Aunty remarks loudly with a delicate laugh as Shilpa Aunty walks past us.
“Such a creative theme it is,” Ajoba says.
Aai and Sonal Aunty insist on toasting with everyone’s chaiand mocktails before the group is allowed to disperse. I feel the clock tick closer to my proposal deadline with each passing second. I love my family, but in moments like these, it’s impossible not to crave some alone time. I’m privately grateful for the reprieve my proposal procrastination has brought me at today’s event.
What seems like hours later, I make my way to the lobby we came through when we arrived. I remember seeing a café off to the side. Aside from an occupied table in the corner, it’s empty, so I grab a seat and pull out my laptop.
It’s a one-page research pitch incorporating Professor Valdivia’s feedback from our meeting earlier this week, so it shouldn’t be too bad, but I still want to put my best foot forward. She seemed enthusiastic about my work on Wednesday, and I want to keep that energy up. She’s the youngest woman on the faculty in education studies, so I feel an extra need to impress her.
