Isha, Unscripted, page 15
“It’s pretty dark,” he commented. “Did you want a ride to your car? What street are you guys parked on?”
We looked one way and then another. Even if he pointed us toward the neighborhood exit, it would be a long walk.
“Thanks, man. We’ll need to take you up on that offer,” Rohan said.
Too late for an excuse that I couldn’t find. At least I snatched the handle to the back seat and sat directly behind Rohan, who chatted it up with Thirst-Trap.
He drove carefully, slowly, and looked back at me after he stopped behind Rohan’s car. “Are you sure you’re good?”
“Yep! Thanks so much! Bye!” I’d never shimmied out of a car so fast in my life.
We eased onto the road and Thirst-Trap drove behind us until we parted ways on the main street past the exit. We were about to face much bigger problems than possible incarceration.
“What are we going to tell our parents?”
“Nothing,” Rohan muttered. “Why would we say anything?”
“If we get caught?”
“We’re not going to get caught. They’re all asleep.”
“But if we do get caught, we need to think of a story. A good story.”
“Yeah? What’s something believable when your breath reeks of alcohol?”
I breathed into my hands and sniffed. Ew.
That little stroke of anxiety? Full. On. Slasher mode.
My brain hurt. My heart crumpled. My entire body went slack. I was done for.
Chapter 14
It’s that bad?” I asked when Rohan pulled up to a house down the street from mine, my head pounding as some of the alcohol started wearing off. Just enough to sort of hate myself even more.
“Nah. Just . . . wash your face with a soapy rag, or ya know, one of those makeup wipes you have. But like, a ton of them. And also your neck and arms. Change your clothes.”
I nodded and sniffled, running the back of my hand against my nose. I was covered in grass and dirt and my face was stained with the tears of shredded dreams.
“It’s okay, Motiben . . .” he said, his chin downturned and casting his gaze at the dashboard like he wanted to hug me but remembering he hated hugs. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” I reached for the door handle and added solemnly, “I’m really sorry about tonight.”
He flashed a lighthearted smile. “It was an adventure. Nothing terrible happened and you have material for your next project. Don’t worry so much about it. We’ll get that script out there.”
I stifled my bawling.
“It’s okay,” he said softly.
“You such a good boy, I don’t deserve you.”
“Oh lord. Dude, calm down.”
I nodded and held my keys up, thoroughly examining them.
“Whatcha, um, doing there?” Rohan asked.
“Making sure it’s not a tampon.”
“Okay. Makes sense.”
“House key, right?” I asked, holding out the second-largest key.
“Yep.”
“You don’t have to walk me. I promise I won’t run off with another Uber. You should get some rest.”
He regarded me for a moment and then nodded. “K. G’night, bro.”
“Good night.”
I crawled out, grabbed my purse, and closed the door. My stomach was turning queasy as I approached the porch.
The motion-activated lights came on, and I winced from the sudden, blinding whiteness.
I quietly unlocked and opened the door. Rohan eased past as I waved at him.
I pushed the door closed, and the gentle sound of it clicking went off.
“Shh,” I reprimanded, frowning at the door.
I slipped off my shoes, pushing them into the coat closet. My shoulders slumped, my back ached. I went up the steps in the dark. One step at a time. Quietly. Slowly. Must not wake up raging parents.
Good job, no tripping for once.
Annnnddddd . . . I spoke too soon . . . thought too soon? Whatever. I caught myself with a grunt. My purse with a thump. I spider-crawled a few steps. Imagining this horror-movie scene in total darkness sent shivers down my spine.
My hands tingled from my weight.
“Hello?” Mummie called out, her voice raspy, sleepy, rustling through the dark like some eerie ghost haunting the midnight hour to gatekeep all drunkies trying to sneak in.
I froze, sticking close to the steps, my boobs squished, but that didn’t stop her from emerging from her room, flicking on the stairwell lights, and looking down at me with a scowl.
Squinting against the light, her arms crossed as if she were freezing in her straight-outta-India gown, she said, “Beta? Are you just now getting home?”
“Isha che?” Papa’s hoarse voice called out from the depths of the dark room behind her.
“Hah,” she answered back.
I pushed myself up from the steps and tried to stand as cool as possible. “Went for a long drive. Sorry to wake you,” I replied, hoping that keeping my answers minimal evaded any possibility of slurred words. Although, to be honest, my level of drunk had gone down a bit. Sobriety hadn’t fully yet hit, but Mummie had the observational skills of a hawk.
This wasn’t the first time my parents had been awoken by me getting home super late. It happened often during college finals. It happened once in a while when I had been at friends’ houses or parties. Didn’t matter that I was a grown woman now. Living with my more traditional parents meant they frowned on a lady being out at all hours of the night. And not because it might make me look bad, but because there were so many things that could go wrong in the dark.
Mummie stood at the top step and there was no way to pass her without giving her a whiff of my breath. Or could I hold my breath long enough to get past her? Or had I been thinking too long, when seconds were minutes, and minutes felt like seconds? But now, several seconds, minutes, whatever . . . what was time? . . . had passed and things went from oops I woke up my parents to tense because it definitely looked like I was hiding something.
Her narrowed eyes stayed pinned to me as I held my breath. Was she going to lose her crap . . . was she too tired . . . or had she not figured it out yet?
Finally, she said with a yawn, “Okay, beta. Get some sleep,” and stepped aside.
I blew out a hot breath, my skin on fire. “I need some water,” I said, hoping that I could walk back downstairs instead.
“Good thing we filled up the fridge this morning. Times like this, we’re happy we don’t have to walk all the way downstairs for cold water.”
So stupid of me!
There happened to be a mini-fridge in the laundry room to the right, kitty-corner to her room. My parents meant for the water to be for anyone, but only they drank from it. She went into the room to get a bottle as I hurried up the last few steps.
“Beta,” she said, offering the water.
I had to take it now. I leaned toward her in slow motion, my vision going in and out just a wee bit, to take the icy-cold bottle.
“Why are you acting so strange?” she asked, her words coming out slowly, her eyes more awake.
The evolution of her facial expressions said it all. The wondering as her sleepy eyes woke up some more. The furrowing of her brows as confusion weighed down on them. The twitch in her nose as she got the whiff of betrayal. The narrowing of her eyes as the smells mingled in her nostrils. And finally, the pressed line of her mouth as her nose wrinkled in first disgust, then anger.
Please, let my still damp hair and recent shower overpower the stench of alcohol.
“Daru!” she snapped accusingly. “You’ve been drinking daru?”
For someone who had never had a drop of alcohol, she sure could sniff it out faster than anything. While she was chastising me, Papa rustled in the bedroom and came out into the lit hallway. He went from worried to upset in two seconds flat. New parental record.
“Isha?” he growled, sending chills down my spine and back up again. “Have you been drinking?” He came closer to smell the alcohol on my breath and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.
“It’s not a big deal,” I found myself saying. “I’m not a kid. I drink responsibly. Nothing bad happened.” Eh, sort of.
“We do not drink in this family.” His voice rose. “You don’t want to be a doctor or lawyer or engineer. Fine. You don’t want to attend mandir or observe anything religious. Fine. You moved back into the house because you couldn’t maintain sustainable income. Fine. But we will not have you drinking alcohol. Do you understand? You will not go down an even more self-destructive path.”
I flinched but nodded. Being drunk past midnight having woken up my parents in my current situation was probably not the best time to argue my defense. Besides, even if I could come up with an argument aside from being an adult, my twisted, loopy brain cells weren’t going to find one this second.
Papa’s eyes were red from both sleep and anger. His nostrils flared and steam practically wafted up from his head. “No respectable daughter of mine should be parading around at night, partying this late, at bars drinking! What will others think! Aren’t you the least bit ashamed? You at least know what we think. Or do you not care?”
“No, it isn’t that—”
“Then what? No regard? No respect? Who were you with? What friends? Were you with a man?”
“No!” Oh my god. Was this really my life? Was I really being asked these questions?
“Were you with Rohan?” Mummie asked calmly.
“What?” Oh boy. Lying was not my forte. Especially when it came to lying to my parents’ faces.
“We already know he was with you. We were at his parents’ house this evening to drop off some bhaji.”
“Oh . . .” My eyelids fluttered and my gaze dropped to the carpet.
A sickening numbness wrapped around my body.
They shook their heads as the worst possible thing dawned on them. I was a bad motiben to my cousin. I was the troublemaker, the enabler. Tears gathered in my eyes as my mom wiped tears from her cheeks. “Was he drinking?” she asked, her voice shaking. “It’s already bad enough that he refuses to attend mandir or observe anything, because he’s still a good boy. But this? You’re supposed to be a good role model for him, protect him, guide him, not let him drink with you.”
I swallowed hard. There was nothing to say, really.
Papa added, “What will his parents think of you, huh? That you’re a bad influence on him, that’s what. They will never look at you the same way, never trust you. Once they find out, everything will change and you can’t undo that. Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“Did you even think about that?”
I clenched my eyes shut.
“Did he get drunk, too?”
“What! No!” I replied, meeting his arctic gaze.
“Don’t lie to us.”
“I’m not. He doesn’t get drunk. He was just keeping me company because I wasn’t feeling good.”
“Why aren’t you feeling good?”
“I . . .”
He waved a hand and then crossed his arms. “What, huh? Tell us what made you feel so bad that you had to go out and do this?”
I rubbed my arm and looked away. “See . . . I didn’t get a producer for my script, and then my agent left me.” I hiccupped on the last words. “He knew I was depressed about that, so he took me to a place that has food and games and music. Wasn’t just a bar.”
“Really, Isha? You had this major that you knew would be hard to make a career out of, that’s why you didn’t tell us. Now you have all these poor excuses to behave wildly and drag your cousin with you? You may have ruined your life with these choices, but don’t take your cousin down with you. He’s young. He still has time to get back on course. You have time, too, if you make changes and make better decisions.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
Papa mumbled something incoherent and finally said, “So we are not going to tell his parents, hah? They won’t know about this. I’m trying to protect your reputation and your relationship with family, that’s all we have. Once you lose their respect, you ruin your reputation, and they will never look at you the same way.”
I kept from sobbing, from letting my tears fall. The numbness broke right through me, as if I weren’t even standing there. He was right. Family relationships were important and vital. We had to stick together. They always said that. The world tried to tear us apart, so we needed to make sure we stayed together, strong.
“We’ll discuss things tomorrow,” Papa said.
“Go to bed and sleep this off,” Mummie added, her voice shaky but steeled. It was . . . different. She was beyond angry. She was disappointed. And I didn’t mean disappointed because I made a bad grade or didn’t major in science or didn’t become a doctor. Disappointed like maybe this was the final straw, and there was no coming back from this. Like maybe I was broken and she’d never look at me the same way again.
A hollowness bloomed in my chest as they switched off the light and went to bed.
The darkness rose around me, crashing over me, dragging me toward a gloomy sea of despair. I knew I had to fight this, this consuming sensation, this void of nothing where everything hurt, but in this moment . . . I couldn’t care less.
Just take me, darkness. Swallow me whole. Because my parents were right to be disappointed in me, to call for intervention.
I couldn’t imagine how they’d respond if they knew about all the other stuff.
“Okay,” I said to no one, my voice trembling, and went to my room.
I petted a still passed-out Rogue, who had no idea what sort of night this had been, grabbed some clean clothes, and called Rohan.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked in a quiet voice.
“Made it home okay?” I asked, twisting the hem of my shirt.
“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “I live literally two minutes from you. And I’m not wasted.”
“Right. Just wanted to make sure,” I replied softly.
“Are you all right?”
Shudders rocked my body and my face quivered on the verge of crying. “No.”
“Ah, it’s okay, Motiben. We can catch Matthew McConaughey another time. If not, we’ll still get that script sold. We’re going to be toasting to your success in no time.”
Tears streamed down my face. He truly was too good for me, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was all over for me. With nothing to show, a set of pissed parents at their ends, and a community-wide intervention lurking around the corner, I was done for.
Instead, I told him, “You’re so sweet. Well. My parents caught me.”
“Uh-oh. Were they mad?”
“Yeah. They could tell. They’re furious.”
“It’s okay. They’ll get over it. They’ve caught you drinking before.”
“The worst part is, they know you were with me.”
“What? How?” he asked, not sounding as distressed as I felt.
I took a huge gulp of water. “Your parents told them you were with me earlier. I told them you didn’t get drunk, so hopefully they don’t think you were drinking at all. A heads-up. Don’t try to lie out of that one. If they ask you if I was hammered, don’t lie. I told them you stayed to watch me and make sure I didn’t get into trouble, but that you’d meant for me to eat dinner and play games. Did you get caught?”
“No. No one is awake. They never are this late. And since my parents know that we went out together—”
“They trusted that you wouldn’t be getting into trouble,” I ended, closing my eyes.
“Yeah.”
“I’m a terrible elder. I’m so sorry,” I cried.
“Stop that. You’re fine. You’re not terrible. You had a bad night.”
“I got wasted and started a fight and assaulted a clown and dragged you into trespassing!”
“Shh! Your entire house doesn’t need to know.”
“I’m a bad motiben.”
He let out a breath and said in a stern voice, “No, you’re not. Dude. You’re the only one I can be myself around. I don’t have to hold back or brace for you passive-aggressively telling me that I need to be more or do more. You’re calm with me and encourage me, but don’t push me or make me feel bad. You celebrate every tiny thing I accomplish, and I know it’s real; it’s out of love and joy and pride. You’re actually proud of me. While our parents were yelling at me to go to college, you’d come sit with me in my room and tell me that taking my time was okay and not getting a degree didn’t make me less of a person. When I didn’t want to work and my parents were always pissed, you’d take me out to eat and help me figure out what I’d enjoy doing. When I stopped going to mandir and everyone there got on my case, you sat with me and listened and acknowledged my feelings and depression and told me how you felt the same. You’re my bro, Motiben.”
“You’re so sweet.” Tears fell down my cheeks. Rohan calling me his bro was the epitome of compliments, stronger than any bond. But the degree to which he admired and respected me only made me see the truth. I had to be a better role model.
I groaned. “My parents said they wouldn’t tell your parents so your parents won’t get mad at me or refuse to let us hang out again. What a mess.”
“Hey. Sleep on it. Sleep in, sleep late, sleep as much as you need to. Things won’t seem so bad tomorrow.”
“How are you so much more mature than me?” I wailed.
“Shh! You’re so loud. Get some rest, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”
“But first clean up since your parents are awake anyway. Cuz your bed doesn’t need to be covered in dirt, too.”
My lips twitched. “Okay. Good night.”
“Night.”
We hung up and I went to the bathroom.
