Year of the Chick (book 1 in the "Year of the Chick" series)

Chapter Fifteen

How can they still have so much to say?

I’d thought that after two weeks straight of family dinners, we’d have no more awkward topics to cover.

And yet, there was always something.

“Make sure you’re finished all your cleaning by three o’ clock tomorrow.” My mother eyed my sister sternly.

“Why? Tomorrow’s Saturday. I can do it whenever I want.” My sister nonchalantly reached for another piece of roti bread.

“No you CAN’T do it whenever you want. We found a boy for you. He wants to meet you tomorrow.”

My sister, surprisingly, had little reaction to the news. Or maybe it was just that she was used to this ridiculous process. In a typical scenario, they’d find her a respectable man from an Indian marriage website, resulting in an awkward visit to his family’s house. From there her adamant rejections would follow: “He told me he parties with his friends, he doesn’t write nice e-mails, he doesn’t like playing golf...”

It was a formula for failure, but she was running out of reasons not to. Or reasons that my parents would accept, anyway. It really made me wonder how I’d ever face the problem myself. With each additional rejection she was wasting more excuses I could’ve used! And through it all, my parents’ positioning continued to harden.

Which is why I need James to meet me, fall in love with me, and tell me I’m “the one.” No biggie.

“Did you hear what I said? You should be lucky anyone will look at you; thirty years old…” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

My sister didn’t say a word, but instead filled the airwaves with a two-second burp. For my mother the burp was as good as a verbal acceptance.

“And make sure the house is very clean. I don’t want his family thinking we didn’t train our daughter.”

Wait...the bachelor is coming HERE?

I had always wondered how two sets of parents could go from being complete strangers, to coercing their newly introduced children into “promising forever.” And all within a single tea time. Well as of tomorrow, I would wonder no more.

***

“You’re wearing THAT? Why would you wear a big shirt like that? It looks like a man’s shirt!”

My mother’s voice seeped its way through the remarkably thin walls, and straight into my very own bedroom. It was a useful reminder to never try Skyping with James.

I continued to eavesdrop as my sister resisted being dressed in a “sellable” way. If it was me on display at the bridal market, I would not only wear a giant shirt, but I would also skip out on plucking my eyebrows. I’d also hold off on mascara, and maybe put on fungal foot cream in his presence. Yeah, let’s see how much you’re interested in marrying THAT.

Lucky for me I was not the main focus of this afternoon’s sell-off, so my outfit was pretty generic (just a blue T-shirt and my favourite jeans).

I headed downstairs to await the arrival of the mystery man, but before the first step my mother blocked my way.

“What are you doing? They’re going to be here soon!”

“Yeah, I know.” Chill out Mom, the house looks spotless.

“And why are you wearing jeans?” she asked. “Are you going somewhere?”

Why would I be going somewhere?