Acceptance (A Short Story)
Tags: Short Story, Short Fiction, Short Read, Fiction Writing, Fiction

Anika sits in the bedroom, alone. It is the first moment to herself she has gotten in the last two weeks. Everything before was so hectic, so chaotic, that she has hardly gotten time to breathe outside planning this wedding. She is sick of all the questions from her mom: “Is this dress okay? What food should we serve at the reception? Look at this mehendi design. Why is your cousin wearing that — she doesn’t have any class.” It’s all too much.

She is sure that everyone is looking for her outside — she is supposed to be in the ceremony, finishing the marriage, finally. But she just wants a moment: one moment before the rest of her life is planned out for her.

All around her, there is music pulsating through the walls. They must have put the ceremony on pause when she disappeared. The buzzing of a sitar ebbs in and out. Her sister is playing the song she worked on for the last three months, and Anika is missing it. She hears the grunts of Drunk Uncle Vinesh singing along to the beat. She imagines his kids, her second cousins, groaning, their eyes covered, begging him to stop.

She tunes it all out and looks around the room. Even this random bedroom she found in the hall is intricately decorated. Red and white flower garlands line every corner of the walls. Hundreds of dresses are scattered everywhere from her previous clothing changes. Extra goodies from the previous day’s pujas are still left, untouched.

There is a knock on the door and her mother pushes through.

“Anika, where have you been? You know you have to do the Mangalphera now. What are you waiting for?”

“Sorry, Ma. It’s just been so tiring. We were up late last night with the Sangeet and all.” Anika speaks in broken Hindi, her mother tongue and accent corrupted from years of living in white Massachusetts.

Her mother gives her a pitying look. “You’re almost done now. How do you feel?”

It is a loaded question. The decision to marry had been quite the tumultuous journey. It was basically forced upon her, worn down by years of questioning relatives, traditional grandparents, combined with her growing age. Anika had avoided marriage for a successful five years — a lifetime for her parents and grandparents. Every time she would talk on the phone with them, she would hear nothing but the moans that Anika had accomplished nothing in her life so far.

This was especially angering, considering that Anika had built a successful business career for herself. None of her women coworkers had gotten married yet — they were too busy climbing up the ladder, which was where Anika had wanted to be, but now was stuck. She would be forced to move to San Jose, California, after the marriage for her new husband’s software career. She could do business anywhere, her mom said. She should support her husband instead and take a break for a while.

“Good, Ma,” Anika answers instead of going into everything again. The sentence comes out in a sigh, filled with the exhaustion of the last three days of the wedding ceremonies, of fighting the marriage for so long, of the awkwardness of not even knowing her new husband that well before this rushed wedding. Her mother just nods, seemingly understanding, but Anika is still angry at her. Her mom went through the same thing with her husband — why doesn’t she fight for her daughter? Doesn’t she understand?

Her mother drags her by the arm out of the room, stopping to smile politely at random relatives Anika doesn’t even know and has probably never met before. She is immediately overcome by the flashiness of the décor. Hundreds of black, folded chairs line the hall, in between the food and the stage, or the throne, as she calls it. A large, red canopy lines the stage, with each pillar covered with white garlands. A lavish sofa chair sits in the center of it, and in front of the chairs, a large, burning fire, where Anika and her husband are expected to walk around.

In the center of the room, a large white carpet leads up to the stage, red flower petals decorating every inch of it. Anika steps onto the carpet, beginning her journey to the stage, her mother in step next to her. Her fiancé, Aditya, is already sitting on the throne, patiently waiting for her. He is a nice man — kind, smart, successful. He is already better than some of her previous partners. There is nothing to complain about. Maybe he’ll understand how Anika sometimes needs more space than other people, or how stubborn and prideful she is. Maybe she’ll accept him too. Maybe they’ll love each other one day.

Plus, it will be so easy to share all the same cultural aspects with each other. Their families already like each other. It is simple. This is what Anika has repeated to herself many times over the past months. She almost believes it now.

She is nearing the stage. A man lifts her atop it, as she is still shackled by the long and clunky red sari and unable to move that well. Her feet, intricately decorated with the henna designs from the previous ceremony and adorned with gold anklets, paint a pretty picture atop the rose petals sparsely scattered on the stage. Aditya smiles at her then. She tries to smile back but she is unsure of whether she still has control over her mouth in that way. She sits next to him, their thighs touching.

The priest continues the ceremony then, the hums of Sanksrit mantras echoing. Anika has already sat for a few hours now — her and Aditya have played many games. The children have especially enjoyed those. Anika is done with that now, ready for it all to end.

Finally, the priest motions at them to stand. They place flower garlands on each other necks atop their marriage necklaces, signifying the officiality of their bond. The only thing left to do is walk seven times around the fire together. Anika has forgotten the significance of this. She has forgotten everything. Her head feels numb. She breathes a little deeper, trying to find someone in the audience to make eye contact with to ground her to this room.

One, she counts, taking a deep inhale.

She sees her work colleagues sitting in the back rows. They were so excited for the prospect of a real Indian wedding — getting to dress up in fancy clothes, going to a three-day party. She is sick of their excitement, sick of their happiness.

Two.

She sees her mom, dad, and sister, sitting in the front row, smiling up at her. Her grandparents are next to them, finally satisfied with her life choices. She wonders what it would have been like if she fought for herself more, ran away instead of always giving in to them. Would it have been worth it?

Three.

The rounds are dizzying now. Next to her, she feels Aditya’s buzzing energy. He is excitable, and she feels it in him now. She wonders about the type of life that they will create together. Will they kiss in the morning before they both leave for work? Will they come home to watch television in the evenings, with special movie nights on Fridays? Will they get so tired of each other that they sleep in separate bedrooms or will they love being next to each other and seeing each other’s faces in the mornings? Will she love him? Will he love her?

Four.

Anika is shaking now. It feels too real. Too close. She can’t help but think about her: the person she has been trying not to think about this entire journey. Anna is gone; she’s never coming back, never wanting to come back to her. Anna doesn’t want her love anymore. Aditya is all she has now and all she will ever need. Anna is not coming back.

Five, six. The rounds blend together now. All too soon, they are on the last round. She can never come back from this. This is her life now.

She pushes Anna far from her mind. It is not the time and place to be thinking of her old lover. It is selfish. Poor Aditya is expecting all her love, but how will she ever be able to tell him that she doesn’t think she can give it to him? She can’t, not when her own family can’t even accept her for who she is. She can’t even accept herself. She can’t even fight for herself. This is who she is.

She always just gives in, always going along with whatever anyone else wants. Anna hated that about her too, hated that her family didn’t know, but Anika just couldn’t. Not even for Anna.

She takes Aditya’s hand in her own then and squeezes it. She is a little comforted by the largeness of it, the hairy knuckles, and the large rings on every finger. She tries harder to see it now — an image of them laughing together on a large U-shaped sofa, a baby on their lap, with family surrounding them. It is not a passionate love they have, but it is a love. She feels it. She can open herself up to that possibility, if it is the only thing she can have. She can make the man standing next to her happy enough. She can make herself feel it too, eventually. Maybe she will fight for his acceptance, if no one else’s. She can do it.

Seven.