When they arrived at his apartment in Ithaca, Rupak let his mother step out first so he could help his father with the luggage.
“Ma, take a left and it’s the door right at the end of the hallway,” he said while pulling out one of the large Burberry suitcases. He dragged it down the hallway behind her, his father behind him, and over his mother’s shoulder he could see, as they approached the door, the small wooden pencil box lying on the ground on his welcome mat with a yellow sticky paper attached to it. Rupak left the suitcase, pushed past his mother saying he would unlock the door, and quickly picked up the pencil box. The note said:
I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want me to have this. —E
Rupak held the box against his stomach as he unlocked the door.
“Is that the pencil box I got for your friend?” Mrs. Jha said. “Why is it lying on the floor in the hallway?”
“It’s a long story,” Rupak said. “I’ll explain in a minute. Here, just come in and have some water and sit down and I’ll go get the rest of the bags.”
Rupak went into his bedroom and dumped the pencil box into a desk drawer, annoyed with Elizabeth, and went back out to the hallway.
“Did you and Gaurav have a fight?” Mrs. Jha asked.
“Ma, please just sit and settle in and let me get all the bags. That was a tiring bus ride,” Rupak said.
Mr. Jha entered then with two of the suitcases and said, “Look at this place. It’s like a real American home. I bet you don’t even have bottles of spicy achaar tucked away somewhere. Good. When in Rome, Bindu, when in Rome.”
Mrs. Jha followed her husband into the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was completely empty except for a bottle of ketchup and three cans of beer. This was exactly what she had been worried about.
“Rupak, what do you eat?” she said.
“Why have you opened my fridge as soon as you came in? Can you please not peer into everything?”
“Privacy,” Mrs. Jha said to her husband. “Everything in America is about privacy.”
The visit was not off to a good start, so Rupak decided to tell them about Serena right away in order to shift focus.
“Here, why don’t you both sit and I’ll make some tea,” Rupak said, coming into the kitchen and directing his parents back out to the living room, where he had hidden all traces of Elizabeth, marijuana, pornography, and even hard liquor.
“Do that and then why don’t we go get some groceries and I can cook dinner? I can make methi chicken,” Mrs. Jha said. “Actually I can cook a handful of dishes in bulk and portion them and put them in the freezer.”
“No, Ma, don’t do that here. The smell of Indian cooking stays in the curtains and carpets for days and gets in clothes and stuff. You can even smell it out in the hallway.”
Mrs. Jha looked over at her son. “You don’t like the smell of the food we cook? Our house in Delhi smells bad?”
“No,” Rupak said quickly. “Our house in Delhi smells fine and I love your food. But the homes in America aren’t as ventilated as India and the smell sticks to everything. I wasn’t making a comment about your food. In Delhi everything is always open—all our doors and windows. And there aren’t heavy curtains and carpets. That’s all I meant. I love your food. You know that. And actually it isn’t even that. I was going to bring a…friend…along to dinner tonight, if that’s okay with you. I think you’d like…her.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Jha said, willing to forget his comments about her cooking. “Is she in your class?”
“No, she’s doing her master’s in theater at Cornell,” Rupak said.
“Oh, that’s a good university. A master’s in theater, though? Interesting,” Mrs. Jha said. Americans really allow their children to study whatever they want, she thought.
“She’s talented,” Rupak said.
“Well, I’m looking forward to meeting your…friend,” Mrs. Jha said.
“Serena. Her name is Serena,” Rupak said.
Serena didn’t have to be an American name, Mrs. Jha thought, hoping against hope, because, of course, someone named Serena who was studying theater was going to be American.
An American, Mr. Jha thought! And one studying theater, no less. He must remember to take a picture to show Mr. Chopra.
“Well, then let’s make a reservation somewhere fancy,” Mr. Jha said.
“We don’t need to make a reservation in Ithaca,” Rupak said.
“Let me get my iPad and find the best place in the area.” Mr. Jha got up and wandered off to find his luggage. He wanted to go somewhere special to welcome Serena into the family. Not that Rupak had announced any plans to marry her, but on all the sitcoms white families embrace their children’s girlfriends and boyfriends, and he didn’t want Serena to feel uncomfortable. It would be so wonderful to go back to Delhi, Gurgaon in particular, with pictures of Rupak and his blond-haired, blue-eyed “friend.” One white special friend would surely trump Johnny’s dozens of Indian girls. He would show the pictures to Mr. Chopra and shake his head and say, “What can one do? He’s just so modern. No Indian women for him. He has such an international mind.”
They had sent Rupak to the United States to expand his horizons, and if that included an American special friend, so be it. It would help him get a green card too.
Mrs. Jha nervously adjusted her dupatta as she stepped out of the taxi on the Ithaca Commons. They were going to Maggie’s, an American restaurant where, Mr. Jha had read online, they served some special steak that was cut from cows that were raised on farms in Japan where they were fed beer and grass so they were always drunk and happy. And, he had read out earlier, when they were slaughtered, it was done from behind by sticking a knife into their necks so they wouldn’t realize what’s coming and wouldn’t feel fear. “That way their bodies don’t tense up and the meat is extra soft. It costs thirty dollars an ounce! An ounce! Those Japanese really know what they’re doing. I bet our Indian cows would enjoy beer and grass,” Mr. Jha said, trying to figure out a way to keep a receipt of the meal to show the neighbors. That might prove impossible, he decided. He would have to work it into conversation.
“I really wish we were going to Moosewood,” Mrs. Jha said. “Anil, it’s the most famous vegetarian restaurant in the world.”