A tall oak tree stood watch like a guard over the split-level home Sadiya Murthy woke up in. She could see the tree through the window of her fiancée’s childhood home, its leaves rustling to and fro along with the wind. Blinking the sleep out from her eyes, Sadiya saw it was already past 10:30 a.m. She heard the typical morning cacophony of the Kedilaya family downstairs.
Not exactly the screams I’d looked forward to hearing in bed on a Saturday morning.
Grumbling to herself, she opened her guest room door and smelled Tanvi’s cooking immediately. Should I be helping her?
When they’d first committed to spending their weekends here in Iselin, New Jersey, Maadhini had told her that wasn’t expected. “My parents are a little more evolved than your typical Indians.” Maadhini had laughed at the idea of Sadiya shuffling behind Tanvi in the mornings, assisting with chopping bhindi and setting plates and rolling parathas.
But, evolved or not, Sadiya had still been relegated to the guest room until she was officially married.
Ugh.
As Sadiya brushed her teeth, she inspected the calendar hanging on the bathroom wall: August 1. It’d been more than a year and a half since she’d gotten engaged. With her parents’ visas on hold, and the thought of a wedding without them unfathomable, it was anyone’s guess as to when her nightmare would end.
Though Rakshan was in a different hemisphere, his presence in Sadiya’s life was still as apparent and unwelcome as a baby’s full diaper. When she'd landed at Newark airport after her trip to Bangalore with Maadhini, she’d expected to be married within weeks. Those weeks had turned into months as they’d waited for her parents’ visas to be approved. Finally, half a year after returning to New York, she’d learned the truth: no visa approval was coming.
So, they’d applied again, and again, they’d been rejected. After the third rejection, Vir had told them to stop. Though they’d never gotten an explanation from anyone, Sadiya had formed her own theory about what had happened.
Rakshan.
She grabbed the sink in frustration as she remembered reading about his trial, about how his old boss now worked for President Brooks. Rakshan had fucked her one last time, and just like every other time, it had been disappointing.
It has to be him, she’d thought. What other reason was there to deny those visas?
A wedding definitely couldn’t take place without both brides’ parents present, so now they were debating whether or not to have the wedding in Bangalore or try and see if Begaye getting elected would change anything.
Like Begaye stands a chance.
Finishing up in the bathroom, Sadiya followed the booming voices below. Walking down the stairs to the kitchen, she passed the framed diplomas from NYU and Princeton as she heard her lover arguing with someone.
“It’s the weekend,” Maadhini said, her voice raised. “Sadiya’s allowed to sleep in.”
Sadiya winced, knowing she’d be greeted in seconds with a disapproving stare. Anything past eight is too late for Vir.
“We can’t eat breakfast without your better half,” Vir said.
Biting her lip, Sadiya forced herself down the last steps in time to see Tanvi slap her husband’s hand.
“Kyaa!” he said.
“I carried all of her for nine months, not just half.” Tanvi scowled as she returned to cooking breakfast. “Sadiya is a good woman, whole in and of herself. No need to pick halves.”
“Thank you, mother,” Maadhini said.
“But kanne, your fiancée will have to come down soon. I’m making bhindi masala.”
Forcing herself to smile as she made her presence known, Sadiya hid the cringe she felt upon hearing that word, fiancée.
Just my luck that as soon as I get comfortable with my identity, Rakshan’s foolishness gets in the way yet again.
“Good morning,” she said.
Vir nodded, his face a perfect match to Sadiya’s expectations.
I might as well have come down naked. Leaving him to his coffee and the assortment of newspapers strewn across the kitchen table, Sadiya accepted her own mug of coffee from Tanvi. “Can I help, Amma?”
Tanvi waved her off before turning to her husband, a frown on her face. “Why do you need to spread out all these papers?”
“So that you can ask silly questions,” Vir said. “Leave them.”
Joining Maadhini at the table, both sipping their coffees, Sadiya peered over the table to see what Vir was reading.
SHOWDOWN IN GUATEMALA
FGRN-14 Head Still at Large
By Manoj Chatterjee
The president insisted it would be almost impossible for the WP Force to sustain casualties, but it appears the super soldiers are testing that claim.
An unidentified soldier suffered crippling injuries in a recent firefight in Guatemala and is on his way back to American soil. Secretary Lungford is currently reaching out to his family.
The attack took place at the Maya Biosphere Reserve, a UNESCO Heritage Site where the CIA and DEA confirmed that the leader of FGRN-14, Aiden Marcelo DeLeón, is stockpiling WP for his ongoing war against the U.S. government.
Mr. DeLeón has been especially committed to waging war against America ever since his deputy, Ademir Hernández, died in a U.S. strike a few months ago. U.S. intelligence just recently confirmed that casualty.
Sadiya bit her bottom lip, wondering if the "unidentified soldier" was Rakshan, but before she gave more thought to it, Vir's reaction to the news jolted the room.
“Pah!” He exhaled, setting his coffee down so hard it sloshed over onto the paper, smearing the ink and getting between the pages. “Now not only is the government lying to us, but the press, too.”
Maadhini frowned. “Why do you say that, Dad?”
“I read on a blog last week that this Ademir person was the real leader, and yet these bloody buggers want us to believe it’s DeLeòn.”
“Yes,” Tanvi said, also frowning. “It’s the blogs you should believe, not the New York Times.”
Sadiya smiled as Maadhini threw her hair back in laughter and Vir threw his hands up in frustration, urging Tanvi not to let the bhindi burn.
Yes, Sadiya thought, no need for alarm. We would've heard by now if Rakshan was dead. Besides, he needs to stay alive so I can yell at him about how much he's cost this family.
Eager to get out of her head and change the subject, Sadiya pointed at Vir’s paper. “Any deaths yet?”
“Thankfully, no,” Vir said. “It’s unfortunate, though, that Abhinav can’t come to the wedding because of this nonsense.”
So much for changing the subject. Her ears twitched as she gritted her teeth and tried to keep the venom out of her voice. “I’ll be just heartbroken if Abhinav can’t come because he’s dead. It’ll serve him and his buddies right for doing their best to ruin the happiest day of our lives!”
For a moment, the house was silent except for the thud of a rolling pin Tanvi dropped in shock. It hit the tile floor and rolled away, leaving a trail of wheat flour behind.
“Sadiya, what is this behavior?” her future mother-in-law asked.
“Babe…” Maadhini’s voice shook. “You don’t mean that…”
What’s wrong with me? I’m angry all the time. Sadiya’s frustration dissipated like a popped balloon. “You’re right.” She took a long sip from her mug. “I’m sorry. That’ll teach me to speak before drinking coffee.”
A frown still on her face, Tanvi responded. “Come help with the parathas, kanne.”
Maybe there’s something to be said for a typical Indian mother-in-law. “Yes, Mom.”
As Sadiya rolled out her frustrations, Vir continued to flip through his newspaper, then stopped on a Tampax ad.
He wouldn’t, she hoped.
“Sadiya, are you on your period?”
Beside him, Maadhini spat her coffee out onto Vir’s white undershirt. It seeped through the light clothing, revealing the curled, dark chest hair below. “Dad!”
Interrupting Sadiya’s work, Tanvi grabbed the brown rolling pin and started stabbing it in her husband’s direction. “Sharm karo!”
“I have some shame,” Vir said. “But there’s nothing shameful about being on your period. It would explain her sudden anger, no?”
“Dad…” Maadhini hid her face behind her coffee mug as she whispered an admonition.
“We talk about yours and Maadhini's periods all the time,” Vir said. “I didn’t want to at first, but you both insisted it was perfectly normal and I just had to ‘deal with it.’ Those were your words. How many times did I drive to Sam’s Club to buy tampons?”
“Oh my god, please shut up.” Maadhini slumped down in her chair as if trying to disappear under the table.
Tension thickened the air. Tanvi glared at her daughter now, and Maadhini straightened under the weight of her mother’s look.
“It’s enough, Tanvi,” Vir said. “Everyone is stressed and hungry. Let’s eat lunch.”
As Tanvi heated the parathas up individually on the tawa, flipping them so the heat of the stove distributed itself equally, Sadiya put together a salad of cucumbers and tomatoes in silence. Months ago, when she’d asked Maadhini why she never really argued with her parents, she’d said that the last time she’d told her father to shut up was when he’d tried to uncover the identity of her first girlfriend, Rebecca.
That’s why they’re so upset, Sadiya knew. It isn’t that she told her father to shut up; it’s that she reminded her parents of the pain Rebecca caused when she broke Maadhini’s heart.
Trying her best to ignore the loud silence of the kitchen as she prepared everyone’s plates with some paratha, bhindi, and salad, Sadiya noticed Maadhini eyeing her dad as he read the sports section.
“Anything good about soccer?” Maadhini asked.
“What?”
“I read once why Cinderella is so bad at soccer.”
Sadiya rolled her eyes. “Because she doesn’t exist?”
“No,” Maadhini said, “because she always runs away from the ball.”
Despite her best efforts, Sadiya couldn’t stop herself from laughing. As the four ate, Vir moved from the sports section to politics.
DEMOCRATIC CONVENTION IS A RATINGS SUCCESS, BUT SOME FEAR THE DIVIDED CONVENTION ENSURES A BROOKS VICTORY
By Harold Mueller
At the end of an expensive primary that lasted all the way to the Democratic National Convention in Houston this week, New Mexico Senator Joseph Begaye and former Virginia Governor Mark Harmon accepted their party’s nomination for President and Vice President of the United States. The two rivals battled it out over the last summer across fifty-four states and territories, but ultimately were able to put their differences aside in pursuit of the Oval Office.
On paper, the two couldn’t be more different. Mr. Harmon, 62, is over a decade older than Mr. Begaye, 49. And while Mr. Begaye was raised out West on a reservation, Mr. Harmon is a self-made millionaire who pioneered technology that’s now ubiquitous in hospitals and other medical facilities. Still, the two—who’d never met prior to the presidential campaign—came to respect each other’s strengths as the presidential contest dragged on through Iowa, South Carolina, California, and more.
“We are united in our vision to expand access to healthcare, tear down drug laws that have too long served as the Jim Crow laws of the 21st century, and ensure that a child’s zip code doesn’t determine their ability to succeed in life,” Mr. Begaye said in his acceptance speech. “Even before this White House, politicians in Washington used your tax dollars like monopoly money. Send me and Governor Harmon to DC and we’ll clean out the corruption that’s plagued it for far too long.”
The long campaign has been a boon to television, with ratings rising during each month the race has gone on. An estimated 45 million people tuned in for Mr. Begaye’s speech this week. Democrats will need that added attention if they hope to compete with President Brooks’s cash advantage and the popularity of his WP Force. One recent poll showed 62% of Americans agreeing that the new branch of the military was keeping America safe.
“Idiots!” With one hand holding the paper, Vir used his other to tear off a piece of paratha and scoop up some bhindi before placing it in his mouth. “They should have nominated Harmon. These Americans won’t vote for anyone but a good ol’ boy from the South.”
“Dad,” Maadhini said, frustration evident in her tone, “do you have to read at the table?”
“Leave it,” Tanvi told Maadhini. “I’m just glad I was able to get him to stop checking his phone during meals.”
“Yeah,” Maadhini laughed, “although I don’t think that was you so much as him. Remember the time it rang in his hands and he dropped it in his chai?”
As Sadiya joined in their laughter, Vir separated some pages that had stuck together from his spilt coffee.
AFTER A BUSY SPRING, TENSIONS APPEAR LOW BETWEEN THE WHITE HOUSE AND CONGRESS
By Daniel Song
In the eighteen months since President Brooks surprised everyone, especially Republican leadership, by vetoing a bipartisan bill aimed at WP legalization, Senator James Hammond (R-TX) has not displayed any public frustration about the legislative setback. Indeed, Mr. Hammond has, since, visited the Oval Office no less than five times to negotiate a potential trade deal in China, a budget that ensures funding for the president’s WP Force, and a domestic package of economic incentives designed to spur growth in the farming industry.
In speaking to over a dozen Republican political operatives and members of Congress, not one person indicated tension between Mr. Hammond and Mr. Brooks. Indeed, Mr. Hammond’s allies delight in taking every opportunity available to bludgeon Democrats over the head for campaigning instead of working with the president.
“I always knew Democrats hated our troops,” ex-Hammond chief of staff Whit Pryor said, “but it’s bold, even for them, to try and attack our military in court.”
That comment refers to an ongoing lawsuit the ACLU filed after the president’s budget passed. The ACLU’s argument is that super soldiers are illegal prima facie. The organization states that this is something you’d expect from the villain of a superhero movie, not from the President of the United States.
Secretly, at least one White House advisor agrees. “I’m worried about the Supreme Court,” said the aide. “Ultimately, though, it may not matter. By the time the Court hears it, public support will be too high for them to ignore. The Court is a lot more political than they want to admit; Chief Justice Swindell cares about his legacy and getting invited to parties as much as anyone else in this town.”
Regarding any legislative items to come, between the August recess and the realities of the campaign calendar, few expect any progress to occur.
“What a deal!” Vir exclaimed. “These morons get to continue drawing a paycheck while taking a one-month vacation.”
To Sadiya’s surprise, Maadhini spoke up in protest.
“Actually, it’s not really a vacation. They can’t be holed up in DC forever, right? They need this time to actually, you know, talk to their constituents.”
Waving his daughter off, Vir continued. “I got in the wrong line of work. I should have run for office.”
“Yes,” Tanvi said, getting up to clear their plates. “You should’ve run for office. That would’ve made moving to America so much easier for us.”
As she cut her husband’s response off with another one of her incomparable glares, Maadhini excused herself to go to the bathroom.
“Enough reading,” Tanvi said, turning on a small TV Sadiya suspected was from the ‘90s. “At least let’s watch the news on TV so others can listen, too.”
As Tanvi changed the channel to MSNBC, Sadiya’s jaw, along with Vir and Tanvi’s, dropped.
BEGAYE SUPER PAC RAISES $3 MILLION FROM TWO DONORS POST-CONVENTION.
The chyron was emblazoned in capital letters at the bottom of the screen. Above it, a Black woman spoke to the only person in the world who made Sadiya’s blood boil worse than Rakshan.
“Hello, I’m Joy Taylor, and thanks for joining us this Saturday morning. Our first guest is a Democratic political operative with a little cash to spare. But is it antithetical to the party’s goals this year to accept dark money? You’re in the no-spin room now.”
Focusing on the screen as if it was a tractor beam, Sadiya watched in horror as the camera panned from a wide shot to Joy’s guest’s face.
“First question,” Joy said. “Rebecca, would you shut down The American Dream Fund if Senator Begaye asked you to do so?”
From years of conversations, Sadiya knew that blonde hair and alabaster skin haunted the Kedilaya family. Rebecca had worn skirts in college, but here on TV, she sported a brown pantsuit and black blouse. Sadiya was the first one to regain her senses, grabbing the remote and turning it off.
“What is that woman doing on TV?” Vir said, his voice rising.
Tanvi shushed him as Sadiya prayed Maadhini would stay in the bathroom until this conversation ended.
“I had no idea she worked in politics…” For once, Tanvi whispered her words.
Biting her lip, Sadiya tasted blood. It isn’t supposed to be like this.
The wedding hadn’t happened, and now this? She’d been so patient with Maadhini, reassuring her that this wasn’t just a phase, that her love was real. We’re at peace, damn it!
But now the woman—no, she was nothing but a girl—who’d shown Maadhini her sexuality was back?
Sadiya sat rigidly in her chair. I won’t allow it.
So Rebecca was on TV, so what? It wasn’t like Maadhini worked in politics. Why would their paths ever cross? Rebecca may not even live in New York; America was a big country.
“No one tell Maadhini,” Tanvi said.
“Tell me what?” Returning to her chair, Maadhini raised her eyebrows.
“Sadiya’s embarrassed because she had loose motions,” Vir blurted out. “That’s why she took so long to come down this morning.”
Sadiya forced herself to laugh. Nothing cut tension in this household like talking about poop.
“Oh, ‘diya.” Maadhini grinned. “Still uncomfortable talking about the important stuff.”