My parents responded quickly, surprising me with their neutral feelings. They had always hoped I would follow my country’s tradition and marry a nice Indian girl with their consent, but now they accepted my decision because I had succeeded in receiving my degree after almost eight years of hard work. They knew that many Indians who study in America often marry American girls, and now their fear was coming true. At the same time, they wrote, “Whatever you are happy with, it is okay with us. We want to see you both. When are you coming back?” I still did not know, but I hoped it would be soon.
In the meantime, I began teaching an Industrial Safety course at Columbia State Community College fifty miles away. I had come to the US to learn, and now here I was teaching Americans. It didn’t matter that I knew nothing about industrial safety.
The fall semester began the third week of September. Once a week, I drove fifty miles to Columbia State Community College as soon as I got off work at the hospital, so I could make it in time for class at 6:00. The class lasted two and a half hours, and eight students attended. The course helped take my mind off Maelie and her strange, inappropriate behavior. Each week, I read the chapters and made notes so I could act as though I were the expert in front of the students, learning and teaching at the same time. The job brought in an extra $150 per month, a nice amount to go toward rent or to cushion my savings account.
Meanwhile, Maelie continued bringing small items to my apartment. We were not romantic with each other, and I didn’t dare kiss her again. Perhaps she loved me, but I couldn’t find any such feelings for her. I didn’t know what to do, so I busied myself with work and my teaching job. However, it seemed like everything was coming to a boiling point, and I didn’t know how much longer I could stand it.
Then came Diwali in mid-November—the Festival of Lights. The joy and radiance of Diwali was magical, and it was my favorite time of year. My friend Randhir Chopra—called Randy—invited me to celebrate Diwali with him and his wife, Dulari, in Knoxville. Not sure if I had told him yet, I informed him about my engagement to Maelie
“What?” he said. Then after a brief pause, he added, “Okay, bring her as well.”
I was excited to see Randy and his wife. Randy had been my friend during my early years in Knoxville, and we didn’t get to see each other often, but when we did, it was like a homecoming.
I invited Maelie to come with me, and on the day of the festival, we left for Knoxville in Maelie’s car, which was newer than mine. We arrived at Randy’s house after 6:00 p.m., and I introduced Maelie, leaving out the part that she was my fiancé, but it seemed I made a mistake by not saying it.
She shook Randy’s hand, saying, “We are engaged,” and shooting me a sideways glance.
“A drink or hot tea?” Randy asked me, oblivious to the tension.
“This is drink time,” I said. “Tea time is over at 5:00 p.m.”
Randy and I drank scotch while Maelie sipped a cup of water. Then, Randy told me about the Dean’s Hill Country Club not far from his house.
“It is a very prestigious club, Kris, and it is not easy to join,” he told me. “The membership fee is $3,000. I made a reservation for us to eat there tonight.”
Randy and I couldn’t wait to celebrate with a glass of whiskey. Once seated at a table in the club, we ordered Randy’s favorite scotch, Ballantine’s Eighteen-Year-Old, considered a little better than Chivas Regal. I drank quickly, gulping down each glass and looking forward to more, hoping to drink away my situation—the fact that I was engaged, and it had happened without my proposal. After drinking three shots of straight Ballantine’s, I felt in high spirits, having let go of all the tension of the past months. Maelie sat next to me, her back straight and her lips pursed as she eyed me nervously.
I didn’t eat much, just kept wanting more scotch, and each time I finished one glass, I looked toward the waiter to ask for more. The alcohol ran down my throat and set my stomach on fire, numbing away my feelings. I’m engaged. I set the empty glass on the table harder than I meant to. How did I get into this mess? I never asked her to marry me, and I never gave her a ring. I watched the amber liquid fill my glass again as the waiter poured with a steady hand. My hand seemed not so steady. Randy and Dulari exchanged looks. Maelie’s eyes darkened, and her face turned red to match her hair, then nearly as pale as the white table cloth. She fidgeted with her silverware, and her fingers tapped on the table. She did not talk, only moved her food around on the plate, leaving most of it untouched.
After dinner, we returned to Randy’s house. I don’t remember much
