The Marriage Game Page 2

  Her father’s gaze flicked to her mother and then back to Layla. “Everything is fine, beta.”

  Layla’s heart squeezed at the term of endearment. She would always be his sweetheart, even when she was fifty years old.

  “Not that fine.” Her mother gestured to the brigade of aunties filing through the door, some wearing saris, a few in business attire, and others in salwar kameez, their brightly colored tunics and long pants elegantly embroidered. Uncles and cousins took up the rear. “It seems you bumped into Lakshmi Auntie’s nephew at Newark Airport and told him you’d broken up with your boyfriend.”

  Within moments, Layla was enveloped in warm arms, soft bosoms, and the thick scent of jasmine perfume. News spread faster than wildfire in the auntie underground or, in this case, faster than a Boeing 767.

  “Look who is home!”

  While Layla was being smothered with hugs and kisses, her father ushered everyone to the bar and quickly relocated the nearest customers before roping off the area with a PRIVATE PARTY sign. The only thing her family loved better than a homecoming was a wedding.

  “Who was that boy? No respect in his bones. No shame in his body. Who does he think he is?” Pari Auntie squeezed Layla so hard she couldn’t breathe.

  “Let her go, Pari. She’s turning blue.” Charu Auntie edged her big sister out of the way and gave Layla a hug. Her mother’s socially awkward younger sister had a Ph.D. in neuroscience and always tried to contribute to conversations by dispensing unsolicited psychological advice.

  “How did you come here? Where are you staying? Are you going back to school? Do you have a job?” Deepa Auntie, her mother’s cousin and a failed interior designer, tossed the end of her dupatta over her shoulder, the long, sheer, hot pink scarf embellished with small crystal beads inadvertently slapping her father’s youngest sister, Lakshmi, on the cheek.

  “Something bad is going to happen,” superstitious Lakshmi Auntie moaned. “I can feel it in my face.”

  Mehar Auntie snorted as she adjusted her sari, the long folds of bright green material draping over her generous hips. “You thought something bad was going to happen when the milk boiled over last week.”

  “Don’t make fun, Mehar,” Lakshmi Auntie said with a scowl. “I told you Layla’s relationship wasn’t going to work when I found out she left on a full-moon night.”

  “No one thought it would work out,” Mehar Auntie scoffed. “The boy didn’t even go to university. Layla needs a professional, someone easy on the eyes like Salman Khan. Remember the scene in Dabangg? I went wild in the theater when he ripped off his shirt.”

  Layla’s aunties groaned. Mehar Auntie knew the moves to every Bollywood dance and the words to every song. She was Layla’s favorite aunt, not just because she wasn’t shy to bust out her moves at every wedding, but also because she shared Layla’s love of movies from Hollywood to Bollywood to indie.

  “Mehar Auntie!” Layla gasped mockingly. “What about Hrithik Roshan? He’s the number one actor in Bollywood. No one can dance like him. He’s so perfect he hardly seems human.”

  “Too skinny.” Mehar Auntie waved a dismissive hand. “He looks like he was shrink-wrapped. I like a man with meat on his bones.”

  “Mehar. Really.” Nira Auntie shook a finger in disapproval, the glass bindi bracelets on her arm jingling softly. She owned a successful clothing store in Sunnyvale and her exquisitely embroidered mustard yellow and olive green salwar kameez had a fashion-forward open back. “My children are here.”

  “Your children are men in their twenties. They’re hardly going to be shocked by my appreciation of a well-muscled man.”

  “If you spent less time dreaming and dancing, you could have had one for yourself.”

  Layla winced at the burn. Mehar Auntie was well past what was considered marriageable age, but seemed content with her single life and her work as a dance teacher in Cupertino.

  “Layla needs stability in her life, not some singing, dancing actor with no brains in his head.” Salena Auntie pinched Layla’s cheeks. She’d been trying to get Layla married off since her third birthday. “What will you do now? What are your intentions?”

  “I’m done with men, Auntie-ji,” she said affectionately.

  “Don’t call me Auntie.” She tucked her gray hair under her embroidered headscarf. “I am not so old.”

  “You are old.” Taara Auntie pushed her aside and handed Layla a Tupperware container. “And you’re too thin. Eat. I made it just for you.”

  “What’s this?”

  Taara Auntie smiled and patted Layla’s hand. “I’ve been taking cooking classes at the YMCA. I’m learning to make Western food, but I’ve added an Indian twist. This is Indian American fusion lasagna. I used roti instead of pasta, added a little halloumi cheese, and flavored the tomato sauce with mango chutney and a bit of cayenne. Try it.” She watched eagerly as Layla lifted the lid.

  “It looks . . . delicious.” Her stomach lurched as she stared at the congealed mass of soggy bread, melted cheese, and bright orange chutney.

  “You’re going to put me out of business.” Layla’s father snatched the container out of her hand and studied the contents. “What an interesting combination of flavors. We’ll enjoy it together this evening when we have time to appreciate the nuance of your creation.”

  Layla shot him a look of gratitude, and he put an arm around her shoulders.

  “Don’t eat it,” he whispered. “Your sister-in-law tried her chicken nugget vindaloo surprise last week and she was sick for two days. If you’re planning to travel in the next week—”

  “I’m not. I’m staying here. I’m moving back home. My stuff is arriving in the next few days.”

  “Jana, did you hear that?” His face lit up with delight. “She’s not going back to New York.”

  “What about your job?” her mother asked, her dark eyes narrowing.

  “I thought it was time for a change, and I wanted to be here so I could help you . . .” Her voice trailed off when her mother frowned.

  “She wants to be with us, Jana,” her father said. “Why are you looking at her like that?”

  “We aren’t old. We don’t need help. She had a good job. Every week I time her on the Face and she doesn’t say anything is bad at work.”

  “It’s called FaceTime, Mom, and it’s not as good as being with the people you love.”

  “She loves her family. Such a good girl.” Layla’s father wrapped her in a hug even as her mother waggled a warning finger in her direction. Emotional manipulation didn’t work on her mother. Neither did lies.

  “Tell me the truth,” her mother warned. “When I die, you will feel the guilt and realize . . .”

  “Mom . . .”

  “No. I will die.”

  “Fine.” Layla pulled away from the warmth of her father’s arms. It was almost impossible to lie to her mother when she started talking about her own death. “I was fired.”

  Silence.

  Layla braced herself for the storm. Even though her mother was emotionally reserved, there were times when she let loose, and from the set of her jaw, it was clear this was going to be one of those times.

  “Because of the boy?”

  “Indirectly, yes.”

  “Oh, beta.” Her father held out his arms, his voice warm with sympathy, but when Layla moved toward him, her mother blocked her with a hand.

  “No hugs for her.” She glared at Layla. “I told you so. I told you not to leave. New York is a bad place. Too big. Too many people. No sense of family. No values. You had boyfriend after boyfriend and all of them were bad, all of them hurt you. And this one makes you lose your job . . .” She continued her rant, mercifully keeping her voice low so the aunties wouldn’t hear.

  All her life, Layla had wanted to make her parents as proud as they had been of Dev, but the traditional roads of success
weren’t open to her. With only average marks and no interest in the “acceptable” careers—doctor, engineer, accountant, and lawyer is okay—she’d forged her own path. Yes, they’d supported her through business school, although they hadn’t really understood her decision to specialize in human resource management. Her father had even wept with pride at her graduation. But underneath it all she could feel their disappointment. And now she’d disgraced herself and the family. No wonder her mother was so upset.

  “Go back to New York.” Her mother waved her toward the door. “Say you’re sorry. Tell them it was a mistake.”

  “I can’t.” Her mother couldn’t grasp Facebook. There was no way she would be able to explain YouTube or the concept of something going viral. And the temper tantrum that had started it all—the utter disappointment at having another relationship fail again? Her mother would never forgive her for being so rash. “I’ve really messed up this time.”

  Wasn’t that the understatement of the year. Although the police had let her go with just a warning, she had spent a few humiliating hours in the police station in handcuffs and her landlord had kicked her out of her apartment. But those were things her parents didn’t need to know.

  Her father shook his head. “Beta, what did you do that was so bad?”

  Layla shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t happy at my job and they knew it. I didn’t like how they treated the people looking for work like they were inventory. They didn’t care about their needs or their wants. It was all about keeping the corporate clients happy. I even told my boss I thought we could be just as successful if we paid as much attention to the people we placed as the companies that hired us, but she didn’t agree. Things started going downhill after that. I have a feeling I was on my way out anyway, and what happened just gave them an excuse.”

  “So you have no job, no marriage prospects, no place to live . . .” Her mother shook her head. “What did we do wrong?”

  “Don’t worry, beta. I will fix everything.” Her father smiled. “Your old dad is on the case. As long as I am alive, you never have to worry.”

  “She’s a grown woman, Nasir. She isn’t a little girl who broke a toy. She needs to fix this herself.” Layla’s mother crossed her arms. “So? What is your plan?”

  Layla grimaced. “Well, I thought I’d live at home and help out at the restaurant for a bit, and I can look after the girls when Rhea is busy . . .”

  “You need a job,” her mother stated. “Or will you go back to school and get a different degree? Maybe doctor or engineer or even dentist? Your father has a sore tooth.”

  “This one.” Her father pointed to one of his molars. “It hurts when I chew.”

  Scrambling to come up with a plan to appease her mother, she mentally ran through the last twenty-four hours searching for inspiration, until she remembered toying with an idea on the way home. “I saw one of my favorite movies, Jerry Maguire, on the plane. The hero is a sports agent who gets fired for having a conscience. He starts his own company and he only has Dorothy to help him.”

  “Who is this Dorothy?” her mother asked.

  “She’s his romantic love interest, but that’s not the point. I’m Jerry.” She gestured to herself, her enthusiasm growing as the idea formed in her mind. “I could start my own recruitment agency, but it would be different from other agencies because the focus would be on the people looking for work and not the employers. You’ve always told me how in the history of our family, the Patels have always been their own boss. Well, I want to be my own boss, too. I have a business degree. I have four years of recruitment experience. How hard can it be?”

  “Very hard.” Her mother sighed. “Do you think you can just show up one day and have a successful business? Your father and I started from nothing. We cooked meals on a two-burner hot plate in a tiny apartment. We sold them to friends in plastic containers. It took years to save the money to buy our first restaurant and more years and many hardships before it was a success.”

  “But we can help her, Jana,” her father said. “What’s the use of learning all the tricks of running your own business if you can’t share them with your own daughter? We even have the empty office suite upstairs. She can work from there so I can be around—”

  “Nasir, you sublet the office to a young man a few weeks ago. He’s moving in next week.”

  Layla’s heart sank, and she swallowed her disappointment. Of course. It had been too perfect. How had she even thought for a minute that it would be this easy to turn her life around?

  “It’s okay, Dad.” She forced a smile. “Mom’s right. You always fix my problems. I should do this myself.”

  “No.” Her father’s voice was uncharacteristically firm. “It’s not okay. I’ll call the tenant and tell him circumstances have changed. He hasn’t even moved in so I am sure it won’t be a problem.” He smiled. “Everything is settled. You’re home. You’ll have a new business and work upstairs. Now, you just need a husband and I can die in peace.”

  “Don’t you start talking about dying, too.”

  But he wasn’t listening. Instead, he was clapping his hands to quiet the chatter. “I have an announcement. Our Layla is moving back home. She’ll be running her own recruitment business from our office suite upstairs so if you know of employers looking for workers or people needing a job, send them to her.”

  Everyone cheered. Aunties pushed forward, shouting out the names of cousins, friends, and family they knew were looking for work. Layla’s heart warmed. This is what she’d missed most in New York. Family. They were all the support she needed.

  Her father thudded his fist against his chest. “Our family is together again. My heart is full—” He choked and doubled over, his arm sliding off Layla’s shoulder.

  “Dad? Are you okay?” She put out a hand to steady him, and he swayed.

  “My heart . . .”

  She grabbed his arm. “Dad? What’s wrong?”

  With a groan, he crumpled to the floor.

  “I knew it,” Lakshmi Auntie cried out as Layla dropped to her knees beside her father. “I felt it in my face.”

  • 2 •

  “TYLER, the reason we’ve called you in here today is because we’ve decided to let you go. Today will be your last day.”

  Direct. Short and to the point. Sam didn’t believe in beating around the bush when it came to mass corporate redundancies. There was no nice way to fire someone. No magic words, metaphors, or platitudes that would soften the blow. He told them outright and gave them a moment to absorb the news. It was the greatest kindness he could offer.

  I’m sorry, the company is downsizing, and we have to let you go.

  I’m sorry, but your division has been eliminated in the restructuring.

  I’m sorry . . .

  But not that sorry. His clients didn’t hire him to be nice. They hired him to be the bad guy, and bad guys flew around the country firing hundreds of people and making the lives of the lucky survivors a living hell by cutting their benefits and salaries to a bare minimum.

  Streamlined operations made for more efficient companies, and more efficient companies produced bonuses for shareholders. Corporate downsizing wasn’t a job for the faint of heart. He had to lock away his emotions and become what they paid him to be: a bastard who raked in the dough.

  He glanced over at Karen Davies, head of Kimsell Medical’s HR department, the edges of her severe blond bob curling under her chin. After the board of directors had approved Sam’s recommendation for a deep 15 percent layoff to save the company from imminent bankruptcy, she had solicited recommendations from line managers about who should stay and who should go. Ultimately, the CEO was responsible for the terminations, but Karen was the public face, and it was Sam’s job to assist her.

  Forty years old, and with nearly twenty years of HR experience behind her, Karen didn’t miss a beat. She smiled wide, b
linding poor Tyler with her newly whitened teeth. “Thank you for the work you’ve done here. I’ll go through the logistics and then answer any questions you may have.”

  “You have the right to consult an attorney.” Sam slid the legal documents across the table. So far, so good. Tyler was in shock. If he recovered too quickly, vital minutes would be lost while they listened to stories about medical bills and mortgages, car payments and student loans.

  Karen held up an envelope like she was on a game show, tempting poor bewildered Tyler with a secret prize. She was enjoying this far too much. Sam suspected she had a sadistic streak that had only now come out to play.

  “If you sign today, we can give you your severance check now, or you can take up to five days to review the legal agreement with an attorney and wait.” Her cold smile broadened to reveal the canines she had filed down to sharp points.

  Very few waited. Stunned and terrified, most of them went for the easy money. Tyler didn’t disappoint. He grabbed the pen that Karen had placed in front of him and signed on the dotted line.

  After Karen had gone through the termination logistics, Sam walked Tyler out the door. “I know this is all a shock, but it could be the best thing that has ever happened to you. Now you are free to do anything, be anyone, start a new chapter of your life. Once you put the past behind you, the sky is the limit.”

  “I like that speech,” Karen said when Sam returned.

  “It doesn’t mean anything.” He’d felt compelled to do more than just give the redundant employees a farewell nod after his first week on the job when the guilt had almost overwhelmed him. Although he couldn’t stop the process, he could, at least, give people hope.

  “I love the whole termination process.” Karen fiddled with the knot in his tie, pressing her free hand against his chest. “It gives me tingles. You must be jacked at the end of each day.”

  Sam bit back a sigh. Something about these termination situations made every Karen, Julie, Claire, Alison, Sue, and the occasional Paul or Andrew want to drag him into bed. Human resource managers were a horny bunch.