"First Generation Immigrant Eldest Child Thing"

“I’ll never understand why you do that, my big brother does the same thing.” He chuckled, his hands loose around the steering wheel as he navigated in the storm.

“What do you mean?”

“I think it’s like a first generation immigrant elder child thing.” He mused, flicking the windshield wipers to a higher speed.

“That was a mouthful and it explained nothing.” She rolled her eyes.

“Like, policing your parents about being politically correct and stuff. Bhaiyya does that all the time. My parents will say something insensitive at home, even as a joke, and he’ll launch into a lecture about how it’s offensive and you can’t say things like that.”

“That’s understandable, because our parents are generally pretty bigoted. Last week, we were talking to a realtor and my mom said she didn’t want to live in a neighborhood because the schools were ‘too ghetto’. If I don’t correct her, who will?” She exclaimed, irritation flooding back at the memory.

“Well, first of all, that’s different because she wasn’t saying it at home or in private. Second, I mean, was the school ghetto? Like, she has a point, especially if she wants to make sure you guys move to a nicer neighborhood.” He fired back, his hand swinging down to the handbrake as he made a turn that left the car skidding in the middle of the intersection.

“Christ, you need to get new tires.” She hissed, holding herself steady as the car swung around violently before he regained control and puttered forward.

“Eh, these are fine,” he shrugged. “I’m an expert with the handbrake by now, so I can handle a little skidding.”

She shuddered and ground her teeth as the car gained speed again.

“If you say so,” She muttered. “And no, by the way. The school is actually a really nice school, it just has a heavy black population. Every school has bad influences and problematic kids and I know that this one does too, but she’s convinced that since like 60% of the students are black, it’s a problem.”

“I mean, I’m not saying that her thinking is right, but that’s all she really knows.”

“Yeah, I don’t think she wants to be racist either, but she’s so uninformed and if I don’t correct her, who will? So yeah, I understand why your brother acts like that. Eldest children of immigrants more or less need to parent their parents, that’s just how it is for us.” She explained.

“Yeah, but like, why? They’re grown adults, not babies. They’re not going to listen, no matter how much we tell them either way.” He insisted as he prepared to make another turn.

“Say something enough times and sometimes they do listen.” She braced myself as the car skidded again.

“Why are you guys shopping around for a new house anyway?” He asked as soon as the wheels gained traction again.

“You know how mom’s been getting into stocks?”

“Yeah.”

“She made some investments a while ago and they shot up recently. She sold them a few weeks ago and profited like, a little over 20,000 dollars. It was insane.”

“Are you serious? 20k, cold hard cash?” He turned to look at her with incredulous eyes.

“Yeah, it’s wild. It’s the helping hand we need to start really looking at moving and mom’s wanted to move for years now.”

“Congratulations,” He chuckled. It was a hollow sound to both of their ears.

“Thanks.” She replied, just as dull.

“Are you guys moving far?”

“No clue, she says things all the time but I can never tell what she’s actually serious about.” She sighed, relaxing into her seat and leaning her head against the window as she turned to look at him.

“If she wants to move far, do you think you’d go with her?” This time, he turned to meet her eyes, dark curls falling into his eyes as he whipped his head from the road to her face.

“Probably.”

It was silent for a while, snow flurrying around them in a torrent of white as the little silver car skidded along the empty stretch of road. His eyes were fixed on the road and hers were fixed on him, studying every microexpression she could find.

“I mean, that makes sense. If you’re not there to parent her, what would she do?” He laughed finally, bitterness leaking through the smile on his face.

“The struggles of being Indian, honestly. I feel like I’m going to end up doing the joint family thing and have my mom living with me my whole life. You know, immigrant eldest child things, I feel like I can never really leave my family.” She exhaled a laugh.

“You know, I feel like I’d get along so well with your mom. We both like to make fun of you, that’s a solid foundation already.” He surmised, turning and raising his eyebrows at her.

“Oh god, no. I feel like she’d hate you on principle.” She laughed, a real laugh from her belly.

“C’mon, we’re both from Hyderabad, so we’re culturally on the same page, she’s really similar to my parents so I feel like I’d know how to act around her and get on her good side, and I feel like we’d just spend hours complaining about you together. Your mom and I would be best friends, I think.” He let go of the handbrake to reach over and pinch her cheeks.

“Please, my mom already hates you, remember? She’s met you before.”

“I doubt she even remembers me, that was years ago! She saw me for, like, 20 seconds.”

“Yeah but I was sitting on your lap. That’s something scarred into all of our memories.” She huffed, swatting his hand away and rubbing her temples.

“We’ve all come a long way from that time. That was almost five years ago, she might remember your first boyfriend, but I don’t think she remembers that I was your first boyfriend.”

“Maybe, but it’s so not worth the risk.” She quipped.

“I can picture it, me and your mom hanging out and talking shit over some chai. Watch it happen, in a few years, I’ll be hanging out with your mom all the time.” He teased, easing the car into a gas station and pulling to a stop.

“Yeah, where am I in this scenario?” She pressed, turning to fully face him.

“Where do you want to be?” He asked quietly, his voice suddenly lower.

“In a situation where my mom and my ex-boyfriend are best friends? Nowhere! I’d be miles away if that ever happened.” She giggled, a bit awkwardly.

“Of course,” He smirked. “I’ll be right back.” He said as he climbed out of the car. As he walked around to get some gas, she lay back in the passenger seat and watched him with piercing eyes. She fidgeted with her fingers, spinning the ring he gave her years ago, wondering if he noticed that she was wearing it, that she had kept it for all these years.

As he made his way back, he pulled something out of the trunk.

“God, I hate Chicago weather.” He huffed, rubbing his hands together furiously and turning the heat up.

“Now you know why I always keep the heat up so high in my car.” She grinned.

“Your car is a furnace and there’s no excuse for that.” He replied without hesitation.

“No, Chicago weather is the excuse for that.”

“Sure.” He groused. “Um, by the way, Happy Valentine’s Day.” He murmured, thrusting a gift bag into her hands. “It’s past midnight, so y’know.” He shrugged.

“What? You didn’t have to-” She stuttered, taken aback.

“Yeah, I wasn’t going to give it to you like this but we ended up hanging out today so I grabbed an old gift bag to make it look nice. You mentioned that you didn’t have plans today, so I thought you should at least get a gift.”

“Thank you so much!” She beamed, pulling out a little black leather notebook. The pages were thick and cream-colored and the black leather had the letter ‘J’ embossed on the front in gold lettering.

“I saw it and thought of you, the best writer I know. Use it if you want, I just thought you might like it.” He babbled, fiddling with the heat settings as he watched her through the corner of his eye.

“I love it, thank you so much. This means so much to me.” She gushed, flipping through the pages a few times before hugging it to her chest.

“I’m glad you like it.” He smiled, staring at her for a few seconds before starting the car and pulling back into the street.

“Did you-” he began, but the chime of an incoming text interrupted. “Sorry, give me a second.” He said as he pulled out his phone.

“What’s up?” She asked, watching him type out a response.

“It’s my dad, he was reminding me about the meeting tomorrow.”

“Meeting?”

“There’s this girl from the mosque, my parents are friends with hers and my dad wants me to meet her.” He explained, nonchalantly, eyes fixed on the road.

“Ah, right. Well, good luck!” She smiled, her lips stretched thin over her teeth.

“How’s that going for you? The marriage stuff?” He asked tentatively.

“Mom wants me to marry a good Christian boy and she has a lot of opinions on that, but my uncle is one pushing right now. He wants to make sure it’s a good Indian Christian boy with the right values and traditions and stuff. We’re still just talking about it, but I’m sure meetings aren’t far off for me either.” She ranted, playing with the corner of the leather notebook.

“Yeah, it’s going to be a rough couple of years for both of us now, huh?” He simpered.

“I’ve been dreading my 24th birthday because I knew this would happen, but it hasn’t been too bad so far.” She sighed. “I’m glad I can talk to you about this. Honestly, all my friends either don’t understand the traditions or they think I’m being forced and that it’s archaic, so it’s nice to have someone who gets it.”

“I know what you mean. It’s not like we don’t have a choice, but everyone acts like arranged marriages are some huge abuse of power. We get to make the final choices and we can bring people home too. It’s just a joint decision, which ma-”

“Makes sense, because our families are joint families.” She finished, a sad smile on her face. “That’s exactly what people don’t understand.”

“Well, good luck to you, too. It’s going to be harder on you, being a girl.”

“God knows I’ll need it.” She grumbled.

“Eldest and eldest daughter problems, gosh, how does she do it?” He exclaimed, cocking his head and covering his mouth with his hand.

They both chuckled as the little silver car trudged through the snow.

“Nice ring.” He commented, as he pulled onto her street, stopping a few houses away from hers.

“It’s one of my favorites.” She smiled, her eyes lighting up as she twisted the silver band over her skin. “And thank you for the notebook, I already can’t wait to start writing in it.”

“You’re welcome, have a good rest of your night. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” She replied, her smile freezing on her face and tears whipped away by the wind. “Goodnight!” She shut the car door and jogged down the block to her house, stopping at the door and watching the little silver car slowly pull away.