Reboot Pt. 01

"I think I can guess why," Jenna said.

"Yeah, well," Sumita said. "It took me a lot longer than you. I didn't know a single gay person, and the thought that I might be one was inconceivable."

Jenna chuckled.

"We'd been married six months when we had the big fight," Sumita said, "and I hadn't even gotten pregnant yet. I felt like a total failure."

"Sounds awful," Jenna said. "So what happened after you ran out?"

"I spent a few days at my friend Julie's house, which is another story you'll have to ask me about sometime," Sumita said. "And then Julie figured out that I really was pregnant, and that was it. I had to go home."

"To a husband you didn't love?" Jenna asked, a note of anger creeping into her voice.

"Yes," Sumita replied. "How I felt didn't really matter after that. The baby was more important."

"So you gave up any chance to be happy?" Jenna asked. "How is that fair?"

"It's not," Sumita said. "But when I held my little Sangita in my arms, it was all worth it. And Rajeev was really good to me, to both of us."

"So you stayed with a man you didn't love?" Jenna said, her voice getting more and more strident. "Someone you couldn't love, because he was a man?"

Sumita couldn't tell whether the anger was aimed at Rajeev, at society, or at her. Maybe all three together. "That's the thing," she said. "I was awful to him for a while. I didn't give him the love he deserved, but he stayed. He knew exactly what I was, long before I did, but he stayed anyway. And eventually, when I saw how much he loved me, I found a way to love him back."

The light of understanding washed the anger out of Jenna's expression. "Wow," she said. "He must have been a pretty amazing guy."

Sumita wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her left hand. "He was," she said. "I can't imagine ever loving any other man, but I did love Rajeev, man parts and all."

"Man parts," Jenna said, "ew," and then her upper body wriggled as if a rat had crawled down her shirt. Sumita giggled and stuck her tongue out at Jenna.

The vegetables were all chopped and ready to go, so Sumita measured out spices for aloo gobi, a dish of sautéed potato and cauliflower cooked until they're falling-apart tender. The scent of onion, garlic, and ginger soon filled the kitchen, and the next two hours flew by.

Sumita was a good teacher and Jenna was a quick study. Sumita apologized in advance for being pedantic about stuff Jenna probably already knew anyway, and Jenna smiled and let Sumita explain in as much detail as she wanted. The cooking itself was the point, the shared experience of two women using their hands to turn a pile of raw ingredients into a feast. They were close enough to touch the whole time, which made it that much more sensual.

~~~

The work finally slowed down, with most things either already cooking or not yet ready to start, so Sumita and Jenna took a break on the couch with a pitcher of iced tea and a bowl of cashews to snack on.

"You know," Jenna said to Sumita, "your accent gets heavier when you're lecturing."

"... now make sure you don't let any of the residue from the pan get into the ghee," Sumita repeated her words from earlier, frowning slightly and concentrating on the tone of voice she used.

"See what I mean?" Jenna asked.

"Oh god!" Sumita replied. "I sound like my mother."

"Well I think you have a lovely voice," Jenna said, and let out a throaty laugh. "And it only gets prettier when your accent sneaks in."

"Thanks, I think," Sumita said, sounding thoroughly American, "but it's going to take me a while to get over that whole sounding like my mother thing."

Jenna dissolved into incoherent laughter, and Sumita couldn't help laughing herself. When Jenna recovered she planted a kiss on Sumita's cheek.

Sumita shifted in her seat and the smile faded from her face.

"What is it?" Jenna asked.

"My mother, both my parents," Sumita replied. "My daughter knows I'm gay - that was an ... interesting conversation - but my parents have no idea. I'm going to have to tell them eventually."

"Wow," Jenna said. "Coming out at our age - that's got to be tough. It was bad enough when I was a teenager." With a look over at the fireplace, she added, "Your parents look very traditional in that picture on the mantel. I'm guessing they're not very open-minded."

"Not really," Sumita said, "but that's a problem for another time. They've been back in India for five years or so, and they don't really travel anymore because of my father's health, so I won't have to cross that particular bridge until next year sometime when I go to visit. I'm certainly not going to tell them over the phone."

Jenna snorted. "I guess some things do need to be done in person," she said.

"What was it like for you?" Sumita asked. "I know Sarah and Meaghan's families have been really supportive, at least after the initial shock. My friend Julie's parents didn't take it so well, but she didn't really talk to them anyway, even before she came out."

"What was it like for me?" Jenna asked. "I'll give you the short version of a very long story. I grew up outside Poulsbo, over on the Kitsap Peninsula. It's a pretty rural, conservative community, and my parents were very religious."

Sumita felt a lump forming in her stomach. She knew where this was going.

"Growing up, I was always running around outside, getting into trouble," Jenna said. "I never wanted to wear dresses, and I kept my hair as short as Mother would allow. They humored me and assumed the tomboy thing was just a phase that I would grow out of. Things came to a head when I was twelve or thirteen and I didn't turn into the nice, polite, delicate girl they were expecting."

Sumita giggled. "I can't really imagine you were ever delicate," she said.

"Definitely not," Jenna said. "Father sat me down and gave me a long lecture about appropriate appearance and behavior for boys and girls, and he gave me a very strict set of rules to live by. I tried as hard as I could to obey, I really did, but I just couldn't see myself in their narrow-minded idea of how I should be."

"So how did you cope?" Sumita asked.

"Well," Jenna replied, "When you break one rule, the rest of them don't seem so important. I gave up on God early on, and I rebelled in any way I could find. I'm glad tattoos weren't as big a thing then - otherwise I'd probably be covered in ink today."

Sumita rolled her eyes. "I'm glad too," Sumita said. "I'm really not a tattoo fan. I'm guessing none of this went over very well with your parents."

"Nope," Jenna said. "They kicked me out on my eighteenth birthday. I slept on a friend's couch for a few months until high school graduation, and then I moved into the city. Lived in a shithole apartment in Belltown and worked crappy jobs, two or three at a time, to support myself through art school."

"Sound like a hard life," Sumita said, "and a lonely one."

"I slept around a lot," Jenna replied, and then got a worried look on her face, afraid of how Sumita would take her confession. "I needed distraction, and booze was expensive, but sex was easy and free."

"In my experience," Sumita said, "sex has never been easy or free."

"Yeah, well," Jenna said, "it seemed like it was at the time. I'd never live like that again, but it was what I needed back then. I grew up a lot, and I learned to depend on myself since I didn't have anybody else. I also figured out that if you treat people like shit, they'll do the same to you eventually. That lesson took a little longer."

Sumita put her arm around Jenna's shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze.

Jenna sat up straight, ran her palms down the denim covering her thighs, and expelled a short, hard breath. "Right," she said. "That's enough ancient history. What are we cooking next?"

Sumita was taken aback at the sudden change in mood. She sat there a few seconds, mouth half-open, trying to adjust. Eventually she decided that if Jenna needed to change the subject, she would just have to follow along. "Bread," she said. "We'll need start on it now so that the dough has time to rest."

They walked back to the kitchen. Jenna shook her arms out in preparation for the next phase of cooking.

The chapatti dough was incredibly simple - just water and finely ground whole wheat flour. Sumita started with a pile of flour in a large mixing bowl, pouring the water quickly at first, until the flour stuck together, and then pouring slowly until she could form a ball. Once it was almost the right consistency, she stopped pouring. "You want to stop while it's still a little dry," Sumita said. "We'll add more water while we knead the dough."

Jenna nodded to Sumita, paying careful attention. She'd made flatbreads before, but nothing quite like this. Sumita dipped her knuckles in a bowl of warm water, punched her fist into the dough ball, and slid it toward the side of the bowl, stretching the dough. Dip, punch, stretch. Dip, punch, stretch.

"You want to try?" Sumita asked Jenna.

They switched places, and Jenna did exactly as Sumita had. Dip, punch, stretch. Dip, punch, stretch. They traded off a few more times, and after about fifteen minutes, they had perfect chapatti dough, soft and springy. Sumita put a moist kitchen towel over the top of the bowl and set it on top of the fridge, which was the warmest spot in the kitchen thanks to the hot air rising from the heat exchange coils in the back of the unit.

She came back with the paneer they had made earlier, which had set into a texture a little firmer than tofu. Jenna cubed it, and they cooked it together into a rich, velvety gravy made from tomatoes, yogurt, chilies, and a wonderfully aromatic array of spices. A couple of simpler side dishes followed.

By the time they'd finished with everything else, the dough was ready. Sumita pulled the bowl from the top of the fridge and set it down on the counter. A quiver in her wrist set the ball of dough to a slight jiggling, betraying her nerves.

She pulled the ball of dough in half, keeping one half and giving Jenna the other. She rolled her half into a long rope with her hand, and Jenna did the same.

"This is the part I have trouble with," Sumita said, dusting the countertop with flour. "I can never make them round. They always come out lopsided. They still taste good, though."

She pinched off a piece of dough, showed Jenna to give her an idea of the size, rolled it into a ball with her hands, and placed it right in the middle of the floured area on the countertop. She then rolled the ball out into a flat round with a French rolling pin. As expected, it was vaguely circular, but it had a big notch at the top where she had rolled a little too hard and the edge had split.

"Aww," said Jenna. "It's shaped like a heart."

"That's one way to look at it," Sumita said. "You try one."

Jenna floured the counter again, pinched off another ball, and proceeded to roll it out. It was perfect - she couldn't have made a better circle with a compass on a piece of paper. Sumita grabbed both rolled-out rounds and laid them on the cast iron griddle on the stove. When they started to brown around the edges, she flipped them over with a pair of tongs, and when the other side was done, she pulled them off and set them in a towel-lined basket.

"You're really good at this," Sumita said. "You rolled out a perfect circle on your first try. How did you do that?"

"Let me show you," Jenna replied, and then stepped behind Sumita, gesturing for her to start another one. Sumita pinched off a chunk of dough, shaped it into a ball with her hands, and set it down on the counter in front of her. Jenna moved in closer, leaning into Sumita's back, wrapping her arms around Sumita's sides, and placing her hands atop Sumita's on the rolling pin. Sumita was intensely conscious of the woman behind her. She could feel Jenna's breasts pressing into her back, Jenna's arms enfolding her, Jenna's warm breath on her cheek. Sumita tried very hard to stay focused on the task at hand.

Together, they rolled out the dough once, very precisely, away from the edge of the counter toward the wall. Jenna lifted the flattened ball, turned it a quarter turn, and set it back down. With Jenna's encouragement, Sumita rolled it again and gave it another quarter turn. Roll, turn, roll, turn. The exact same motion every time. The result was a round chapatti. Not compass-on-paper round, but round. Sumita rolled out one more, with Jenna still behind her and Jenna's hands still resting lightly on hers, but Sumita took the lead. That one was even better. Sumita set them both on the griddle, turned them, pulled them off, and set them in the basket with the other two.

As soon as she was done, she spun around, placed one flour-covered hand on each of Jenna's cheeks, and kissed her fiercely on the mouth.

"Thank you," Sumita said when she let Jenna go. Jenna looked stunned at the surprise attack.

"My mother and my mother-in-law always gave me such a hard time about my chapattis," Sumita explained. "All I ever got was 'What kind of girl can't make round chapattis?'" Sumita's voice deepened and put on a thick accent when she said it, and Jenna smiled.

"They were always happy to criticize," Sumita said, "but nobody could ever tell me how to roll them out so they turn out round. And then you came along and showed me. So thank you."

"Glad I could help," Jenna said with a big grin, and Sumita kissed her again before turning back to the counter.

Sumita rolled out one more and then invited Jenna to do one and cook them on the griddle. Jenna looked to Sumita to make sure she turned them and took them off at the right time. "Just right," Sumita said. "You want a few dark spots, but not too many."

They traded off, using up most of the rest of the dough.

"We're going to do something special with these last two," Sumita said to Jenna. "Roll them out a little thicker and smaller."

Jenna did, and then she cooked them on the griddle. When they were almost done, Sumita took the griddle off the burners, grabbed one of the flatbreads with the tongs, and put it straight over the open flame for a few seconds. It blackened slightly and then puffed up like a balloon. Jenna's eyes went wide.

"You want to try the other one?" Sumita asked. Jenna nodded, and she did what Sumita did, with the same result.

And that was it - they were done cooking. Sumita shut off the stove and grabbed the bread basket, Jenna picked up the bottle of wine on the counter, along with the two glasses sitting beside it, and they each took a thali tray. Jenna walked toward the dining room table, but Sumita stopped her. "I have a better idea," she said, inclining her head the other way. "Follow me."

Sumita led Jenna out the glass door in the corner of the living room and down a short path to the lakeshore. There was a small table, which Sumita had set before Jenna had arrived, sitting on the shore end of the boat jetty, out of direct sight from the house. The sun was just setting across the lake, bathing everything in a warm orange glow.

"Oh, Sumita," Jenna said. "This is just amazing. I can't imagine anything more beautiful."

Sumita set her burden down on the table, waited for Jenna to do the same, and then leaned across and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I thought you might like it," she said.

~~~

Dinner was lovely. Each of the large copper thali trays had a mound of basmati rice in the center surrounded by small copper bowls for each of the dishes they had made. Besides the paneer and aloo gobi, there was yellow dal (lentils), baby eggplant stir-fried with chilies, simply sautéed spinach, and a raita (yogurt salad) with cucumber and mint. A few pickles and chutneys, both store-bought and homemade, filled out the plate.

The wine was a Chardonnay from the Columbia valley, the one non-traditional touch Sumita allowed. "Most Indians just drink water," she said, "but I wanted tonight to be special."

Jenna went through her plate counter-clockwise, taking a little taste of everything. Her face lit up with each new discovery, and Sumita watched the process with interest. When Jenna got to the mango pickle, her mouth puckered, her eyes narrowed to slits, and her whole face tightened. "Damn," she said. "That's really sour."

"It's an acquired taste," Sumita said, and a warm, indulgent laugh bubbled up through her voice. "Try a spoonful of the raita to clear your palate."

Jenna did, and then she grabbed one of the puffed breads to dip into the rich paneer gravy. When she took her first full bite, she swooned.

"You like?" Sumita asked.

"I like," Jenna replied, taking a sip of her wine.

They were quiet for the first part of the meal, too absorbed in the different tastes to say much of anything. When the eating slowed a little, they talked. The conversation was effortless, nothing like the strained politeness of their first date, and Sumita let out a little sigh of relief. After a while, the subject of Jenna's parents came up again, though this time without the anger below the surface.

"It was all Rose's fault," Jenna said. "I had no intention of ever speaking to them again, and I think the feeling was mutual, but Rose insisted. She got married about fourteen years ago, and she said none of us were welcome at her wedding unless we found a way to get along again."

"Ouch," Sumita replied. "Remind me never to cross your sister. How did you work things out?"

"I apologized for behaving so badly," Jenna said, "but I didn't apologize for being who I am. Father was stubborn about it, and he probably still thinks I'm going to hell, but Mom convinced him it's not his judgement to make anymore. I go over to see them every month or so these days, and it's actually kind of nice to have a family again."

"And how are they when you take a woman home to meet them?" Sumita asked. Her mouth was curled up into a cat smile, and her eyes reflected the fiery orange sunset.

"I don't know," Jenna replied, looking down at the table. "I haven't taken anyone home to meet them yet."

Sumita's eyebrow arched. "Really?" she asked.

"I guess I just haven't met anyone worth taking home," Jenna said, blushing. "Not until now, anyway."

Sumita stood, leaned across the table, put a hand under Jenna's chin, and kissed her on the lips. She wasn't taking Jenna's comment as a promise, but she did consider it a good sign.

Jenna was bashful while she finished her food, skittish about meeting Sumita's eye. When Sumita was done, she scooted her chair around the table next to Jenna, refilled both wine glasses, and stretched out in her chair to watch the last of the sunset. After a brief hesitation, Jenna did the same.

Daylight faded quickly after the sun sank below the horizon. Jenna gathered the thali trays and wine glasses from the table, and Sumita took everything else. They had cleaned up as they cooked, so the after-dinner washing up was minimal - just the place settings and the heavy iron griddle where they had cooked the chapattis.

Afterward, they sat down on the couch with a small plate of carrot fudge and two bowls of rice pudding. After dessert, they talked some more, moving from art to code to all the cool things can happen when the two intersect. The conversation was the kind Sumita hadn't had since late nights in college, winding around their lives, from deep to shallow and back again. Before they noticed, it was almost midnight.

~~~

Sumita stood, suddenly unsure of herself. She was having a great time, but it was quite late, and she was nervous about how the evening would end. Jenna stood after Sumita, facing her and taking her hands.

"You could stay the night," Sumita said, thinking vaguely about sleeping arrangements. "So you don't have to drive home at this hour."

"Do you want me to stay?" Jenna asked, and they both knew she wasn't talking about sleeping on the couch.