Rome flings his arms around my neck. “Thank you,masi.”
I lift a brow. “Wow, you finally call me masi when your mom’s not around to hear you, huh?”
Masi, the word for aunt in Hindi and many Indian dialects, in fact, is something my sister has been trying to get him to call me. But the little booger refuses to do it, until now, apparently.
Rome shrugs before we both look at Pearl.
“You like your scarf, Pearl-girl?”I ask, using the nickname I’ve given her.
She nods, signing.“It has fairies with wings and dresses in all the colors! I can’t wait to wear it to school!”
Bob’s sharp bark has us jumping out of an embrace. He’s sniffing the corner of my front door with so much interest, I’m worried he’s going to get lightheaded.
There’s a knock on my door, and I start to get off the couch, announcing, “I’ll get it.”
“Absolutely not,” Patton calls from the kitchen, already moving to my door. “You stay put. I’ve got it.”
I roll my eyes at him, feigning exasperation, just as he swings the door open, revealing my dad and Emanuel on the other side.
Wearing one of his many Hawaiian shirts, Dad’s holding a covered cake dish in one hand and a paper bag in the other. His giant of a boyfriend holds Sapphire’s mesh carrier in his hands. Not exaggerating, that carrier probably costs more than somehigh-end Chanel bags. Sapphire’s disapproving white-furred face can be seen looking out from the mesh window, her eyes darting from the fairy-man to Bob. I don’t have to be an animal mind reader to know she’s wondering how the high-society likes of her got stuck coming to this circus.
“Patton, darling!” Dad exclaims, walking inside without needing a formal invite. He sets the cake dish and paper bag on the table in my foyer before pulling Patton into a huge hug. “Look at you. Still devastatingly handsome as ever, even in . . .” He steps back, taking in Patton’s ensemble. “Well, this is certainly a new look for you. You’re giving haute couture meets forest woodland creature. Honestly, I love it. I may even have to commission a painting.”
Patton rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, the tops of his cheeks a little red. “I’ve had to do a lot of costume changes in my line of work, but I can’t say I’ve ever worn something quite this . . . sparkly. Your grandkids are very persuasive, Suraj.”
“I’d say that was less persuasion and more welcoming you back into the family.”
Emanuel places Sapphire’s carrier on the ground, and she immediately launches into her signature snarl at Bob. Patton’s droopy-eyed dog just stares at her for a moment like he couldn’t be bothered before trotting back to get his prized possession. He places the dildo in front of her crate like a peace offering, making her bark when Vader’s mechanical voice streams through it.
“I’m your father.”
Dad frowns down at the object near his precious dog-daughter like it’s going to slither its way into her carrier and contaminate her royal bloodline before he’s distracted by two pairs of little arms around his legs.
“Grandpa!” Rome says happily. “Are you here for our barbecue?”
Dad runs gentle hands over both Pearl and Rome’s hair before signing for Pearl’s benefit. “Oh no, darlings. Emanuel and I are headed to the winery for a tasting of their reserved wines. We’re just dropping off my famous French toast bundt cake andladoos.”
“Ooh, I love your bundt cakes, Grandpa!” Rome’s hands work as he speaks, peeking inside the paper bag. “But what areladoos?”
“They’re Indian sweets made with flour, ghee, and sugar. I used your grandma’s recipe, which was passed down to her by her mother. Theseladooshave walnuts and dried fruits as well, which are supposed to help during pregnancy and even postpartum.” Dad bops Rome on the nose. “But don’t worry, you can eat them even if you’re not pregnant.”
Rome’s eyes light up.“Can we have some now, Aunt Nisha?”
“Before lunch?”I ask, making my way over to them.
“Please?”Rome and Pearl sign the same word like they’re telepathically communicating.
I sigh.“Fine, but only if you call me masi again.”
“Oh, fine,”Rome grumbles, hands moving as he signs.“Can we have a piece of cake and a ladoo before our burgers, masi?”
I smile.“Okay, but you can’t tell your parents when they call and check in from Cabo.”
The kids squeal, rushing toward the kitchen with the cake dish and paper bag.
I wrap my arms around my father, breathing in his floral cologne, before placing a kiss on his cheek. At five-foot-four—three inches shorter than me and Sarina—he’s not a tall man, but where he lacks height, he makes up for in personality.
“Thank you for the cake andladoos, Dad. You really didn’t have to do all that.”
