‘Kaavi, you don’t want to divorce him, though. He loves you. You love Neel. What’s going on? Can’t you two just talk?’
‘We could, but neither of us is really saying anything and I don’t want to be the one to bring it up. What if I say, “Neel, I want to come back to Jo’burg,” and he just agrees out of pity? Because my dad died and I’ve got the sob story now. I’ll never know if it’s what he actually wants.’
‘Kaavi, you’re being ridiculous. Neel loves you. It’s obvious. He said it in front of everyone, even his family. Why is that so hard for you to understand?’
‘I know. But I shouldn’t have to say it first. Why is it socomplicated? I don’t know, Mom. I really don’t. I just need to get through making this cake. Then get through the day.’
‘By the way, why are you making this cake again? I forgot,’ her mother said.
‘I’m making it as a welcome-back gift for Sen and Shona.’
‘Okay. Couldn’t you have just bought them flowers or something?’
‘That’s the thing, Mom. Sen and Shona already have everything. Besides, didn’t you teach me that food should be our love language?’
‘I did, but I can actually bake,’ her mother replied.
‘Mom, that’s so mean,’ Kaavi laughed.
Her mother chuckled. ‘Okay, okay. Let’s get through this, then we’ll talk about the icing.’
‘Icing? I didn’t say anything about icing. That’s too much work.’
‘Kaavi, do you know why you’re a bad cook and baker? You don’t have patience.’
‘Fine,’ Kaavi muttered.
A couple of hours later, she and Neel were walking side by side, with Kaavi carefully balancing the chocolate cake in a plastic cake dome. They were headed to Sen and Shona’s apartment, which, like everything else in Rally, was within walking distance. Sen had always preferred Shona’s apartment over his impersonal one, and when they got back from their honeymoon, they made it their home.
Sen had invited Kaavi, Neel, Anni and Sam, basically the whole gang, and while Kaavi looked forward to catching up with her cousin and hearing about the honeymoon, what she really had her eye on was the big pot of lamb biryani her aunt had promised to send over for supper.
They knocked, and when the door opened, Kaavi burst into a giggle. Her cousin was standing there with a massive pile of fabric in his arms, half-blocking his face.
He muttered something about ‘too much clutter,’ which only made her laugh harder. Sen was the most organised person she knew while Shona was the complete opposite. Shona was a designer, and not just any designer. She owned a popular, in-demand bridalwear shop in Durban and was always surrounded by fabric, pins, patterns and half-draped mannequins. Creative chaos, she called it. Sen called it a fire hazard.
Sen ushered them in, tossing the fabric onto one of the couches before shaking Neel’s hand.
‘I brought cake,’ Kaavi announced.
Sen groaned. ‘Oh no. Not another one of your baking experiments.’
‘No, no. This one’s edible. It’s Mom’s recipe,’ she said triumphantly, holding up the cake dome.
Shona appeared behind Sen and shoved him gently aside. ‘Let me take that before he says something dumb,’ she said, grabbing the cake with both hands.
Sam walked in behind them and ruffled Kaavi’s hair. ‘I’m sorry about your father. It’s going to be okay, kiddo.’
‘Hey, I’m not that much of a kiddo to you guys,’ Kaavi said, trying to smooth her hair back into place.
‘Yeah, but you’re still our little sister,’ Sam replied without missing a beat.
And in that moment, Kaavi thought about something Neel had said about how forgiveness could be her living her best life. Maybe she never got the kind of childhood she was supposed to have. Maybe her father broke something in her that she was still learning how to mend. But standing there, surrounded by these people, laughing, teasing, holding space for her, forgiveness felt attainable.
They were already on their second helping of biryani when Anni leaned back in her chair and said, ‘I just have to ask, how did you two end up married?’
Neel and Kaavi exchanged a quick look.
‘We met at a gala dinner and got married. That’s what happened,’ Neel said, casually.
