“We’re sorry,” she sobs into my shoulder.
“We really are. More than you’ll know.” Dad joins the hug and I feel surrounded by my parental love for the first time in a long time.
We stay like that for a while, until the communal flow of tears slows to a trickle and we hear a knock on the door.
“It’ll probably be the chai tray.” Mom wipes her eyes and untangles herself from the hug. “Come in,” she yells to the door.
An employee brings in the tray and sets it up in front of us. Three cups of chai sit on the table, with three warm samosas piled next to them.
My stomach growls at the reminder that the only thing I’ve had in the past day is airplane food and that expensive croissant.
“Uh, Dad. You have to let go so I can eat.” I didn’t expect Dad to be the one who refused to let go. But Mom is having some post-crying snacks and I want some too.
“Right.” Dad pushes away and hands me a mug of chai and then puts some chutney on a plate with a samosa for me.
After the emotional talk we went through, everyone wants a bit of a break. But because I’m not a patient person, I only give us a half a cup and a few bites of food before I jump back in.
“What’s the plan for seeing each other more?” More than a few weeks out of the year at least.
They do that married couple thing again where they communicate with a look. “We have been discussing this. Not that you’ll believe us now, but we have been thinking of retiring,” Mom says.
“Semi-retiring,” Dad says. There’s my dad. “But we could spend half the year in America and half the year in India. We trust our team here now, especially Viti, and we can do a lot remotely now, with technology. Plus, we’re getting too old to yell at a full room of rich people, demanding more money.”
“We’ve been discussing it for a while, but we didn’t want to force ourselves on you,” Mom says in between sips of her mug.
“No. I think that would be really good.”
“Well, wait until you have your father interrogating your boyfriend like you’re eighteen because he missed doing that when you were actually eighteen,” Mom says.
Sadness punches into the happy moment, when I think about the closest to a boyfriend I’ve gotten since high school.
And how he won’t be meeting my parents.
“What’s wrong, beta?Is there a boyfriend problem?” Mom puts down her teacup.
“I could talk to the boy, if there’s an issue?” Dad asks awkwardly. He’s really trying.
But that conversation could be bad. Especially since this is all my fault.
I had very good reasons at the time. They seem a little silly now, when I’m talking to my parents and realizing I should have given Beau the same courtesy.
“No. Please don’t. It’s fine.” That’s a lie, but I can only handle one relationship crisis at a time.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Where are the gingerbread house centerpieces?” Priya yells in my direction with her iPad in hand.
“In the kitchen. The chefs are putting the final touches on them and they’ll be on the tables well before people get here.” I hold my arms (and my faded pink cast) out to calm my boss like she’s an escaped lioness from the zoo I have to corral back into her habitat. And she’s not having any of it.
I should have stayed in India longer if this is what I was going to come home to. I still have unused vacation time saved up.
I did get a good weeklong vacation with my parents before coming back, first going shopping so I’d have some clothes. They took time off work and we mostly stayed at home, getting to know who we were as a family. They even took me to a couple of auctions, parading me around as their highly successful auctioneer daughter from the American office.
It felt good.
They’re even getting on a plane in a week to spend New Year’s here and to look for a condo so they can have a home when they come for longer visits. Which means I get to show them my favorite New York holiday events.
I finally get to be one of the annoying families traipsing around New York, embarrassed by my mom wanting pictures everywhere and mad at my dad for not letting me have an extra dessert with lunch.
