To say nothing of how much her suitcase weighs when she gets back from her India trips. With shopping being the most important event on her itinerary, followed by a distant second of visiting family.
“Hi, Chachi.” My voice is still muffled in the hug.
“Have you eaten?” she asks.
“Yup.” I hold up the pilfered plate, silent about its origins.
“Hi, Gavin. Did you eat?”
“On it, Mom.” He holds up his own plate as evidence.
She nods before moving on to the third person at the table and the only one she doesn’t know. “Hello. Are you a friend of Gavin’s?”
“He’s certainly nice.” Beau looks at me, eyes crying for help in the face of the Indian Inquisition. In reality, he’s probably just being considerate Beau, checking in what I want to tell everyone about our...whatever.
“He’s here with me.” I decide to go with honesty, even though both men look ready to back up whatever I want to say.
She turns those sharp eyes at me and my back snaps straight. Maybe I wasn’t ready to tell her about this, or to deal with the fallout.
“Really?” One word. Six letters. But so muchtone. Entire novels say less than Rani Gupta just did with that one word. I’m reminded that this is the woman who runs three charities and owns one company that she deigns to allow her husband to run.
But maybe I can only tell half of the story and she won’t notice. I was mostly raised by this woman.
“This is our client, Beau Abbot. He’s visiting New York and needs help buying art. Beau, this is Rani Gupta.” There. She can’t harass a client.
“Hmm. And what else?” She can, it turns out, harass a client when it means also harassing family. And again, all that with only a few words.
“And... I’ve been showing him around the city, because New Yorkers are a very kind, nurturing, helpful people.”
Gavin chortles but I refuse to look at him, maintaining my innocent, kind, nurturing, helpful New York smile.
Comprehension dawns on her face, changing her entire demeanor from cold, hardened investigator to warm maternal figure, mentally planning a wedding. “Is this the man?” She points at him like he isn’t sitting at this table.
I blame Priya for this. She should have never mentioned anything, like I was kind enough to do for her.
“This isaman.” I frantically look around for inspiration, everywhere but at Beau, and get help from an unexpected corner.
“Mom, I think Poppa Gupta is trying to fight Poppa Carlyle.” Gavin points away from Beau and Chachi’sgaze follows his finger across the room.
“I don’t see them. Or hear them.” She dismisses her son-in-law.
She’s about to turn back to Beau but Gavin interrupts again. “They’re definitely over there. It looks heated.”
“Oh, for crying out loud...” Chachi leaves the table to mitigate whatever disaster is happening across the room.
“Thank you,” I breathe out in relief to Gavin, internally adding onto his Christmas present, doubling—no, tripling—it, for his help. “Are they really fighting?” I ask Gavin.
“They will be soon enough. Just because they’re merging doesn’t mean they can give up their natural need to be in charge. If they are, she can handle them, and if they aren’t, she can defuse the situation before you lose the deposit because of all the bloodstains,” Gavin says.
“Can I get you something? A drink? My kidney maybe?” I better start on the repayment.
He shakes his head and smiles at me. “We’re family. And now I’ve got to see what Priya’s doing, or she’ll accuse me of stealing clients.”
“If you need a reference, I’ll vouch for you.” He’s won my sword for life over his actions.
“I’m sure it’ll be needed.” He nods at Beau. “See you later. Find me if you need some intel on hanging around this family.”
He leaves and I turn to the person I’ve been avoiding since Chachi got here. “So. That’s my aunt,” I say, unnecessarily.
