Things had changed. They found Shweta at the stove, and Dev did a double take. His grandmother’s long hair was disheveled and loose down her back, instead of in its neat bun or braid. She wore loose linen capris and a T-shirt advertising a mobile company.
He didn’t think he’d seen her in anything but a sari. Ever. How bizarre.
“Aji,” Luna cheered and broke away from them.
Their grandmother turned, and pure delight filled her eyes at Luna’s approach. She pulled her great-granddaughter in for a hug, resting her hand over the girl’s head. “Look how big you’ve gotten,” she crooned, in a tone he’d never heard before. Her gaze was a little more guarded when she turned her attention to him. “Dev. How good to see you. It’s been months.”
Had it? He supposed it had. They hadn’t been in America long, but he’d only seen his grandma sporadically while he’d been busy settling Rohan’s estate and wrapping things up in Mumbai. He’d assumed she’d been busy doing the same with his grandfather’s estate. It hadn’t occurred to him that Shweta might want to see him. Or at least Luna, or that Luna might have been missing her.
It had taken his niece a year to hug him like she huggedthe older woman. He didn’t want to feel bad about that, but it did smart a little. Dev inclined his head. “Aji. Nice to see you, too.”
“What are you cooking, Aji?” Luna leaned back, but she kept her arms around their grandmother’s waist.
Shweta touched her nose. “I know how much you like prawns. I learned how to make a curry for you.”
“You’ve been taking cooking lessons?” Dev probed.
“Yes. I always wanted to, but your grandfather didn’t allow me to go into the kitchen. It was high time I learned.”
How odd. He’d never heard Shweta so much as subtly criticize her late husband. “I see.”
Luna twisted around her to sniff at the stove. “Can I have some?”
“In an hour or so, let’s let it simmer a little. Why are you speaking in English?”
“Oh, Kaka says I can speak whatever I want.”
Shweta frowned at Dev. “She speaks fine English, she must not lose her Hindi. Or she will become like these NRIs who come home and butcher our language.”
Dev tucked his hands in his pockets. He knew exactly what his grandmother wasn’t saying. She probably envisioned Luna as the next reigning Bollywood starlet, and nonresident Indians did have a tougher time of it there.
If that was what his niece wanted, fine, but Dev wasn’t about to push her to think acting was her only option. “Luna speaks five languages,” he said mildly. “This is a good age to pick them up and stay fluent. There’s no danger of herlosing any of them.” He changed the subject. His uncle had hung back. He placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder and tugged him forward. “This is Adil Uncle.”
His uncle cleared his throat and straightened. “Madam. It is an honor.”
Shweta looked down her elegant nose, and Dev tensed, in case she said something cutting and rude.
What had it been like, before he was born, when his father had brought his mother home that one and only time before they’d run away? Had his grandmother screamed at the couple, or stayed silent?
She did neither now, and she didn’t avoid the specter of Dev’s mother, either, which surprised him. “You look like your sister.”
“I know.”
“You may call me Aai,” she announced. “Or Auntie.”
Adil blinked. “Ah. Yes.”
“You are a chef?”
“Oh no.” His uncle shook his head so hard, his whisps of hair trembled. “I was a taxi driver.”
“Adil Uncle is the best chef,” Luna broke in.
Dev wondered if his niece was still trying to make up for the Bagel Bites War, but she wasn’t wrong. “Agreed. He is being modest. He is the reason we have not starved on our own.”
His grandmother nodded decisively. “Excellent. You can teach me. I do not want to backslide in my class.”
Adil Uncle’s eyes widened so much, the whites showed all around his pupils. “I—I would be honored to teach you, Auntie, but—”
