Dhillon shook his head to dismiss her comments. He couldn’t move out yet: he had to make sure she was settled into her graduate program first. She wanted to be a vet. “What’s going on?” He jutted his chin at her computer.
She scowled. “O-chem exam tomorrow.”
“Ugh. The absolute worst.” He plopped down next to her. “Show me.”
Hetal showed him her problem. They went over it together, until she understood. She went back to her computer, and he dropped his head onto the back of the sofa. “Where’s Mom?”
“She’s meeting a guy for coffee. Then she has a shift.” Dhillon could almost hear his sister’s eye roll. “Hiral Mama sent her a text about dating. Again.”
Dhillon’s stomach tensed. Between his mom dating and his uncle having a fit about it, not to mention Lucky’s age—and now Riya fighting fires—he was going to need a dose of antacid. “What did he say?”
“Well, let’s say that ourmamais being less than supportive of our Mama.”
He shook his head at her wordplay. She especially loved mixing the Gujarati words with the English ones.
A few months ago, their mother, Sarika, had told her older brother that she was going to start dating. It was time. Well past time, according to Hetal, because Dhillon’s father had been gone for close to fifteen years. Hiral Mama, Sarika’s brother, was really all the family she had left, as their parents had already passed. According to Sarika, she figured that since she and Hiral lived in the same town, he was bound to find out anyway.
Dhillon wasn’t overly thrilled with his mother being on shaadi.com, either, but his concern was that she would get hurt.
“She looked really sad,” Hetal said.
“Who’s the guy?”
“A new one. Lawyer.” She side-eyed him as she worked. “You should try it.”
“Nope. Not going to happen. I’m good.”
“So you enjoy being alone, living with your mom and sister, pining over a girl you’ve never even made a move on?”
Damn, his sister was feisty. Where’d she get that from? “Don’t you have some big test tomorrow?”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “You’d have to tell Riya Didi you like her for her to go out with you. It won’t happen by magic.”
The best move here was to ignore his sister. She was constantly trying to fix him up with someone, and she had long ago figured out how he felt about Riya. Hetal just didn’t understand how complicated his relationship—or nonrelationship—with Riya was. “What are we doing for dinner?”
“It’s your turn to do the rotli. I did the dhal and shak.”
Dhillon stood and put some distance between him and his sister before he answered her. “Yeah, but is it edible?”
“Better than what you come up with,” Hetal shot back.
He started up the stairs to change out of his work clothes, his mind wandering back to Riya. Even soaked in sweat with all that heavy gear hanging on her, her facial expression one of complete frustration, she had looked incredible. There was a part of him that reveled in the fact that she had focused on him for once. Even if that focus was simply in annoyance. Or possibly even anger.
He’d seen her in passing last week when she was home for her weekly visit to her parents. Lucky had escaped through his dog door when he heard her roll up. Dhillon had watched them through the kitchen window. He inexplicably landed on the memory of her from a couple of months ago at their families’ yearly remembrance. She had been dressed in a simple light blue salwar kameez, her hair loose from the long braid she favored and flowing past her shoulders. She was as beautiful that day as she had been today, covered in sweat and wearing oversize gear. She’d hardly even looked at him that day. She had stayed for the prayer but slipped out before the mandatory meal.
It was believed that the family members who had passed on enjoyed food through their loved ones. So once a year, the two families, the Voras and the Desais, held a small remembrance ceremony. Riya’s brother, Samir, and Dhillon’s father, Kishore, had both been lost on the same day. In the same fire.
The families made their favorite foods and ate them together. All except Riya. She left as the meal was being warmed. No one ever commented on it, simply accepting that Riya would do as she pleased.
As she always had.
Dhillon pulled on shorts and a T-shirt for his evening run. The sky was overcast, promising an early summer downpour. The image of Riya glaring at him popped back into his head. He needed that run. He grabbed a hoodie and bounded out the door, only to be greeted by the rumble of a motorcycle.
Speak of the devil. Riya had purchased that bike years ago, claiming that it was economical and practical. But Dhillon knew she rode it for the thrill. For the danger.
Riya pulled up alongside her mother’s car. Dhillon placed one foot on a step and leaned forward, gently stretching his hamstring, as she removed her helmet and dismounted her bike. Her long dark hair was still pulled back in a braid, revealing the mole beneath her ear that had mesmerized him more than once. She almost always wore her hair in the simple braid, complaining that it got in her way otherwise, but she never cut it short, either. She appeared to be preoccupied with adjusting something on her bike, but Dhillon knew she’d seen him standing there.
Before he could say anything, he heard the door behind him slam open, and he was nearly knocked over by his sister bounding out.
