“Walsh went down like a sack of potatoes.” Her eyes lit up. “Piece of shit that he is.”
“Sorry I missed it.”
She stood. “Come on. I’ll show you something.”
Dhillon stood and followed her to her room. He hadn’t been in there in close to fifteen years. He stood in the doorway, as she picked up an eight-by-ten watercolor of her and Samir from Rakshabandan. He recalled that one clearly. Samir had been so patient with Riya. He was such a great big brother, and Dhillon remembered thinking he wanted to be just like him.
“Samir painted that?” Dhillon looked closer. The room smelled like Riya, fruity and clean. “It’s beautiful.”
“I know, right?” Riya was beaming. “I can’t believe I didn’t know he was going to art school. I mean, I’m relieved—” she tugged at her necklace “—but there was so much about him I didn’t know.”
“Well, we both knew one very important thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He was an amazing brother.”
Riya looked at Dhillon, her eyes shining. “He really was.” She placed the painting on her dresser, leaning it against the mirror.
They turned to go, and Dhillon took a proper look around. “Johnny Abraham, huh?”
“Shut up.” She smacked his shoulder and pushed him out of the room.
Dhillon took off his shoes as he entered the mandir to the scent of incense and the soft chanting of prayers. He clasped his hands together without even thinking. Beside him, Riya did the same.
Today was his dad’s birthday. Every year on this day, the Desai family joined his family to commemorate the day. The celebration was always simple. A few prayers, a donation in his father’s name to the mandir, some tears and time to remember his dad.
Riya had not always joined them, claiming she had a shift, and of course, no one ever questioned her. This year, however, Riya had been dressed and ready as the families piled into their cars and headed over.
Hiral Mama was very active in the mandir, running the schedule for celebrations and prayer times and more. Not much happened here that he did not know about, and he took great pride in the work. He certainly did not seem to mind that his position also granted him some level of prominence, not only in the community he served there but in the larger surrounding community.
Upon the death of Dhillon’s father, Hiral Mama became even more overbearing in his opinions as to what their little family should be doing. Sarika had drawn the line when her brother had suggested she take her children and return to India. After that, Hiral Mama had only bothered to voice his opinion when it affected him.
Dhillon had had enough of his uncle’s meddling and was hoping to just commemorate his father’s birthday as always and leave without incident.
The main hall was moderately full when they arrived, just in time for evening prayers. It was still sticky outside, but the air-conditioning inside the building was strong, and Dhillon shuddered in the sudden chill. Riya wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.
Front and center along the back wall were statues of Krishna and Radha. All around the periphery were statues of other deities, Ganesha among them. Dhillon side-eyed Riya. Traditionally, she’d had a love-hate relationship with Ganesha, the Remover of Obstacles. Today, she seemed lighter and happier, leaning more toward the love.
She caught him looking and leaned over to whisper, “Every Ganesha in our house was made by Samir.”
Dhillon turned to look at her properly. She was stunning in her simple green salwar kameez, her gorgeous hair flowing around her shoulders. “Even that one in the kitchen?” Dhillon made a face, and Riya covered her mouth with her hands to hide her laugh.
“Quit gossiping. You two are worse than the aunties,” Hetal mock-chided as two women their mother’s age approached.
“Ah, Sarika.” The tall one nodded. “I thought we might be seeing you here today.”
Dhillon’s mother pasted on a smile that her children—and Riya—immediately categorized as the politestfuck yousmile ever. Dhillon subtly elbowed Riya and caught her smirk from the corner of his eye.
“Of course, Namrata Ben. Always good to see you as well.” Sarika put her hands together in front of her in the traditional namaste greeting. “Rajni Ben, you as well.”
Rajni Ben returned her greeting.
“It is good that you honor your husband so devoutly, even so many years after his death,” Namrata Ben simpered.
“He was a good man.” Dhillon’s mother’s smile was plastered in place. “Oh, I see a friend of mine. Please excuse me.”
Dhillon tensed as his mother waved and walked over to a man who had just entered the mandir: Rohun Shah. Hetal and Riya were holding in giggles as Namrata Auntie turned and saw Dr. Shah grin broadly and walk quickly toward their mother. Even Dhillon found himself suppressing a smirk of satisfaction at the pure elation on his mother’s face and the horror on Namrata Auntie’s as Dr. Shah took both of his mother’s hands in his in greeting, his face filled with complete adoration.
