Hetal leaned into Dhillon, barely suppressing her laugh. “Good thing Riya Didi’s here. Namrata Auntie looks like she might have a heart attack.”
After spending a couple of minutes unabashedly staring at the couple, Namrata Auntie turned a vicious glare on Dhillon. “You should take more control of what your mother does. It is shameful how she is conducting herself.”
Dhillon fixed her with a hard stare of his own. “The only thing shameful here is your judgment. My mother is free to live her life as she pleases. You would do well to mind your own damn business, Auntie.” That should match his mother’s politefuck yousmile just fine.
Namrata Auntie’s mouth dropped at being spoken to in such a manner. She swept her gaze over Hetal and Riya as if each one of them was offensive for simply existing. Then she turned and huffed off in a flounce of jingling sari beads.
Before Namrata Auntie was even five feet away, both women burst out in laughter, Riya placing a hand on Dhillon’s shoulder to support herself.
Prayers began, and they sat on the floor together, happily making room for Dr. Shah. His mother was already ostracized at the mandir because she refused to wear the traditional white-only wardrobe of the widow. While she was a woman of faith and proud of her culture, she did not always agree with all of it, and neither had her husband. Dhillon sat between his mother and Hetal, and he could feel Riya behind him. His mother’s eyes were wet with tears that did not fall.
They finished their prayers and mingled with friends they knew. He was considering making his way over to Riya when his uncle approached.
Hiral Mama’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes blazed as he approached his sister. “I just spoke with Namrata Mehta,” he growled.
Dhillon’s mother raised her chin at her brother. Sarika Vora was about five foot two, so her brother had more than a few inches on her, but she didn’t look the least bit intimidated. “So?”
“So? That’s all you have to say?” His eyes bugged out of their sockets, and a vein at his temple throbbed.
“Namrata Ben is the biggest gossip and busybody in town. I don’t know why you listen to her or why you care what she thinks.”
“She’s a huge donor to the mandir, and she told me she saw you holding hands with aman.” He spit the words out, complete disgust on his face.
“Yes, which you know. I haven’t hidden anything from you.” She met his gaze, unblinking.
“We discussed this. You said you would end it,” he growled again.
“I changed my mind. It’s my life. I’ll choose to live it how I please. Not howyouwant me to.” Dhillon watched his mother, and a smile spread across his face. She had known this confrontation was going to happen. She had come to the mandir tonight to meet it head-on.Go, Mom!
“She said he’shere.” Hiral Mama was nearly vibrating with indignation, which Sarika ignored.
“He is.” Her face lit up for a moment, and she motioned to Dr. Shah. “You should meet him. Rohun, this is my brother, Hiral. Hiral, Dr. Rohun Shah.” She looked pleased with herself, but Dhillon caught the challenge in her eyes. She was daring her brother to cause a scene.
The vein at Hiral Mama’s temple was throbbing out of control, his teeth were clenched, and he was flushed. They might need Riya’s skills today after all. “What are you doing?” he spit.
“I’m dating this man, Bhaiya.” Though “bhaiya” was an affectionate and respectful word forbrother, his mother said it with more than a tinge of sarcasm. “And I’m happy.”
Dhillon swelled with pride in his mother for finally standing up to her brother. She really did look happy. She deserved that and more.
“But...but—” Hiral Mama was sputtering now “—you’re awidow.” He emphasized the word, as if Sarika had committed some crime by suffering her husband’s death. “This looks bad.”
Enough.Dhillon opened his mouth and stepped toward his uncle, speaking through clenched teeth. “Hiral Mama, this is how it is. I’m positive that a man of your stature does not adhere to the old notions of widowhood. Surely you understand how unfair and harmful those ideas are to women.” Dhillon stared down his uncle until Hiral Mama nodded. Dhillon grinned broadly, clapping his uncle on the back. “I thought so. Now that we’ve cleared that up, we will hear no more about it.”
“You have a younger sister,” Hiral Mama argued. “Would you allow her to do something that you knew was wrong?”
Dhillon opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He glanced at his sister and saw her lips were pursed and one eyebrow was raised. Was that what he was doing? Was he ultimately no better than his closed-minded uncle? No. That was different, wasn’t it?
“I would want my sister to do what made her happy.”
Dhillon’s mother stepped in again. “Bhaiya, I have made up my mind. If you are concerned with appearances, consider this my last visit to this mandir. There are other mandirs in town I can attend.” She turned to the group. “That is enough. Let us go.”
They gathered at the Vora house for dinner. Dhillon trailed behind the group, lost in his own thoughts. Riya trailed beside him. Everyone went in, but Riya took a seat on the step and patted the area next to her.
Dhillon sat down. The evening had cooled, and a pleasant breeze went by; even the air was drier and less sticky. A perfect summer evening.
“You know I have to protect my mom and sister,” Dhillon said, as if he was continuing a prior conversation.
“Why?” Riya’s question was soft and without judgment.
