“You idiots,” I whisper weakly, and the boys have the decency to look chagrined.
“Sorry, Tai,” Nabhi whispers back. From his use of honorifics, the apology is sincere. He pauses. “But Sanju started it.”
Sanju kicks him. “Did not.”
I shush them and finish wrapping the gauze right when Aai, Noori Aunty, and Kush appear in the kitchen door, the latter balancing a foil-wrapped tray in his arms. The boys and I do our best to look inconspicuous. My stomach feels queasy, already anticipating Aai’s reaction.
“Fresh kulchas from Noori!” Aai announces. “Gopal is going to be so sad he missed. Boys, help Kush Bhaiya with the dishes.”
I lurch forward, but the damage is done. Sanju outstretches his hands, and my mother’s eyes narrow at his bandaged finger, bloody spots already blooming on the white.
“Arre!” she cries, rushing over. Sanju tries to hide his hand behind his back, but Aai halts him to examine. “What has happened?”
“The onions—” Nabhi starts.
“He just looked so stupid—” Sanju continues.
“The important thing is that everyone is totally okay,” I interject, before providing a punctuated, mechanical summary of Sanju’s cut. Aai looks faint, and Noori Aunty pulls out a chair for her to sink into. Kush observes the scene with a hint of amusement, still holding the tray.
Once I finish, Aai fixes me with a glare. “They never should have been in the kitchen to begin with,” she says. “They’re children.”
“They’re twelve,” I say. For all her virtues, my mother is not immune to our cultural disease of babying sons. “It’s important for them to have basic kitchen skills.”
“Good job, Rani, now they have knife wounds,” Aai snaps.
“It was a mandoline,” I say, helpless. “And it’s a very minor cut.”
She shakes her head, mouth set in a firm line. “This was so irresponsible. I’m so disappointed by you.”
I pull back, startled and hurt. I’m used to Aai’s dramatics when it comes to medical concerns of all natures; she’s well known for acting like I’m on death’s door whenever I contract a seasonal cold. But her response here still strikes me as harsh, especially since I was doing her a favor by watching the boys and finishing dinner tasks.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Noori Aunty sends me a sympathetic look, and the twins glance between themselves, abashed at being the cause of my scolding.
“Karahi smells too good, Vandana,” Noori Aunty says next, quick with the subject change.
Aai sniffs. “Yes,” she agrees, not too irritated to deny praise over her work.
Their conversation switches to Hindi, and the twins resume their whisper-fight over the salad plate. Kush takes the opportunity to set his tray on the counter beside me and gently nudges me with his hip. He smells clean and sharp, his dark curls damp like he’s fresh from a shower. I blink back fast, composing myself.
“Not your fault,” he says, voice low to avoid detection.
I’m surprised but gratified by the solidarity. “Thanks,” I say. “I know.”
“Though the boys probably shouldn’t have been using a mandoline,” he adds.
My brows furrow. “Mandolines are far easier to use than knives.”
He shakes his head. “More accident-prone,” he says. He holds up his left hand to show a faint pink scar on his ring finger.
“Maybe you’re just clumsy,” I say. The words slip out, a little severe, so I smile to let him know I’m joking.
“Maybe,” he says. He fiddles with the foil edges of the tray before him. “How’s your research been going?” he asks next.
“Good,” I say, automatic, even though I’m miles behind on my readings. I’ve been so involved getting things up and running with the library program that everything else has fallen to the sidelines. But our first meeting is coming up this week, after which I intend to devote more energy to the paper. “Really, really good.” I clear my throat and return the question. “How’s MCAT prep?”
I don’t get to hear a reply, because Aai’s voice interjects right then. “And you didn’t even drop off a plate at Sonal Aunty’s,” she says, voice loud and accusing.
My mouth drops, and I turn to meet her eyes. “When was I supposed to do that?” I haven’t had a single moment between watching the twins and getting the house ready for dinner.
