“Hm,” Aai says. “Iamsomething of a matchmaker.”
I reel at this, and Aai Baba both chuckle. “What doesthatmean?” I say.
“Rani,” Aai chides. “Give your parents some credit. We are not stupid.”
I blink very fast, and Baba explains. “We all saw you speaking at the Mehra wedding.”
“You have behaved very strangely during Sunday dinners,” Aai adds, and I recall my slipup at the suggestion Kush share Rakhi with us.
Perhaps most incriminating: “I can’t imagine you ever wanting to visit me at work under any other circumstances.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Hospitals tend to freak me out.”
“And Noori says Kush has hardly spoken a word the last few days.” Aai’s look is probing as she leaves the question unspoken:And what might that be about?
My heart constricts at the intelligence. “He hasn’t?”
Aai squeezes my hand again. “Don’t worry yourself, maharani,” she says. “You will figure it all out.”
With a huff, I sink back into my pillows and try to make myself believe it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Aai Baba’s anniversary arrives to perfect weather. Always serene and magical, the Gilmore Botanical Gardens are especially lovely the day after a rainfall. The morning glories are in full bloom for our brunch, dewdrops still collecting on each petal. We’ve set up a canopy area in the rose garden, simple white tables and chairs alongside the flowers. Today’s catering is a Bombay-style tea service in honor of the city where my parents first met.
It’s going to be a dreamy day, and not just because I organized it. After last night’s discussion with Aai Baba, I feel much lighter. It certainly wasn’t a perfect, tidy resolution, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Ajoba had primed them both for even this much of a concession. But the interaction left my anxiety satisfied for the time being. Baby steps forward and all that.
And now, even though I’ve technically been released from my duties, I can’t shake my eldest daughter’s urge to double- andtriple-check everything at the venue before guests begin to arrive. Bad habits die hard, and it gives me something to do other than stress over a particular boy’s attendance. God knows I’ve had enough stress this last week.
Professor Valdivia has thankfully been understanding about my massive scheduling blunder. I passed along my early draft with my apology email, while requesting an extension to deliver a final product I felt proud of, emphasizing my gratitude for the chance to collaborate with her. She has been very receptive to it all, and I have every intention of prioritizing the project for the rest of my summer.
I’ve also made plans for a dinner date with Michael, Zara, and Noelle for early next week. No matter how things play out with Kush today, it’s important to me to be honest with them. I really value these new friendships, and I don’t want to move forward with any deception.
Beyond that, I’ve done my best to remain busy and distracted all morning. But finally, with ten minutes to the start time, there’s nothing left to do but sit and wait. I sip my third cup of rose chai and smooth down a fold in my chunni. I’m wearing a dandelion-yellow lehenga today, my favorite of Aai’s hand-me-downs. It’s the perfect selection for a garden brunch, with floral embroidery lining the hem. My chudiyan complete the outfit: a thick gold stack with dangling ends.
Guests begin to filter through the space. I do my best to mingle and welcome and keep from watching the entrance. Still, I spot Noori Aunty as soon as she appears, swathing the twins and Aai Baba in warm hugs. Panic spikes when I don’t immediately find Kush at her side, but then I see him too, trailing behind after dropping a gift off at the entry table.
My heart rate eases. Whatever his likely ambivalence about seeing me, I should’ve known to count on his good nature as a son. He wouldn’t let his soon-to-be divorced mom go to an anniversary party alone.
He’s in a simple forest-green kurta, wearing his contacts, and his curls are styled to their usual rumpled appearance. I’m sure he’s seen me, but he keeps his distance through the first hour, and I’m forced to bear my way through the typical invasive conversations (interrogations?) with Shilpa Aunty and her ilk. At last, after narrowly escaping a discussion with Neena Aunty about my financial prospects if I pursue a future as an educator, I find the courage to walk over to Kush.
He’s reentering the gardens after a trip to the bathroom, and I intercept him before he can get lost in the party once more. His eyes go wary at the sight of me.
“Hi,” I say.
He looks past me, maybe assessing if he can still escape. He must decide against it. His hands find his pockets. “Hi,” he says at last.
“I passed my driver’s test,” I announce.
He nods. “I heard,” he says. There’s a pause. “From Shilpa Aunty.”
I wince. I’d contemplated texting him the good news yesterday but held off, determining an in-person conversation was best. “Well,” I say. “I felt sure I would pass. I had a really terrific instructor.”
His lips press into a smile, or perhaps a grimace. He remains quiet, and I push on.
“I’m really sorry about the other day,” I blurt. “I didn’t meanany of it.” His eyes mix with an indecipherable mix of emotions, and I continue, “I panicked when Michael told me, and I was already stressed over other things, which made for…” I trail off. “It was a bad moment, and I’m sorry.”
He blinks, taking it in. “I wish you’d have let me explain,” he says.
