18. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Arnav
“Took you long enough.”
My Papi glared at me. The dad glare.
“He’s a big boy.” Mama pointed to my chair.
“I should help.”
Rashmi poked my arm. “When do you ever help?”
“Hey!” I glared.
She snickered.
“Maybe I want to learn.”
At my declaration, everyone stopped moving.
Mama, who stood at the stove, stopped stirring.
My father, who’d been carrying the container with the naan bread to the table, halted in his tracks.
Rashmi gaped.
Beena snickered. Kindly, her twin twelve-year-old daughters—my beloved nieces—just stared at me, as if not understanding what I’d said. Luckily, her husband was working. Otherwise, I would’ve gotten a disapproving look. Most of my sisters had married progressive husbands who contributed to the child rearing. Beena had chosen and married a man steeped in the old ways—and she was incredibly happy.
I held out my hands. “What?”
My mother put her hand on her hip. “And why haven’t you told us about this man?”
“Uh, what man?”
Rashmi didn’t even have the decency to keep in the laugh. “The man you’ve seen every night since Wednesday? The one whose house you stayed at last night?”
“I might’ve stayed over at Everett’s.” I was throwing my fellow lawyer and good friend under the bus, but my relationship with Foster felt too new. Too precarious. Too precious.
“Although Everett is handsome—and Black—he wasn’t the man you kissed in Fifties on Friday night.” My father gazed at me over his spectacles.
My jaw dropped at his comment. “And how do you know that?”
Rashmi snickered. She seemed to be doing that more than usual. And always at my expense.
“I was at the library yesterday morning, and that nice librarian…” He tapped his chin in contemplation.
“Loriana, Marnie, or Johanna?” Beena snagged the plate of naan.
“Loriana.” He grinned. “Lovely woman.”
“Yes.” And recently married to a hunky man who knew his way around computers. I’d hired Mitch to fix my glitchy laptop because I didn’t want to break in a new one. He’d done a bang-up job.
“Anyway.” Papi walked back to the stove and took the bowl of rajma from Mom. “She asked me how you and Foster met.” He placed the bowl on the table.
My saliva glands kicked into high gear. I’d have offered to bring food to the table, but my parents had enjoyed this routine since the earliest days of their marriage. One cooked and one brought the food to the table. My sisters had all taken their turn at learning the routine.
To my utter shame, I never had. I could whip up a few things in my kitchen downstairs, but only a few. French toast was truly the best I could do. Why bother to learn when I could sneak up here and steal leftovers whenever I wanted?
“She mentioned Foster by name?”
“Yes.” He made his way back to the counter where Mama had put a large bowl of rice. “She said he’d been in the library once, and…” He frowned. “Oh, right, Marnie had spoken to him. Loriana noted it because Marnie’s shy, and she was under the impression Foster was as well.”
Curiosity welled within me. Why had Foster gone to the library? A perfectly normal thing to do, but obviously he’d garnered some attention from the librarians. Well, Loriana did have a way with people. And apparently a big mouth. “What did you say to her?”
My father again looked at me over his spectacles. “I believe I said, Foster? Who? ” He laughed. “She might’ve been a little flustered.” He placed the rice before Beena, handed her the spoon, and indicated she should start dishing out the food.
She obliged.
“I said I had no idea who Foster was, but that obviously my son would share that information with me. Especially given how small Mission City is and how gossip spreads.”
Slowly, heat crept into my cheeks.
“Is this the same handsome man you had dinner with at Stavros’s?” Rashmi batted her eyelashes as she took the rice from Beena.
“Okay, how…?”
“Timothea is friends with Ravi. You know, the nurse?”
“Yes, I know Ravi.” He was married to Maddox, they had two kids, and he worked in the pediatric department at the hospital.
“Well, Timothea ran into Ravi at the drug store. They got to talking, and she mentioned this cute gay couple and, of course, she assumed he knew them because he’s gay, and…well…you know…”
“Yes. All the gay men know all the gay men in Mission City. Big assumption for a town that size.” The city was still considered a small town, despite its name. But with the continual growth—and as a major supplier of workers who commuted to the large city of Vancouver—our town kept growing. Hence Foster having work building houses. What had once been an affordable city was now getting beyond the reach of many—therefore driving the need for below-market rentals.
Rashmi waved her fork like a weapon. “So you admit there’s a guy.”
“I don’t think I was trying to deny it.” Except I totally had been—but she was just too easy to rile.
“Children.” Mama snapped the word as she sat at the head of the table.
Papi sat at the other end.
“Uncle Arnav has a boyfriend.” Aliyah grinned.
“I didn’t say that.”
Mishka waved her fork—much like her aunt had. “But you love him.” She put heavy emphasis of the o .
Frankly, I’d been amazed they’d been so silent through the grilling part of this. Maybe when their grandparents sat down, they saw that as permission to pile on their favorite uncle.
Okay, their only uncle. At least on their mother’s side. Well, I had a pile of brothers-in-law, and they were all uncles.
So I was their favorite uncle. I made my play. “What if I did have a boyfriend?” The rice finally made its way to me, and I put some on my plate.
Aliyah squealed.
Mishka rolled her eyes.
Rashmi snickered. “You’d better admit it—the entire town’s talking about it.”
I shifted. “I don’t…I don’t know if he wants to be talked about. No, scratch that. I do know. He’s an intensely private man.”
“At least he’s a man.” Mama waved her hand around. “Better than those boys you’ve been dating.”
I just sat there.
Slack-jawed.
Then I narrowed my eyes at Rashmi.
She shrugged. “You’re the one with the second social media account under the fake name. You thought I wouldn’t find it? I might’ve been laughing, and Mama might’ve—”
“Oh my God.”
“Hey.” Papi narrowed his eyes. “I got a good look too. Were they even legal?”
I tried to gesture at my nieces with my chin.
Beena laughed. “You think they don’t know everything? They figured out Instagram before I did.”
Rashmi and Beena were also twins and couldn’t have been more different. Rashmi was all about the latest trends, fashions, and gadgets. She’d been living quite the high life in Vancouver until she’d come home after the divorce. Beena had stuck close to home until she’d met a man who liked traditional roles. They suited each other. Sometimes, though, I thought Rashmi had an outsized influence on our nieces. I’d yet to determine if that was good or not.
“Be that as it may…” I scrunched my nose. “I like him. I really like him. I don’t want the family bulldozing over him.”
“Hey.” Every person at the table—every single one—said the word in unison.
“I think you just made my point rather effectively. Snooping in my personal life, gossiping with everyone about me.” And how, even though I did it accidentally, how outing Foster could have an impact on him beyond what I’d imagined. How much might my family’s gossip hurt him? With his job? With his emotional state? We hadn’t really talked about that and now, apparently, my family was talking about nothing but. You did this. You kissed him on the cheek. This is on you. I might’ve been furious with my family, but I was more ashamed at my own actions. Inadvertent as they might’ve been.
My words set off cross talk between my parents, my sisters, and my nieces. All going on and on about how gentle our family could be. I heard the word non-intrusive and nearly peed my pants I laughed so hard. My family had been all up in my business since the day I’d been born. They shouldn’t, though, be up in Foster’s.
And I loved them despite it.
Wouldn’t trade them for anything or anyone.
But will Foster want to be part of this chaos? Can we be together and he not see them? Be around them? Run into them in town? I had no doubt a picture of him would be shared in the group chat as soon as one became available. And then all bets were off.
“I think we should have the young man over for dinner.” Mama gestured to the table. “Just the four of us.”
Rashmi started to protest.
Papi cut her a look.
“Or you can invite him for Christmas. That’s less than a month away. That will give you time to prepare him.”
She does not know what prepare means with gay men, and you’re not going to laugh .
I didn’t.
But came damn close.
“Christmas? You think exposing him to that chaos is the right thing to do?”
“Not that anyone wants my opinion—" Rashmi glared at everyone sitting at the table. “—but I think it’s the perfect time. With…” She counted on her hands repeatedly.
I interrupted, “Six sisters, five brothers-in-law, eleven nephews, seven nieces, and parents who don’t know how to mind their own damn business?” See? I pay attention. Everyone thinks I don’t…but I do .
Aliyah clapped. “Well done.”
I glared. “See if I get you anything for Christmas.”
She grinned impishly. “I know you love me.”
“Well…maybe.”
“But someone’s love is not demonstrated by whether or not they buy you a gift.” Papi pointed to Aliyah.
“I know.” Her grin didn’t diminish. “Because, when times are tough, love is all we have.”
“And family,” Mishka piped up.
Beena appeared quite proud of her daughters.
And herself.
Rashmi smirked.
I rolled my eyes.
“Invite him.” Mama took her turn pointing her fork. “He has free will. He can always say no .”
But he wouldn’t. I knew this down to the depths of my soul—if I asked him, he would come. But was I pushing too hard? I seemed to always be running roughshod over him. Pushing him out of his comfort zone. Encouraging him to face tough stuff from his past. What gave me the right to do that? I didn’t have trauma. Hadn’t gone through a hundredth of what he had. Had never faced parental rejection. Hadn’t been through the foster system. Certainly hadn’t been in an abusive relationship. So where did I come off telling him what to do? Recommending therapy? Not my place.
And yet I had. I’d suggested getting help might be good. Would he understand I was only making a suggestion? Or would he think I was insisting because I was his Daddy?
Daddy . That was a tremendous amount of responsibility. Was I up for that? I’d never done this long term. Despite my protestations, I was still young. Still green. I could go on instinct, but I couldn’t fix him.
Much as I wanted to.
“I’ll see about inviting him.” You’ll also have to explain how you still live with your parents. Awkward…
He’s worth it. He’s absolutely worth it.
So I’d ask.
And pray my family doesn’t scare him off.