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- and triple-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 mean any 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.
I nod. “Me too.”
“It’s like I mentioned at the fair,” he says. “I owed Meera a real apology. But that’s all.”
“Right,” I say. “I reacted badly, returned to my bad habits with you, and I’m sorry.”
He’s so quiet for so long that I’m sure he can hear how loud my heart’s beating. “Touchy and hostile,” he says finally. “As usual.”
Something like hope flares in my chest at the quiet, almost fond reference.
I try not to get ahead of myself. “Yeah,” I say.
“I’ll work on that.” I lick my lips and say it before I lose the nerve.
“Because I really want this.” I gesture between us, feeling exceedingly hot and awkward, but I force myself to go on.
“I know we’re not without complications, in fact it’s more like complications-overload, but still.
” I take a beat. “I want this.” When he doesn’t reply right away, I ask, “Are you going to say something?”
A surprised, sweet smile pushes at his mouth. He steps forward, and my knees feel gooey. “I like your outfit,” he says.
It’s the compliment from the terrace all those weeks ago. A laugh escapes. “What about my pedicure?” I’m wearing open-toed heels, so I reach my leg out to display that I’ve swapped colors from fuchsia to white.
He nods seriously. “Much preferred,” he says.
“Though I miss the bandage.” We lock eyes.
His are dark and magnetic; I have to remind myself our families are all around to keep from drawing closer.
He voices the dilemma. “Rani,” he says, voice stuck in his throat.
“You can’t look at me like that in front of my mom. ”
I laugh again, and then before I can overthink it, I’m grabbing his arm and pulling him off to the side.
We hurry down a more secluded path of the gardens, and the second we’re properly out of sight, his hands find my waist, my arms go up around his neck.
His eyes, mirthful and soft, drop to my lips.
I kiss him, and he smiles against my mouth.
“I have a question,” he says after a few minutes, breaking the kiss but without moving away.
“Shoot,” I say, still flushed against his chest.
His words are slow, considered. “This is your parents’ twentieth anniversary,” he says. “And you’re—”
Horror rises in my throat. “Don’t say it,” I groan.
“Nineteen,” he finishes. His voice fills with laughter. “You’re a honeymoon baby.”
I swat him. “It’s like you want me to throw up on you.”
He laughs and pulls me back in so our noses are touching. I love looking at him up close like this. I sigh and run a hand through his hair, his curls soft in my fingers. “I can’t believe you ever shaved this off,” I say.
He rolls his eyes. “Never should have told you that.”
“Promise to run all future hair decisions by me,” I say, and he nods with solemnity. I kiss him again, warmth glowing in my chest.
“Do you wanna leave?” I ask into his mouth.
He blinks, surprised by the suggestion but not refusing. “It’s your family’s event,” he says.
I lift a shoulder. “I think I’ve earned the right to play hooky,” I say. “Just this once.”
His lips push up. “Okay,” he says. “Where should we go?”
“My place?” The suggestion is out before I clock the insinuation.
He laughs. “Childhood fantasy for you, huh?”
I gasp. “Childhood fantasy for you,” I correct, and he shrugs, not disputing. “We could also do Wanda’s,” I suggest as an evergreen alternative.
“Whatever you want,” Kush says.
I beam. “Perfect,” I say. “Should I drive?”