Chapter Thirteen #2
She turned on the stove and placed the pot full of liquid on top of the burner.
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry.” Aarthi’s tone was sympathetic, but her shoulders were relaxed as she broke up the cauliflower florets.
Actually, she looked way less stressed than she had this morning. What had changed? If anything, Sejal had expected her to
be more uptight, given where they’d left their conversation earlier.
Maybe she really is just a florist.
Sejal watched the light gleam on the knife Aarthi was expertly handling. Ha. Not a chance.
“Who raised you, if you don’t mind my asking. Aunts, uncles?”
“I raised myself,” Sejal murmured. “We had an aunt, but she was also not very . . . present.” Though it had been great when she was.
Auntie Rhea had swept into their lives every few months and taken over all the chores and responsibilities and regaled them with tales about saving the world via a nonprofit that had never existed.
For at least a week when she’d visited, Sejal hadn’t had to worry about what she would feed Mira or taking her to Brownie meetings.
She’d had someone who made them delicious food, not the chicken nuggets they subsisted on, and asked her if she’d done her homework.
“We?”
“My younger sister and I.”
“I see. A younger sister. You’re like Krish, the eldest sibling.” Aarthi’s smile was tighter. “He adores his younger brother,
always has. I’m sure you’re close to your sister, too.”
The brother. Gosh, she wished she’d won that second game of cards, because she’d like to know more about this little brother. If only this
wasn’t an impersonal safe house, so she could actually see photos of the guy. “Yes.”
“Is the water boiling? Put in two scoops of tea, and then the masala and sugar. And what does your sister do?” Aarthi moved
the chopped-up cauliflower to a bowl and started in on the carrots.
“She’s an accountant. She went to USC.” The pride in Sejal’s voice was natural, despite the fact that she and Mira didn’t
speak. She’d always been proud of what her sister had accomplished. No one knew better than Sejal how hard it was to escape
from a dysfunctional family. That Mira had busted free was amazing.
“Wow. Where did you go to college?”
Sejal rubbed her nose. Make it up. Sejal didn’t go to college, but of course Seema did. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single university, though she’d just named one. “Um . . . I didn’t go.”
Aarthi was silent for a beat. “Interesting. Bring the tea to a boil twice, and then you can strain the chai into mugs.”
To keep herself too busy to talk, Sejal hunted for the mugs and strainer. Was Krishna back yet? Why couldn’t he be the one here, dealing with his mom, while she was the one petting baby goats?
They worked in companionable silence for a while, Sejal studiously watching the chai boil. There was something oddly peaceful
about this, making the tea. Like she was participating in a ritual she hadn’t realized existed. A normal ritual that normal
people did all over the world, generation after generation. She supposed she could thank Aarthi for teaching her.
Once the chai was done, Sejal clumsily poured the liquid into two mugs, spilling a bit in the process. She handed Aarthi the
mug that said “Mrs.” on it and took the one that said “Mr.” for herself. “Your husband really likes coordinating with you,
huh?”
Sejal hadn’t realized how hard Aarthi’s expression was until it softened minutely at the mention of her husband. “He does
indeed.” Aarthi placed her knife on the butcher block, took a drink, closed her eyes, and sighed. “That hits the spot. Pretty
good. See? Easy. Now. Tell me what you really do for a living.”
Sejal raised her eyebrows.
Gone were the relaxed shoulders. Aarthi’s back was straight and her eyes intense. At that exact moment, Sejal realized that
Krish’s mother had definitely been interrogating her all this time while teaching her.
She swallowed her odd sense of disappointment that this hadn’t been a normal encounter for Aarthi. At least she could find
solace in the satisfaction of knowing that there was no fucking way this lady was a florist. Sejal’s cop-dar remained top
tier, even though she’d missed Krish.
You can gloat later. This woman might actually kill you, judging by the cold look in her eyes.
“Sales.”
“Bullshit.”
Sejal nodded slowly. “Okay. I busk. Bar bets.”
“What’s your act?”
She answered as fast as Aarthi asked, like it was a race. Quick answers were usually the truth, and truths always made lies
easier to swallow. “Close-up magic.”
“You are an illusionist, then? That was one thing I hoped Krish was lying about.”
“No, I’m not. Illusionist implies some sort of act or show. I have a few card tricks up my sleeve is all.”
Aarthi narrowed her gaze at her. “Even a magician should have ambition, girl.”
Sejal bristled. “I do have—” Wait, did she have ambition? She wasn’t sure.
“How did you get mixed up in the Ivanovitches?”
“I was young, and Alexei is barely an Ivanovitch.” Though, to be fair, even the youngest, most hapless member of a mafia family
had a regrettable amount of power.
Aarthi scoffed. “Alexei has as much money and connections as his brothers, even if his daddy hates him.”
The best defense . . . Sejal mirrored her pose. She was grateful, actually, that she’d made the chai. Better for Aarthi to have the mug in
her hands and not a knife. “Seems like you’ve done some homework.”
“I have. I don’t really know what your game is here, but I know I do not want my son involved. So how much or what do you
want?”
Sejal paused. “Are you . . . offering me money?”
“Will that get you away from my son?”
Don’t threaten me with a good time, Aarthi.
Because that was what was best, yeah? Being paid to get away from an FBI agent who had plainly stated he wanted to use her?
She did like money. And money could get her to Vegas and help her get Alexei off their backs.
Yes, that sounded perfect. So why was she hesitating?
Because you don’t want to leave Krish.
Argh.
“Name your price.”
Great, great. Sejal would do exactly that. When she opened her mouth, she was surprised at the words that popped out. “Admit
you’re a cop first.”
Aarthi huffed out a laugh, then stopped when she realized Sejal wasn’t smiling. “You’re serious?”
Sejal shrugged. “I like to know that my instincts are right.”
“All I am now is a mother. Who doesn’t want to see her son hurt.”
Sejal took a step forward but stopped when Aarthi took a corresponding step back. “I’m not going to hurt Krish, I promise,”
she said, which shocked them both, because Sejal had thought she was about to say, Okay, give me a million dollars and I’m out of here.
Aarthi’s lips twisted. “And I’m supposed to believe you?”
No. No one should trust me. “Yes” was her response, though, and she said it with a conviction that she almost believed.
“He’s not a part of this.” Aarthi gestured at her, which Sejal took to mean the gritty underbelly of the criminal world. She could take offense, but there was a touch of pleading in Aarthi’s words that made Sejal want to comfort her as badly as she’d wanted to comfort Krish.
“You underestimate him. He would surprise you,” Sejal said quietly.
Aarthi’s lips trembled, an unexpected sign of emotion. “I can’t lose someone I love to dangerous people again.”
“I—I’m sorry about Krish’s father.” But I am not my parents, and I won’t hurt your son.
Aarthi put down her barely touched chai. Her eyes grew misty. “He told you.”
“It must have been hard to lose him so traumatically. And to see your son injured at the same time.”
“You have no idea,” Aarthi spat out, her stoic facade eroding.
“I don’t. But I understand why you may be protective of him.”
“I should have been there to protect him. I see my failure in his face every time I look at him. I won’t fail him again.”
Sejal winced and gave a low whistle. Krish might not be self-conscious about his scar now, but it wouldn’t surprise her if
he had been when he was young. The first negative reaction to it had come from his mother. “I empathize with you, I really
do. But his face belongs to him, it’s not a place for you to project your own regrets. Does he know that it hurts you so much
to look at him?”
“Don’t worry, I’m well aware.”
Sejal and Aarthi turned to the doorway to see Krish, with his stepfather a step behind him.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Krish,” Aarthi said, draping her composure back around herself like a cloak.
Krish ignored her. “Are you trying to buy off my girlfriend, Mother?”
He didn’t sound surprised, which made Sejal wonder if Aarthi had tried to buy off previous girlfriends, fake or otherwise. What was the average dollar amount that she’d missed out on?
“Don’t be silly.”
Krish came to stand next to Sejal and took the mug from her hands. Calmly, he took a sip. Patrick quietly walked over to stand
behind his wife. How Krish could be relaxed in this charged atmosphere, Sejal wasn’t really sure, but the man had cool in
spades. She was going to emulate that someday.
Aarthi’s gaze searched her son’s face. “I can help you.”
He shook his head, lips tight. “You can’t.”
“Stay here.” Aarthi’s voice rose on the last word. “Where you’ll be safe.”
Ah, God. This was tough to watch. Sejal didn’t know much about maternal love, but she knew it when she saw it, and it oozed
out of Aarthi. And Sejal was the reason for that worry. Sejal and her family. Maybe you are like them.
No. “Uh, let’s take a break and—”
Krish shifted his weight. “Were you able to get the things we need?”
Aarthi wrung her hands in front of her. “I did, yes.”
“Then I think it’s best we leave right away.”
Aarthi drew back, probably at the finality in Krish’s voice. “Krish—”
“Son,” Patrick rumbled. “Eat first, at least.”
Sejal wanted to leave this place ASAP. She wasn’t dying to have Krish’s mom question her any more, or to keep on being constantly
reminded that she didn’t come from the kind of family anyone would want around.