Chapter 25 Nisha #2
“I made extra to box up for a few of my friends at the shelter,” I say, thinking about Hector and Abby.
Abby’s been on my mind lately. And though I still don’t know why she’s here or what she’s looking for, she’s getting more comfortable being around me, different from the fidgety, almost-silent woman I first met.
Part of me thinks I could even broach the subject .
. . offer to help her find whatever it is she’s looking for without her clamming up on me.
I reach for the knife. “Patton, you don’t need to do everything. I can slice a few vegetables. I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”
“I never said you’re an invalid. But I’d hate for this sexy apron-tiara-wings combo to not reach its maximum potential. Let me show you how good I look cutting vegetables.”
I tilt my head, giving him a be-for-real look.
Patton pinches my chin, tilting my head up to brush his lips over mine. “Please? Let me feed and water you.”
My chest squeezes as memories of him saying that same silly line to me so many times dances in my vision. And just like that, between his gentle caress and those ridiculous fairy wings, I cave faster than a five-minute Target run that ends with three cartfuls of throw pillows I didn’t need.
Ugh, the man makes it so hard to negotiate. Or think straight.
“Ew! Aunt Nisha?!” Rome cries, flinging himself onto the couch with his hands plastered over his eyes like he has sand in them. “You and Uncle Patton kissing is making my eyes burn.”
Pearl immediately copies him, launching herself next to him. She has no idea why she’s doing it, but if her brother is being dramatic, then she’s going all in.
I take in the one-earringed fairy-man still cradling my face, the two melodramatic kids in my living room, and the horse-like dog with Darth Vader’s head sticking out of one end of his mouth and wonder where it all went wrong.
How did I end up with this off-brand cast of The Muppets movie directed by Tim Burton?
And yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Fine!” I say, throwing up my arms. “But only because you look cute, and apparently, I have a weakness for men with wings.”
Patton kisses my forehead. “That’s my girl.”
I settle onto the couch between the two drama queens, who are still covering their eyes like they’re shielding themselves from a gruesome scene in a horror movie.
“You two are ridiculous,” I say, tickling both their sides and making them wiggle until they’re squealing. When they catch their breaths, I look over at Rome, signing as I speak. “That reminds me . . . I made you both something.”
“What is it?” Pearl signs, her red hair now a complete mess. “Is it another friendship bracelet?”
“No.” I shake my head, recalling how the three of us strung friendship bracelets together the last time they were here. I sign the rest to both Rome and Pearl, my hands moving to form each word. “It’s in the bottom drawer of my dresser. Want to go hunt for it? You’ll know which one is yours.”
“Yes!” Rome calls out, already heading to my room with an excited Pearl in tow.
Bob gets up from his spot near the window to follow the kids, coming back when he’s halfway there to pick up the dildo he forgot. It continues to say, “I’m your father,” all the way to my room.
I sigh, leaning my head back on the couch, watching Patton move around in the kitchen, his fairy wings getting in the way of practically everything. When he catches me watching him, he shakes his shoulders and waggles his brows at me like he’s Tinkerbell’s weird and inappropriate cousin.
I burst out laughing, feeling my chest flood with a warmth I don’t think I’ve ever felt before, not even for him.
It’s like someone snuck a space heater inside my ribs.
I thought I’d felt it all before when it came to this man, but this .
. . this feels different. It’s not a new feeling per se, but one that feels like it’s been dialed up to the max setting.
Rome’s voice fills the room as both he and Pearl come running back, having found their gifts. “You knitted all the planets in the solar system on this scarf!”
“Not just that,” I say and sign. Both kids are admiring their new scarves with so much love, you’d think I’d gifted them their own ponies. “The planets should all be proportionally correct. I did my research, little man.”
Rome flings his arms around my neck. “Thank you, masi.”
I lift a brow. “Wow, you finally call me masi when your mom’s not around to hear you, huh?”
Masi, the word for aunt in Hindi and many Indian dialects, in fact, is something my sister has been trying to get him to call me. But the little booger refuses to do it, until now, apparently.
Rome shrugs before we both look at Pearl.
“You like your scarf, Pearl-girl?” I ask, using the nickname I’ve given her.
She nods, signing. “It has fairies with wings and dresses in all the colors! I can’t wait to wear it to school!”
Bob’s sharp bark has us jumping out of an embrace. He’s sniffing the corner of my front door with so much interest, I’m worried he’s going to get lightheaded.
There’s a knock on my door, and I start to get off the couch, announcing, “I’ll get it.”
“Absolutely not,” Patton calls from the kitchen, already moving to my door. “You stay put. I’ve got it.”
I roll my eyes at him, feigning exasperation, just as he swings the door open, revealing my dad and Emanuel on the other side.
Wearing one of his many Hawaiian shirts, Dad’s holding a covered cake dish in one hand and a paper bag in the other.
His giant of a boyfriend holds Sapphire’s mesh carrier in his hands.
Not exaggerating, that carrier probably costs more than some high-end Chanel bags.
Sapphire’s disapproving white-furred face can be seen looking out from the mesh window, her eyes darting from the fairy-man to Bob.
I don’t have to be an animal mind reader to know she’s wondering how the high-society likes of her got stuck coming to this circus.
“Patton, darling!” Dad exclaims, walking inside without needing a formal invite.
He sets the cake dish and paper bag on the table in my foyer before pulling Patton into a huge hug.
“Look at you. Still devastatingly handsome as ever, even in . . .” He steps back, taking in Patton’s ensemble.
“Well, this is certainly a new look for you. You’re giving haute couture meets forest woodland creature.
Honestly, I love it. I may even have to commission a painting. ”
Patton rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, the tops of his cheeks a little red. “I’ve had to do a lot of costume changes in my line of work, but I can’t say I’ve ever worn something quite this . . . sparkly. Your grandkids are very persuasive, Suraj.”
“I’d say that was less persuasion and more welcoming you back into the family.”
Emanuel places Sapphire’s carrier on the ground, and she immediately launches into her signature snarl at Bob.
Patton’s droopy-eyed dog just stares at her for a moment like he couldn’t be bothered before trotting back to get his prized possession.
He places the dildo in front of her crate like a peace offering, making her bark when Vader’s mechanical voice streams through it.
“I’m your father.”
Dad frowns down at the object near his precious dog-daughter like it’s going to slither its way into her carrier and contaminate her royal bloodline before he’s distracted by two pairs of little arms around his legs.
“Grandpa!” Rome says happily. “Are you here for our barbecue?”
Dad runs gentle hands over both Pearl and Rome’s hair before signing for Pearl’s benefit. “Oh no, darlings. Emanuel and I are headed to the winery for a tasting of their reserved wines. We’re just dropping off my famous French toast bundt cake and ladoos.”
“Ooh, I love your bundt cakes, Grandpa!” Rome’s hands work as he speaks, peeking inside the paper bag. “But what are ladoos?”
“They’re Indian sweets made with flour, ghee, and sugar.
I used your grandma’s recipe, which was passed down to her by her mother.
These ladoos have walnuts and dried fruits as well, which are supposed to help during pregnancy and even postpartum.
” Dad bops Rome on the nose. “But don’t worry, you can eat them even if you’re not pregnant. ”
Rome’s eyes light up. “Can we have some now, Aunt Nisha?”
“Before lunch?” I ask, making my way over to them.
“Please?” Rome and Pearl sign the same word like they’re telepathically communicating.
I sigh. “Fine, but only if you call me masi again.”
“Oh, fine,” Rome grumbles, hands moving as he signs. “Can we have a piece of cake and a ladoo before our burgers, masi?”
I smile. “Okay, but you can’t tell your parents when they call and check in from Cabo.”
The kids squeal, rushing toward the kitchen with the cake dish and paper bag.
I wrap my arms around my father, breathing in his floral cologne, before placing a kiss on his cheek. At five-foot-four—three inches shorter than me and Sarina—he’s not a tall man, but where he lacks height, he makes up for in personality.
“Thank you for the cake and ladoos, Dad. You really didn’t have to do all that.”
He flicks a hand at me, his bangles jingling. “Oh, you stop. In your condition, I want you to eat everything your heart desires.” He pats my cheek before looking at Patton. “And how is my son-in-law treating you?”
Patton and I exchange an awkward glance. It’s been ages since Dad’s referred to him as his son-in-law—at least in Patton’s vicinity—but something in his tone suggests it wasn’t a slip of the tongue.
I narrow my eyes at Patton. “He’s not letting me lift a finger, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Dad squeezes Patton’s bicep with mostly affection, and perhaps a little flirting—because, of course, he does. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. I was just telling Emanuel how much I’ve missed our monthly calls.”
My head snaps to Patton, who looks like he’s been zapped by a live wire. “Pardon? Your monthly calls?”
“Oh, my.” Dad places his fingers on his lips, feigning innocence. “Did I accidentally say that out loud?”
“Dad—”
“Now, before you get that look on your face, darling,” Dad cuts me off.
“You should know that divorce or no divorce, I have loved this boy like he was my own since you were sixteen, watching Family Guy reruns on our couch. Just because you two couldn’t figure out your crap, didn’t mean I was ready to lose a son. ”
Vulnerability and gratefulness shines in Patton’s eyes.
“You had people, Nisha,” Dad continues. “You had me, your sister, and Piper. Yes, you went through something extremely traumatic, but so did this man. And he repented every single day for the hurt he caused you. But what sort of father would I be if I left him with no one to talk to during the worst time of his life?”
Patton runs a hand down his face, taking in a shaky breath. I know him well enough to know he’s holding back tears.
Jaw tightening, he nods at my dad with so much affection in his eyes, it squeezes my lungs. “Thank you, Suraj. I”—he clears his throat—“I wouldn’t be standing here without you.”
My eyes widen. “What does that even mean? That you wouldn’t be standing here without him?”
Patton squeezes his eyes shut, taking a moment to ground himself.
“I went through some dark times, Neesh. Times when I needed someone who knew me—actually knew me and wanted nothing from me. Your dad was . . .” He pauses, his throat bobbing.
“He was always a phone call away. And when I told him how much I still wanted you back, he told me how you’d be at that tournament in L.A.
He’s also the one who gave me your new phone number. ”
My mouth drops open as I look at my dad, who simply shrugs.
“Oh, I know you’re my daughter, but stop with your theatrics, darling.
I kept my mouth shut for six years when it came to your whereabouts, aside from generally letting him know you were doing okay.
But the man would not shut up about you.
And you were no better . . . what with your online stalking and watching each of his movies dozens of times.
I decided that enough was enough. I had to do something!
So, I may have casually suggested that he show up at that tournament to win you back.
But, of course, my daughters are nothing if not stubborn mules.
The poor guy had to pitch an entire movie idea and move in across the street from you just to get your attention. ”
“Oh. My. God,” I say slowly, placing my hand over my forehead, wondering if I’m coming down with a fever. “I was wondering how you got my number and texted me with the ‘Hey’ all those weeks ago.”
Patton squints at me accusingly. “Which you never responded to, by the way.”
I point a finger at my dad. “You scheming, underhanded—”
Completely ignoring my meltdown, Dad turns to my ex-husband. “Yes, well . . . Patton, I think you can take it from here, can’t you, son? My work is done, and I do believe that wine is calling my name.”
“Dad!” I call at his retreating back, half-shocked, half-amused. “Are you serious right now? You’re going to drop a bombshell like that and just . . . leave?”
“Sweetheart, let this go.” Dad flicks his wrist again. “Focus on your present and future. The past has weighed you down long enough, don’t you think?”
My shoulders slump as the truth in his words land like gentle slaps. For a moment, I’m frozen and then, all at once, a stream of tears rolls down my cheeks like a damn waterfall. Stupid pregnancy hormones!
But it’s not just the hormones; it’s the realization that Dad spoke to Patton regularly. Comforted him, cared for him when my ex needed someone. And he did so while respecting my boundaries and wishes but understanding my heart.
Dad rarely meddled over the years, though he did call me a stubborn mule on more than one occasion.
So as much as I want to be angry about his hand in this, I can’t be.
Because my dad—someone both my sister and I have always agreed is the greatest father in the universe—has wanted nothing but the best for us.
So yes, he schemed a little. But I’ll forgive him for it.
Dad gathers me into a hug. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
I sniffle into his collar. “No, I’m not upset.”
“Are you sure? Because you seem perfectly intent on ruining my four-hundred-dollar handwoven shirt with your snot.”
I snort-laugh. “You have a hundred of the same ones in your closet.”
“And now, it seems, I’ll have one less.”
I squeeze him tighter. “I love you, Daddy. Thank you for . . . for being you.”
He kisses my temple. “I love you, too, daughter. Now, go dry those tears and see if you can sneak off to get some vitamin D with your handsome Hollywood hunk here.”
I groan, knowing he doesn’t mean vitamin D from the sun.