Chapter 10 Komal #3
“Beta, don’t you feel bad for ditching Rishi.” Priya’s bracelets jangle as she hugs me fiercely. “He’s an odd fish, always riding around on that segway. He’ll never amount to anything. You should have a date with my Sanjay. Now, he’s real husband material.”
All of us kids grew up together, which is precisely why I can’t ever date Priya Auntie’s son, even though he is a successful dentist. You can’t find someone attractive when they threw up an entire plate of fish fingers in the pool on your tenth birthday. It’s biologically impossible.
“If Papa approves, you can add his marriage resume to the pile,” I say between mouthfuls.
“Ah, here she is! Our future mayor.” Sunita Auntie thrusts Moana, her Pomeranian, into my arms. “Hold Moana while I clip her toenails, will you, love? I’ve settled Augustin in with the men. They’re going to teach him to dance.”
At the mention of Augustin, the trails of his fingers over my skin tingle again. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea—”
“Arf!” Moana scratches my arm as Sunita comes in with the clippers.
“Sunita, stop torturing that poor animal. Komal, sit with us.” Dolly Auntie pats the seat next to her.
She has her knitting spread out across the table.
As a proud member of the Naughty Knitting Club, she’s making a sweater with tiny willies on it.
“Tell us all about the handsome man you’re running against for mayor. ”
“He’s not handsome, and I should probably—”
“Helloooo, my crazy family!” Preeti breezes in in a cloud of expensive perfume, dropping her handbag and coat on the floor in the doorway.
The aunties crowd around her, kissing her cheeks, offering her food and chai.
Nothing is too much for the family success story.
She finally makes her way to me and throws her arms around my shoulders. “Komal, did you see Papa’s here?”
“I did. I actually broke him out—”
“Listen, I don’t suppose you could put the boys to bed? It’s only that I’ve had an absolute shitter of a day and they’re arguing over some toy and I just need a chai and a break.”
I don’t want to leave Augustin alone to turn my community against me, the way he charms everyone else. “Actually, I need to circulate and make sure everyone knows about my mayoral campaign—”
“Oh, Papa will do that for you!” She rolls her eyes, laughing. “Not one but two people threw up on me today. I smell awful. I thought I’d given up being covered in bodily fluids after the twins got out of diapers. Please? They love their Madam MacGyver Auntie so much.”
“I guess I can—”
“Thank you!” She kisses my cheeks. “You’re an absolute angel. Now, I am dying for a glass of wine. I stopped at the store on the way home and got something bubbly to celebrate your mayoral campaign.”
“That’s really sweet.” I feel a rush of love for my sister.
Preeti is already picking at the foil around the cork with her perfectly manicured nails.
Apart from the faint smell of vomit beneath the thick perfume, she doesn’t look like a frazzled doctor after a twelve-hour shift.
She looks like Preeti – perfectly put together and stunning and not at all a train wreck.
I glance down at myself in horror. My favourite red blazer I scored at the charity shop is now covered in dog hair, I have carpet burn on my knees from falling in the mayor’s office the other night, and stuck to the hem of my skirt is a Post-it note in Augustin’s tidy handwriting.
Wagon Wheels
3 x XL gardening gloves
Garlic pizza bread
Coffin polish
It must’ve got stuck there after the stationery cupboard incident. Have I really gone through the whole day without even noticing a vampire’s shopping list stuck to my skirt?
Why does a vampire need to buy garlic pizza bread?
Or gardening gloves?
I think of Augustin running across the hospital parking lot, petals and vines falling off his body like… like he created them.
“Magic,” he said when I asked him, but what about Augustin Durant could possibly be magic?
I quickly pull off the note and shove it in my purse, but no one has noticed.
Preeti’s still struggling with the bottle.
“I can never get these infernal things open. Komal? Fix it!” Preeti thrusts the bottle under my nose.
She’s made a tiny tear in the corner. I shove the corkscrew in and pop it for her.
Preeti pours everyone a glass and sits down to eat and chat with the aunties about all the patients she saw that day, while I wearily trudge upstairs to deal with the twins.
After all the kids are put down to sleep in various spare bedrooms and nooks, Social Night really kicks off.
Everyone gathers around the conservatory and patio area to show off their dance skills.
The aunties have given out scorecards to the elders, and everyone claps and laughs as scores are given out and old grudges are settled.
The aunties do a choreographed dance to “Gallan Goodiyaan” from Dil Dhadakne Do that they perform at every opportunity.
Then, Mamma spins Papa around in his wheelchair to one of their favourite songs, “Pehla Nasha” from Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar.
The lyrics are all about the head-in-the-clouds, feet-flying-over-the-ground feeling of falling in love.
They kiss at the end and receive a nearly perfect score and lots of cheers.
“Beta, you must dance!” Papa reaches for me, grinning.
“Sure, Papa, I’ll dance with you.”
“Not with me. With him!”
Papa points to Augustin, who looks like he’s desperately wishing his vampire powers included instantly transforming into a swarm of bats so he could fly out of here. The aunties take up the chant. “Dance, dance, dance!”
The last thing I want to do is dance a Bollywood song with my archrival and give Sunita an image to hold onto, but I can’t say no to Papa’s beaming smile, so I grit my teeth and turn to Augustin. “We’re dancing.”
“We are not.”