Chapter 13
chapter 13
“Here we are!” Naomi sang, swinging the door to Magic Hat Imports open before ushering Dev inside with a grand sweep of her arm.
Dev cocked an eyebrow and made no move to leave the sidewalk outside the store’s cheerful signage. “Another cooking class?”
The rasp of Dev’s roughened jaw against Naomi’s sticky fingertips flitted across her memory, and she forced a smirk. “No, I won’t put you through that again. And I promise not to smash anything in your face while we’re here.” With gusto, Naomi gestured into the store once more. If Dev found her bravado peculiar, he didn’t comment as he brushed past her into the store.
Still, she should probably tone it down. Usually, researching and shopping for décor was one of Naomi’s favorite parts of a rebrand. She loved digging around for the personalized touches and unique items that would pull at the client’s heartstrings and add to a customer’s lasting impression. But when it came to the bazaar, her instincts were nowhere to be found.
Cold sweat, however, she had aplenty.
Dev didn’t get very far into the store before he came to a dead stop. “Holy shit.”
“I know, right?” Naomi looked around, a sliver of cautious optimism threading through her. “Isn’t it great?”
His eyes widened in shock. “This place looks like the original setup at the bazaar.”
Naomi cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a junkyard!”
Magic Hat Imports was a little cramped. It was an odds-and-ends décor store, the kind of place where a mounted singing trout could be found next to a dainty hand-painted music box. It had a little bit of everything and stacks of nothing: the perfect starting place for someone with a broken compass.
“Trust me,” she insisted. “It’s an organized chaos.”
Dev’s eyes were riveted on a life-sized clown statue proffering a platter of wrapped candy. “It’s terrifying.”
Naomi patted his shoulder, gently removing her hand—with supreme willpower—before it lingered too long on the smooth cord of muscle there. “I’ll protect you. Follow me.” She turned left and led Dev past wicker furniture, a bin dedicated to ironic doormats, and baskets of fake exotic flowers to a dimly lit corner.
“Ta-da!” Naomi said, holding her arms out wide.
Dev’s brow furrowed. “What am I looking at here?”
Swallowing against the lump of uncertainty in her throat, Naomi turned to the shelves dedicated to imports from India. “I thought this might be a good starting point for the bazaar.”
“Why?”
The confusion in Dev’s voice flooded Naomi’s cheeks with heat as she stared at the items before her. She wasn’t suggesting they fill the Mukherjees’ café with everything before them, but surely a few hidden gems could be found amid the Ganesh lamp, the jeweled and sequined throw pillows, and the wooden carving of the om symbol. She sometimes received items like these from her grandma Kelly at Christmas: chai hot chocolate mix, paisley-printed scarves in colors that never matched anything in her wardrobe, and scented candles with bizarre names like Eastern Dream or Masala Mist.
Her stepfather’s mother’s ancestry might have traced back to Germany and Ukraine, but it had been her attempt to connect with Naomi, a well-meaning attempt to find common ground in her granddaughter’s South Asian culture. At the time, Naomi had thought it was sweet, even as she had awkwardly accepted the odd gifts. But now, with derision shading over Dev’s face, she wasn’t so sure.
Naomi couldn’t hide the tentativeness in her voice. “What’s wrong with this?”
“It’s stereotypical. We don’t want the café to look like something out of The Simpsons . I’m not even sure these are actual imports from India,” Dev said, shaking his head at the display. He lifted one of the throw pillows and showed her the tag. “Made in China.”
A bead of sweat slipped down the back of Naomi’s neck. “Well…”
Oblivious, Dev scoffed as he placed the pillow back on the shelf, lining it up perfectly in a row with the others. “Besides, my mom is too much of a snob to get behind any of these tourist-type knickknacks.” A maniacal grin spread across his face. “They would drive her crazy.”
Naomi forced a chuckle. “Well, what kind of stuff would she gravitate toward?” When Dev shrugged, Naomi tilted her head toward the rest of the store they hadn’t yet explored. “Maybe we should just wander a bit and see if anything jumps out?”
With a dubious nod, Dev started down the next aisle and, after a brief hesitation, Naomi turned on her heel and went the other way. She needed a moment to quell the nervous flutter in her throat, the privacy to wring out the moisture pooling at her collar.
She supposed she should be grateful that she had Dev on her side to help her avoid these potential pitfalls. It would’ve been a million times worse to slip up like this in front of Gia. Yet Naomi’s lungs felt like they were turning themselves inside out as she meandered down the aisle in a daze, her hand pressed against her chest. It wasn’t so much that she had screwed up in front of Dev but more that this kind of mistake had happened at all. Why hadn’t she recognized the wrongness of the South Asian section of Magic Box Imports? Why couldn’t she just get it right?
“Yikes,” Dev’s voice called from the next aisle over.
Naomi swallowed several shallow breaths before answering. “What?”
“I’m in Tiki Town.” Dev said, sounding aghast. “How about you?”
Despite herself, Naomi managed a small smile and looked around her. A Cheshire cat money bank grinned back at her. “ Alice in Wonderland hell.”
Her lungs puffed comfortably again when Dev chuckled from afar. “You’re missing out on leftovers from Grandma’s estate over here,” he called over the tall shelves.
With a giggle, Naomi moved forward more determinedly, trying to match her pace with Dev’s. “I’m in Peacock Paradise.”
“Peacocks? Stay right there.”
In a few moments, he was by her side again, nodding slowly at the peacock-themed paraphernalia in front of them. “This might actually be perfect.”
Naomi eyed a large statue of a mean-looking brass peacock and frowned. “You’re kidding, right?”
Dev followed her line of sight and snorted. “Not the stuff here exactly, but my mom has a thing for peacocks. I think her grandma used to keep a few at her compound in India.”
Although nothing on the shelf screamed taste or café appropriate, Naomi nodded, the last remnants of tightness in her chest easing. “I could look into some peacock-themed mugs. With matching napkins, maybe. They’d have to be custom-ordered, though.”
“She’d like that,” Dev confirmed. “She loves coordinating patterns.” A wry smile spread across his face. “She used to dress my brothers and me alike when we were kids. Even now, for larger events, she tries to color-coordinate us.”
Naomi swallowed a giggle and looked at the brass statue again. “Your great-grandmother raised peacocks, huh? That’s pretty cool. Did you ever see them?”
“Of course I did.” Dev punctuated his exasperation with an eye roll. “We used to fly out to India every winter break. It sucked.” His eyebrows lifted expectantly. “You know how it is.”
Naomi couldn’t bring herself to admit that she’d never traveled to India, let alone been welcomed into any blood-related family member’s home. No one had fussed over her fluctuating weight, pinched her cheek fondly, clucked their tongue over her choice of hairstyles, or a dozen of the other acts she’d seen the aunties dole out at Aashi’s dinner party.
Whether he expressed envy or not, she didn’t want Dev to know about everything she’d missed out on—all the missing pieces that added to her loneliness. It was too mortifying, too pathetic, especially after her initial ideas for decorating the bazaar had fallen flat.
“Well, we didn’t go every winter,” she lied. “But yeah, I know what you mean.”
“Your vacations were probably better than mine, though. While my dad took my brothers to play Nintendo at various relatives’ houses, my mom insisted on dragging me to all her favorite childhood haunts: overcrowded beaches, questionable food stands, sweltering movie theaters, you name it.”
Naomi could imagine a young, scowling Dev being dragged around crowded streets, his mother forcing him to enjoy relics of her past, not really caring if he didn’t. He had likely balked every time a new cultural artifact was shoved in his face—or down this throat.
It sounded wonderful to Naomi. But out loud she said, “Sounds awful.”
“Yeah, well, no one else wanted to go with her.” With a sardonic smile, Dev began moving down the aisle again. “You know, I’m glad they hired you and not some random.”
“What do you mean?” Naomi asked as she fell into step beside him.
“Like, I know you’re not Bengali and your family isn’t as bonkers as mine, but it’s nice that you get it,” he said. “It just makes things easier, you know? It can be really hard talking about this stuff with people who didn’t grow up in the same way.”
Naomi ignored the sudden pulse of her heart in her throat and nodded as if she knew exactly what Dev was talking about. As if she held claim to the experiences that shaped a South Asian person, that bonded them together and defined their existence. As if she were the real deal.
“Since we’re on the subject of family,” Dev said, his voice hesitant. “I need to ask you something kind of weird.”
Naomi’s thudding heart dropped into her stomach as, inside her worn-out sneakers, her toes curled and flexed, as if debating running away. Maybe Dev suspected she’d been lying all along. Maybe this was the moment that all the lies Naomi had strung together for the Mukherjees unraveled, right here in the whimsical teapot aisle at Magic Box Imports. Her palms were hot and sweaty, while her fingers tingled numb with cold. Anticipation warring with dread.
“I feel really bad for asking,” Dev continued. “Even though I shouldn’t.”
Just say it. But there was no way Naomi could voice the thought out loud, not when her brain was flipping through the many scenarios that could play out. Should she lie again? Admit the truth? Beg for Dev to keep her secrets to himself?
When she didn’t respond, the tips of Dev’s ears seared red. “I need you to come with me to Garba.”
“It’s not what you thin—” Naomi stopped, her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth. “What?”
“I need you to come to Garba,” Dev repeated, his voice dropping with his eyes. “With, uh, with me.” As the silence stretched between them, he rushed to add, “I know I’m asking for a big favor, but my mom hinted that she expects me to meet a lot of potential matches there.”
Naomi was reeling over the request. Cool relief shimmied through her limbs, and yet she was a little disappointed that Dev hadn’t called her out. A part of her wanted to believe that he’d understand and try to help her anyway.
With a start, she realized she didn’t want to have secrets with him, as necessary as they seemed.
“I know it’s a big ask,” Dev repeated, his discomfort etched on his face.
“I’m not sure I have anything suitable to wear,” Naomi blurted out.
A slow smile stretched across Dev’s face, framed by deep dimples. “We can fix that.”
“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Naomi said as she and Dev approached Lotus Fashions.
Dev jerked the front entrance open. “You said you needed something to wear.”
Feet frozen to the sidewalk, Naomi nervously glanced at the glass storefront before her, housing mannequins in vibrant, flowy couture, splashed with sequins and heavy, gold-embroidered borders. They were stunning, impossible to look away from. Naomi had walked past these storefronts many times in Kelowna, but never had she dared to enter for fear that the haughty looks on the mannequins would be replicated by the salespeople inside.
When Dev caught Naomi’s expression, he let go of the door and hustled to her side. “What’s wrong?”
Naomi chewed on her bottom lip. “Getting a new outfit for this Garba thing seems like overkill, doesn’t it?”
“You said you didn’t have anything suitable to wear,” Dev pointed out with a shrug. “You don’t have to wear anything brand-new.”
Naomi averted her eyes to the cracked sidewalk underneath. When she’d told him she didn’t own anything suitable for Garba, he’s assumed she didn’t own anything fancy enough . She’d decided not to correct him because the truth was, she didn’t own any type of traditional clothing. Nothing. And the idea of entering a store like Lotus Fashions filled her legs with ice, her blood slowing in her chilled veins.
“You can wear anything you want,” Dev said. “You’d look good in anything.”
Despite herself, Naomi shot him an amused glance, his pink-tinged ears bringing a small smile to her face.
“I mean,” he said hastily, “you’ll be fine in whatever. I just need a buffer.”
Naomi gave the storefront mannequins a tortured look. “Maybe you could hide behind a really tall plant or something?”
“Please, Naomi,” Dev said. “I need you there.”
Sighing, Naomi brushed past Dev and led the way into the store.
It was worse than she could have ever imagined. There were a few circular racks of outfits, but the majority of the fabrics were on ceiling-high shelves built into every wall. Long counters separated the clothing from the customers, preventing them from browsing independently, making a discreet purchase, and hustling out the door.
Before Naomi could ask Dev what they were supposed to do, a woman who looked to be about her age called from behind one of the counters. “Welcome! What are you shopping for today?”
A nudge from Dev pushed Naomi to approach her. “Um…I need something for Garba.”
“Oh, wonderful!” the woman said. “What are you thinking? Sari? Lehenga? Sharara? Anarkali? Do you have a preference for fabric type? Color?”
“I mean, anything here would be fine.” Naomi gestured at the rack of clothing in the center, earning her a vehement shake of the saleslady’s head.
“Oh, no, no, no. Those would never do for something like Garba,” she said with a solemnity that had Naomi pressing her lips together and looking at Dev helplessly.
“What do you recommend?” he asked.
“A lehenga will look so beautiful while she’s dancing and will be easier to move in.” The woman turned to examine the tower of shelves behind her. Before Naomi could pipe in that she wasn’t planning on doing any dancing, she continued, “And her skin tone would look fabulous with something bright. Orange, maybe? Pink?”
When neither Dev nor Naomi responded, she turned and looked at Dev with critical eyes. “What color are you wearing?”
“Oh, uh, I don’t kno—”
“Then perhaps matching outfits for you two today,” the saleslady said. She turned back to the shelves.
“I’ll wear something I already own,” Dev said, his voice flat.
“Color?”
“Blue.”
“Like navy blue? Sky blue? Cyan, aquamarine, cobalt, peacock—”
“Turquoise,” he interrupted as he crossed his arms over his chest. Naomi hid a smile—it was obvious that he was losing whatever little patience he had.
“And what style? Bandhgala? Kurta? Kurta with a vest? And if so, what’s the design on the ve—”
Dev’s sigh could have shaken the rafters. “Just a kurta.”
Behind the saleslady’s back, Naomi elbowed Dev, mouthing Be nice when he scowled at her.
“I have the perfect outfit,” she replied. To Naomi’s relief, she bypassed a rickety-looking ladder and pulled out a clear package with golden-yellow fabric inside. When she brought it to where they stood, Naomi could see that the contents had a turquoise design embroidered throughout. “The skirt is a nice A-line and the dupatta is turquoise, too,” she added when she saw Naomi’s interest. Silently, Naomi filed the word dupatta away to look up later. And how to wear a lehenga while she was at it.
As Naomi ran her hand over the plastic-wrapped outfit, the saleslady nodded. “Do you want me to open it?”
“It should be fine,” Naomi said.
“You’re going to look fabulous.” She smiled fondly at them both. “I love it when couples match and I think it’s so sweet that your husband came to help you pick something out.”
Naomi shook her head. “Oh, he’s not—”
It was Dev’s turn to elbow her in the ribs. “Sounds great,” he interrupted, pulling out his wallet. “We’ll take it.”
A delicious thrill shot up her spine, and she turned away to hide her reaction. “Whatever you say, honey boo boo.”