Chapter 20
chapter 20
Two weeks later, Dev was halfway down the bazaar’s rickety staircase when he heard the crash and skitter of something very breakable falling to the floor. Pulse pounding, he hurried the rest of the way and burst through the beaded entryway, well aware that the clatter of shells and tiny bells was an entrance fit for a hippie in a low-budget psychedelic movie from the seventies.
“Naomi, are you ok—” Dev stuttered to a stop when he saw that it was Neel who was responsible for the noise. Seeing his older brother frowning in irritation that one of Aashi’s vintage ceramic teapots had dared to slip from his meaty grasp reminded Dev that he wouldn’t be seeing Naomi until later that evening because she had a dentist appointment. The realization washed an unfamiliar sense of contentment over him.
It was nice knowing something so intimate as a person’s whereabouts, even something as insignificant as a trip to a dental clinic. It was absurdly comforting: he knew where she was, and when he would see her again.
Too bad Neel, who kicked a few of the shards away with no intention of cleaning them up himself, was exactly the right person to bring him down. Dev grabbed a dustpan from behind the counter and began sweeping up the mess as Neel moved on, unapologetic, with his trademark douchebag swagger.
“It kind of stinks in here,” his brother said.
“They did the final coat yesterday.”
“Is that so?” Neel glanced around the room with a smirk. “Interesting color choices.”
Dev rattled the contents of the dustpan, his eyes trained on the ceramic shards. “You better hope Mashi isn’t mad that you broke this.”
“They’re junk.”
But they mean something to her. Not that Neel would get it. Just like when he dropped his daughters off in their mother’s care without any prior notice, as if Gia had nothing better to do.
Or when he showed up to family dinner over a half hour late, unperturbed that they were waiting on him. Neel never got it. He, too, had inherited some of their father’s worst qualities, but, unlike Dev, Neel didn’t loathe or fear them. He basked in them.
He always had, and it had set an indiscernible tone in the Mukherjee household. Neel trailed after their father like an impressionable puppy, their father barely noticing his firstborn’s adoration—or anyone, really—as he obsessed over his career. Dev had quietly sided with Gia, doing the best he could for such a stubborn and critical woman. And Dhan had hidden away in his own space, separate from and seemingly unaffected by whatever tension brewed outside his bubble.
The three brothers had been close, once upon a time. But as Dev studied his older brother now, snapping pictures of various angles in the room on his camera phone, he could barely remember those days. He was more attuned to his level of annoyance, which had shot up from a casual everyday five to a simmering six.
“What are you doing?” Dev asked.
Neel ignored him and crouched like a wildlife photographer so he could get a close-up of the floor.
Seven and a half. Dev rubbed the bridge of his nose, where a headache was taking root. He wished Dhan were here. Although Neel tended to bully them both, Dhan’s laid-back, quirky sense of humor helped soothe the jagged edges of Dev’s irritation.
There wasn’t much to photograph yet. Save for the couch and kids’ area in one corner, the hand-built white counter, and the heavy wood family-style table with matching benches along the wall, the bulk of the furniture and décor had yet to arrive. Dev knew it was a source of stress for Naomi, whom he had heard mumbling words like back order and discontinued in her sleep.
Neel wandered toward the long, rectangular table and rapped his knuckles against it.
“Well, this’ll have to go,” he said. Neel peered down its length, which could seat ten adults, and shook his head.
“What do you mean?” Dev asked as he joined Neel’s side.
“If we want to capitalize on this place,” Neel said, “then we don’t want the vibe that people should stay and hang out. A long high top along this window with cheap plastic chairs would be better. We want people to guzzle their drinks and then make room for the next customer.” Neel’s chest puffed as he expanded his hands to conceptualize his version of a masterpiece for his brother.
Dev frowned. “What about customers who like people watching?” he asked, nodding at the long window stretched across the wall.
“Uncomfortable chairs will take care of that,” Neel said with a smarmy wink. “I’m not feeling that, either,” he added, gesturing at the gleaming white display cases Nick had installed next to the cash register. “It’s not necessary. It should be more like how the bazaar used to be: prepackaged, imported snacks. Like a convenience store.”
Dev hid his fists by crossing his arms over his chest. Thank God his mother had decided to hire a brand consultant for the bazaar; Neel’s ideas were god-awful. If his brother was looking for a grab-and-go kind of café, he was not going to be pleased when the cushioned wicker chairs and inviting throw pillows Naomi planned to toss on the couch arrived.
“Mom already approved the design,” Dev pointed out.
“Yeah, well, out with the old and in with the profitable, bro,” Neel smirked. “I called Mom last night and told her about my plans for the store.”
“And what did she say? What were her exact words?”
“What could she say? You can’t argue with logic.”
More like, she can’t argue with you. It wouldn’t have taken much for Gia to give up against Neel, the de facto head of the household. Like their father, he tended to barrel through conversations and situations, and Gia was more likely to scuttle out of Neel’s path rather than stand her ground. After all, she’d done the same with her husband many times, swishing in and out of sight to do her husband’s bidding, regardless of how it affected her. It was what she’d been taught a “proper” Bengali wife should do.
Which was why Dev would never be able to comprehend why his mother believed he would want a similar life. His mother was looking for herself in a daughter-in-law—flexible, domestic, traditional—but he’d never seen Gia particularly happy with her marriage. Or satisfied. He knew she took pride in their hard-earned wealth, their sterling reputation in the community. But how could she not understand that maybe her middle son needed more?
He’d never seen his mother advocate for herself with his father, and if she couldn’t do it with Neel, he would have to step in.
“So she agreed?” Dev pressed. “She said, ‘Yes, the bazaar is yours to do as you like’?”
Neel bent at the waist to examine the underside of the table. “Not in so many words, but basically, sure,” he murmured, distracted. “Who is your contractor? I need to have a word with him.”
“Any changes you want to make should be taken up with Naomi.”
With a snort, Neel straightened and folded his arms across his chest. “I’d rather take it up with the guy in charge.” When Neel finally took stock of Dev’s narrowed gaze, he smirked again. “Uh-oh, don’t tell me Downer Dev is back.”
At Neel’s childhood nickname for him, Dev’s jaw clenched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Neel shrugged and moved toward the long white counters. “Everyone’s been talking about how cheerful you’ve been for the past few weeks. All happy and shit. But I knew Downer Dev would make a comeback eventually.”
“What?”
“Because I know you—”
“No,” Dev said. “Who’s been talking about me?”
“Mom and Aashi talk all the time about how you’re acting different. They think you’re in love or something.”
Something cold fisted Dev’s spine, and he straightened. “In love? With whom?”
“Dunno. Your future wife, maybe? They’re calling the matchmaker a miracle worker.”
The revelation was a lump of half-chewed, undercooked samosa lodged in his throat. Had he been acting different? Maybe he hadn’t grumbled enough when Gia had guilt-tripped him into escorting her and her granddaughters to the local kangaroo sanctuary because she was unfamiliar with the area. It was possible that the last time the topic of the matchmaker had come up around the family dinner table, he’d made the mistake of shrugging off his aunt’s teasing too good-naturedly.
Shit. He had been acting differently. But his mother hadn’t cuffed him on the back of the head yet or called the firing squad, so there was no way she knew the real reason behind the improvement in his mood. Everything between him and Naomi—everything real, anyway—was, so far, a secret for two.
But maybe that needed to change.
The idea of thwarting yet another potential bride had never sat well with Dev, but it was no longer just another annoying part of his culture that he wanted to avoid. The thought of faking a relationship with Naomi peeled a layer from his insides, flooded his body with a chill that was both uncomfortable and nauseating. He didn’t want to pretend anymore, to subvert his family as if doing so would fulfill him and get him what he wanted.
Yes. It was time for a change.