Chapter 26
Manisha woke up feeling as though she’d barely slept. She had stayed up way too late waiting for a response from Sunil, mind swirling with thoughts of his mother, Curry and Cupid, her own deception.
She moved through her morning routine, getting dressed, trying not to let her worry that she’d said the wrong thing get to her.
The crisp morning air felt refreshing as she stepped outside, holding a steaming cup of chai in one hand.
The rising sun painted the backyard garden in soft golden light, the vegetables still dewy from the early morning.
She sank into her favourite cozy red chair as her phone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts.
She smiled with relief as she saw Sunil’s name in her inbox.
Sorry, Isha. The long day caught up to me and I ended up passing out. But thank you for saying that. I try to carry her with me in everything that I do.
On a lighter note, I’m in need of some serious caffeine this morning. Are you a coffee or tea kind of gal? –S
You and me both, Manisha thought.
Chai, all the way! I’m having some right now. How about you?
BTW, I’ve got another date lined up for tomorrow. Can I get a rah-rah?
Isha
Suddenly, the house phone rang. The automated voice announced an incoming call from Leena Singhal.
Her dad’s voice boomed from inside. “Delete!” he shouted, as if the phone would just stop ringing at the command.
Manisha blinked in shock, then rushed into the kitchen where her Dad was glaring bitterly at the answering machine. “Dad, you can’t stop the call by yelling ‘delete’ at it.”
He looked up at her and sighed. “I meant, just…delete the whole situation.”
Manisha leaned in, intrigued. “Why do you always get so upset when Grandma calls?”
He gave her a weary look, then softened. “It’s between adults.”
Manisha wasn’t about to let it go. “Dad, I’m an adult, too. I’m allowed to know what’s going on. I’m not a kid anymore.” Her voice didn’t sound exactly like an adult’s—more like someone trying too hard to sound grown-up—but she was determined to get to the bottom of it.
He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Beta, your nani wasn’t there for us when we needed her. Instead of helping, she tried to drive a wedge between your mother and me.”
Manisha’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean, ‘drive a wedge’?”
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Marriage is hard work, and your mother always knew that. No matter what came our way, we faced it together. But, well, not everyone understands that.”
Manisha was quiet for a moment. “I feel like there’s more to this story…”
“There is, beta,” he said, his voice softening. “But that’s all I can say for now.”
She offered him a small smile. “Thanks for sharing what you could. I really admire how you and Mom have always stuck together. It’s something I truly value.
Rohit even mentioned it the other day—how having someone you can depend on makes all the difference.
It really stuck with me.” Her dad looked at her for a moment, then gave a small, knowing nod.
“Yes, the Khannas taught us a lot about that, too. When your grandmother wasn’t there for us, they were.”
Manisha couldn’t help but think of Rohit and how Lucky had failed him when he needed support the most.
“There was no Google or Siri back then,” her dad said, his voice softening as he gazed into the distance, lost in nostalgia.
“It was just your mom and me, armed with a handful of English words, trying to figure out how to get a driver’s licence, a mortgage, and our citizenship.
And Uncle Jas…he helped us with everything.
We didn’t have a rupee to our name, but when we finally made it, he wouldn’t take a single penny back.
All he asked was that we pay it forward. ”
Manisha smiled softly. “That’s what Rohit hopes to do with the new Chai Time. Pay it forward. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”
Her dad grinned. “Rohit’s a good man.”
“I know that now,” Manisha said, thinking back to their recent conversation.
“He wants to turn the coffee shop into a hub for local artists. Something his mom really wanted to do. I really admire how he’s giving back to the community, and the best part is, he doesn’t expect anything in return, Dad. ”
Her dad raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you two have some common interests.”
Manisha sighed at the familiar phrase her mother had used only a few days ago. “Except he actually loves what he does for a living now…” She added more loudly, “But I’m just happy he found love again after all that’s happened with Lucky.”
Her dad nodded. “We all deserve to be happy, even after tough times.”
As he bent down to pull another weed, he smiled. “I’m feeling good today. I’m going to make some Italian food tonight. You know, after the army, I worked in a few restaurants, and I met this man, Mario, who taught me how to make panzerotti.”
Manisha laughed. “Oh no, not the panzerotti story again…”
Her dad’s face lit up. “It was the 1980s! An Indian man, making panzerotti in an Italian restaurant. Imagine that!”
She chuckled. “And that’s how you became the world’s best chef ?”
He gave her a mock bow. “Of course. All that experience made me the great father I am today. Sammy, Sanj, and you—spoiled in more ways than just food. You’ve all had a good life because of it.”
Manisha smiled warmly. “Thanks, Dad. You’ve really given us everything. We’re lucky.”
Just then, her phone buzzed again, pulling her attention away from the heartfelt moment.
Indian chai for the win. Actually, seeing you put yourself out there has really empowered me. It’s time for me to get back out there, too. If I’m being honest, I think I’ve been ready for a couple days now, even when I said I wasn’t. I was just in my head. Nerves, you know? So rah-rah to us both!
Manisha grinned down at her screen, a warmth blossoming in her chest, like knowing that she had brought Sunil one step closer to finding his love had sown something deep inside of her.
That’s amazing, Sunil!
Her dad shook his head with a grin. “All you kids, glued to your phones all day long. Type, type, type. What could possibly be so interesting?”
She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Dad. I was talking to a friend.”
He gave her a knowing look. “I don’t even own a cell phone, and my life is just fine.”
Manisha smirked. “We got you one last year, remember? But you said it was only good for getting calls from Mom, and then it mysteriously disappeared.”
Her dad’s gaze flicked away. “Oh, that’s right. I think…someone must have stolen it.”
Manisha raised an eyebrow. “As your daughter, who knows you better than anyone, I’m pretty sure you lost it on purpose.”
He grinned. “I think I need a lawyer.”
Manisha winked at him. “I happen to know one.”
They both burst out laughing, the moment light and easy between them.