Samira had been shocked and called Pia on her cell straightaway. But Pia had been screening calls, and when they saw each other at work the next day, Pia had been brusque, all business. She’d confirmed the separation, saying it had been her way of jolting Dev into seeking professional help, but she didn’t want to talk about it.
Samira had respected her wishes, but it had been a long twenty-one days, and she intended on broaching the subject again at a better time.
“Ladies, ready to go in?”
“Are you?” Pia gave an exaggerated shudder before winking at Rory. “Because seriously, you have no idea what you’re up against in there.”
“I can handle it,” he said, but Samira heard an edge beneath his defiance. “Lead the way.”
“Don’t let them railroad you.” Samira squeezed his arm. “I’ve been facing this crowd since birth, and they still terrify me.”
“Not helping,” he muttered, shooting her an affectionate glance. “Besides, I charmed you easily enough, didn’t I? The rest of them should be putty in my hands.”
If only it were that easy. Not that anyone would be overtly rude, but she’d been privy to the sniggers and innuendos and gossip in the past, and she knew this time wouldn’t be any easier.
She’d bear the brunt of it, because she knew what to look for: the nuances in behavior, the subtle snubbing. Hopefully, Rory would be oblivious and she could tick this off her to-do list: “Introduce boyfriend and baby daddy to Indian community without him being publicly labeled a boy toy and her a cougar.”
Interestingly, the age difference didn’t matter to her anymore. The moment he’d committed to being a father, he’d instantly grown in her estimation. Considering his transient job and lifestyle, a young guy in his twenties could’ve pretended to care without wanting any involvement. But Rory wasn’t like that, and she hoped the crowd today saw what she saw: a kind, caring guy invested in them for the long haul.
Samira turned the doorknob. Unlocked, of course. Even a stranger would be admitted to an Indian party and welcomed unreservedly. Hospitality ranked up there with arranged marriages as par for the course.
Bhangra music blasted her eardrums as the pungent aroma of fenugreek assailed her nostrils and she cast a quick glance at Rory. Rather than appearing stunned, he sniffed appreciatively and grinned.
“It’s like stepping into a real Bollywood movie,” he said, gesturing her forward. “Lead the way, gorgeous.”
Pia made mock barfing sounds and strode ahead of them, leaving her to lean into Rory and murmur, “Thanks for doing this.”
“Hey, we’re a couple, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah, but I could’ve eased you into this by meeting Mom first.”
“This will be fun.” He did a little jive, complete with gyrating hips. “I watched a Bollywood flick last night. I’m going to wow them.”
She smiled and kissed his cheek. “You’ve wowed me, and I’m the toughest crowd there is.”
His tender gaze told her more than words ever could. Neither of them had remotely mentioned the L word—it was too early for that—but his support and willingness to meet everybody went a long way to cementing what she already knew: she was more than halfway to falling for him.
“Samira, is that you? Why are you hiding in the dark?” Kushi stood at the end of the hallway, silhouetted by the kitchen light. She wore a festive emerald green sari shot through with gold silk, an old favorite Samira knew she only wore on special occasions; like meeting prospective sons-in-law, if she had her way.
Samira sighed. “Come meet my mom. And remember, ignore any talk of our wedding, which she would’ve already planned to the nth degree in her head.”
Rory laughed. “Got it.”
When they reached the end of the corridor, Samira said, “Mom, this is Rory.”
“P-pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Broderick.” He held out the gerberas, and Samira watched for her mom’s tell of disapproval: a tiny pulse beating at the base of her ear.
But there was nothing but a reserved smile from Kushi as she accepted the flowers. “Thank you. These are beautiful. Now, don’t be nervous, young man, come and meet everyone.”
A blush stained Rory’s cheeks. Samira had picked up on the slight nervous stutter too, and she found it endearing. She knew Kushi could be lulling him into a false sense of security, but her mom had eased up on the Manish talk the last few weeks and seemed resigned to accepting her baby’s father. Only time would tell if the rest of the aunties were as accommodating.
“Are you hungry, Rory?” Kushi laid the gerberas on the kitchen bench before gesturing at the table in the corner, laden with pakoras and vada.
Samira knew this was a test. If Rory didn’t consume his body weight in spicy snacks and ghee-laden sweets, Kushi would hate him forever. Samira had warned him about the Indian propensity to force-feed their guests, and to her relief, he shot her a wink before smiling at Kushi.
“I’m ravenous, and your cooking smells divine.”
Kushi gave a nod of approval. “Help yourself while I put these flowers in water.”
“Take three of everything,” Samira murmured under her breath, and he grinned.
“I love tasty Indian morsels,” he said softly, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “But I thought you already knew that, considering how I feasted on you last night . . .”
Heat surged to Samira’s cheeks, and she elbowed him away, but not before her mom had witnessed their exchange. To her surprise, Kushi looked at them with benign acceptance rather than disapproval as she filled a vase from the kitchen tap, unwrapped the flowers, and placed them in the water.
“These are my favorite flowers, young man, so what else did my daughter tell you about me?”
“She said you’re an excellent cook, a wonderful mother, and a big fan of Bollywood movies.” He gave Samira the plate he’d piled with snacks, before helping himself to another; a huge tick in Kushi’s eyes by the approving glint. “Did she tell you I’m in the TV industry?”
Kushi nodded and bustled over to them. “Yes, I’d be very interested to hear all the behind-the-scenes gossip.”
And to Samira’s shock, Kushi threaded her arm through Rory’s elbow and led him to the door. “But we can talk later. For now, let me introduce you to everyone and then you can eat.”
Samira gaped as she followed them, bracing for the wave of noise to hit as Kushi opened the back door leading to the garden.
But as the three of them stepped out, the chatter and laughter stopped, as about thirty pairs of curious eyes fixed on Rory. Thankfully, the music filled what would’ve otherwise been an awkward silence, and she fixed a smile on her face.