05-08-2026, 09:32 AM
She pressed on the doorbell button and waited. No one came. Her gut
knotted.
She knocked.
Nothing.
She knocked louder.
Still nothing.
She confirmed the address on her phone. This was the right place.
Aditya’s Swift car was even parked in the driveway. Before she could drive
herself crazy deciding what to do, the door opened.
Aditya smiled at her. “Right on time.”
She tightened her grip on the stuff she’d brought, basically having an
internal meltdown of uncertainty. “I don’t know if I got the right things.”
He unloaded the sweets and chocolate from her hands with an odd
expression on his face. “You didn’t have to bring anything. Really.”
Panic surged. “Oh, I can take them back. Let me put them—”
He set the items on a side table and stroked a thumb over her cheek. “My
mom will love them. Thank you.”
She released a long breath. “What happens now?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I think the usual greeting is a hug.”
“Oh.” She held her hands out awkwardly and stepped toward him, certain
she was doing everything wrong.
Until his arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her close. His scent, his
warmth, and his solidness surrounded her. That was one hundred percent
right.
He pulled away with a soft look in his eyes. “Ready?”
At her nod, he ushered her through a marble-tiled entryway, past a formal
dining area, and into a kitchen that was open to an adjoining family room.
The massive boxy TV in the room grabbed her attention.
A man and a woman
in traditional Marathi attire humming out a series of
fluctuating notes. After a particularly impassioned iteration, Aditya’s grandma clapped.
Sitting next to her at the kitchen table, his mom paused in the process of
peeling mangoes to voice her appreciation.
When she noticed Ayesha and Aditya, his mom waved with her peeler.
“Hello. We eat soon.”
Ayesha worked up a smile and a wave. Bracing herself for an evening of
nerve-racking social performance, she approached them and asked, “Can I
help?”
A wide smile stretched over Aditya’s mom’s face, and she set her peeler
and the plate she’d used to gather mango peels in front of the empty chair to
her left. When Ayesha unbuttoned her cuffs, Aditya flashed her a grin.
As she washed her hands in the kitchen sink, she watched him heat a large
pan, pour oil in, and add ingredients in the careless, yet somehow intentional
manner of someone who knew how to cook.
By the time she sat down next to
his mom, the air was heavy with the scents of tandoor, garlic,
lemon, and sauce. He’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and she
couldn’t help admiring his sculpted forearms as he stirred the contents of the
pan.
It took effort to redirect her attention to the mango, and she’d just begun to
peel the large fruit his mom had handed her when the tinkling of a piano in
another room caught her attention.
His mom pushed away from the table with a tight smile. “I have something
for you to try. Let me heat it up.”
While Aditya’s mom dug in the fridge, his grandma pointed to the bowl
of already sliced mango. Ayesha dutifully plucked a small slice from the bowl
and ate it, enjoying the sweet tang of the fruit. His grandma mmmmed and
returned to peeling her mango.
Ayesha released a small breath as her stomach relaxed. She liked sitting
with Grandma most of all.
A youngish sister in jeans, a T-shirt, and a messy ponytail flopped into the
kitchen, picked a piece from the plate, and popped it in her mouth. When she noticed Ayesha, she waved. “Ayesha, right?
I’m Pooja aka Pinky.” She plucked another piece, but her mom
slapped the back of her hand, and she yanked her hand back with a yelp. Her
mom shooed her toward the table with
a fast torrent of Marathi.
Pinky sat across from her with an easy grin that was higher on one side—
Aditya’s grin. “So how do you like Aditya?”
Ayesha lifted her shoulder in a noncommittal way.
Pinky laughed and ate a large mango slice. “That good, huh?”
Before Ayesha could think up a response, Aditya’s mom set a plastic
container on the table and opened the lid. Steam rose from a light green
spongy cake. “Eat, ah? Kaman Dhokla. It’s very good.”
Ayesha set her peeler and fruit down and stretched a hand toward the
container when she noticed it was cheap plastic, like the kind takeout came in.
“You shouldn’t microwave these kinds of containers. The food probably has
BPA in it now.” It was basically poison as far as Ayesha was concerned.
His mom pulled the container close and smelled the cake. “No, it’s fine.
No BPA.”
“Glass or Pyrex are more expensive, but they’re safe,” Ayesha said. How
had no one told Aditya’s mom this? Did they want her to get sick?
“I use these all the time, and no problem.” Blinking rapidly, his mom held
the lid of the container to her chest.
“You wouldn’t notice right away. It’s repeated exposure over time. You
should really invest—”
Pinky snatched the plastic container from her mom and stuffed a piece of
green poison cake into her mouth. “These are my favorite. I love them.”
Sending Ayesha a pointed look, Pinky had a second one.
Aditya marched to the table and took the container from his sister before
she could eat a third piece. “It’s true, Mom These containers really are bad. I never thought about it. You shouldn’t use them.”
When he tossed it in the garbage, his mom protested in Marathi. Was
the lady upset because Ayesha didn’t want anyone to eat poison?
Pinky pushed away from the table and left the kitchen as two girls stormed
inside. They were both twenty-something with long black hair, pale
olive-toned skin, and curvy builds. If Ayesha hadn’t already learned the
hard way that questions like this irritated people, she would have asked if they were twins.
“You fat cow, why didn’t you ask before you took it and spilled wine on
it? While you were making out with my boyfriend?” one girl shouted.
Ayesha flinched, and her already anxious heart squeezed. Fighting was her
absolute least favorite thing. When people fought, it always felt like a
personal attack for her. It didn’t matter if she was just a bystander.
“You said you two were through, and I was curious. Also, I wouldn’t have
spilled all over it if it fit right. Who’s the fat cow now?” the second girl
shouted back.
Grandma picked up a black remote and squinted at the buttons. As vertical
green lines crawled across the screen and the volume climbed, the music went
from distracting to unpleasant.
“That’s it. I’m taking back all the jeans I gave you.” The first girl shouted
even louder to be heard over the TV.
“Go ahead and take them. Show what a selfish bitch you are.”
Grandma muttered and increased the volume yet again.
Ayesha set the peeler down with shaky hands and tried to slow her
breathing. This was getting to be too much.
Two more girls walked into the kitchen. One was shorter and darker than
the rest and looked to be about Ayesha’s age. The other one was high college
young. They had to all be his sisters. One, two, three, four, five of them.
The short one stabbed a finger in the twins’ direction. “You two are going
to stop fighting right now.”
They scoffed and crossed their arms in almost the exact same manner.
“Ever since you ran away and married that loser and left us with Mom’s problems, you lost the right to say anything to us,” the first sister said.
The short sister rolled forward like a tank. “It’s time
for me to live my life, too. Try to think of others for once in your lives.”
“So now we’re the selfish ones?” the second sister asked. “You’re out,
and we’re home holding Mom’s hair while she
vomits after her chemo treatments.”
“She’s not doing chemo right now . . . Right?” The short sister looked at
Aditya for confirmation.
His mom snatched the remote from Grandma and maxed out the volume
on the TV before she went to putter around by the sink. Ayesha rested damp
palms on the glass surface of the table. This had to stop eventually. She just
had to outlast them.
“She was, but she didn’t respond well, so they switched her to a drug
trial,” Aditya provided.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because you’re so goddamned busy with your marriage crap, why else?
Mom didn’t want to stress you out more than you always are,” one of the
twins said.
“Finding out this way is stressing me out worse.”
“Boo-hoo, Amrita,” the other twin said.
As the sniping continued, a harsh beeping sounded, and his mom took a
white bowl out of the microwave. Using tongs, she put steaming rice
into a large bowl along with the tandoori chicken and an
assortment of salads.
She placed the plate in front of Ayesha with a polite smile. “Aditya’s curry.
You’ll like it.”
Ayesha’s chin bobbed on a jerky nod. “Thank—” A suspicion rose, and she
snuck a glance at the bowl. She pushed the bowl away. “The bowl is
made of plastic. No one should eat this.”
His mom froze, and a tide of red swept over her face as she stared first at
Ayesha and then the bowl. “Let me make a fresh bowl of rice for you.”
Before his mom could touch the bowl, Aditya grabbed it. “I’ll do it. Sit,
Mom.” His expression was strained as he removed the poisoned food, and Ayesha
had the horrible feeling that she’d said The Wrong Thing, but she didn’t know
how else she could have navigated the situation.
His mom sat down and eyed Aditya’s sisters as they continued their
argument in by the refrigerator. Sighing, she picked up her
peeler and resumed where she’d left off with her last mango.
Ayesha kept her eyes on her own work, growing more and more nervous
with every passing moment. She was painfully aware of the lack of
conversation between them, and her instincts urged her to fill the silence—if
silence was even the right word. His mom wasn’t speaking, but his sisters
were, and the TV had been blasting this whole time.
When the piano started playing again, her nerves stretched to the breaking point.
That flat A note rang one, two-three, four times. Had anything ever been so irritating?
“You really should get the piano tuned,” she said. “Where is your husband
again?”
When his mom continued peeling her mango without answering, Ayesha
assumed she hadn’t heard the question.
So she asked again. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone,” his mom said in a final tone.
“Does that mean . . . he’s passed away?” Should she offer condolences?
She wasn’t sure what to say now.
His mom sighed, keeping her eyes on her mango. “I don’t know.”
The answer tripped Ayesha up, and she frowned as she asked, “Are you
divorced, then?”
“I can’t divorce him if I can’t find him.”
Ayesha stared at Aditya’s mom in complete bafflement. “What do you
mean, you can’t find him? Was he in an accident or—”
A large hand gripped her shoulder and squeezed with firm pressure.
Aditya. “The rice is almost done. Do you eat cashew?”
She blinked at the interruption. “Sure, I’m not allergic.” When he nodded
and went to the kitchen island, she refocused on his mom. “How long has he
been gone? Have you filed a missing-person re—”
“Ayesha.” Aditya’s voice split through the air, a startling reprimand.
His sisters stopped arguing, and all eyes locked on her. Her heart pounded
louder than the TV and the piano. What had she done?
“We don’t talk about my dad,” he said.
That didn’t make any sense. “But what if he’s hurt or—”
“You can’t hurt someone when they don’t have a heart,” his mom
interrupted. “He left us all to be with another woman. I want to divorce him,
but I don’t know where to send the papers. He changed his phone number.”
His mom pushed her chair back and stood. “I'm tired. You kids eat, ah?
Maybe go buy something for Aditya’s girlfriend if she doesn’t like what we
have.”
His mom left, and the piano music ended abruptly. His grandma turned off
the tv, The sudden quietness was a relief, but it felt ominous somehow.
Her blood rushed, her head throbbed, and her breaths came in short gasps like
she’d been running. Or maybe she was preparing to run.
Pinky hurried into the kitchen. “What just happened? Why is Mom
crying?”
No one answered, but seven sets of eyes accused her. It was worse than all
the noise from before, far, far worse.
She’d made Aditya’s mom cry.
Ayesha’s face flamed with embarrassment and guilt, and she jumped to her
feet. “I’m so sorry. I need to go.”
Ducking her head, she gathered her purse and fled.
• • •
Aditya stared at the doorway Ayesha had rushed through, feeling like he’d
watched a car accident in slow motion. A mix of unholy emotion
coursed through his veins. Anger, horror, shame, disbelief, shock. What the
fuck had just happened? What did he do now? His instincts urged him to
chase after her.
“You better go check on Mom,” Pinky said.
That was right. His practice girlfriend had just put his mom in tears. What
a great son he was. He went to look for her without a word. With heavy feet
and a heavier chest, he climbed the stairs, walked down the carpeted hall, and
paused outside his mom’s bedroom. The door was ajar, and he peered around
the edge, finding his mom sitting on her bed. He didn’t need to see her face to
know she was crying. It was written in her slumped posture and the way her
head hung.
The sight destroyed him. No one got to hurt his mom. Not his dad and not
his past girlfriends. Not even Ayesha. “Mẹ?”
She didn’t acknowledge him as he entered the room and padded to her
bedside.
“I’m sorry about all the things she said.” He tried to keep his voice low,
but it came out unnaturally loud. “The piano, the food, Dad . . .”
He didn’t know how Ayesha had managed it, but in just a few minutes,
she’d found every sensitive spot his family possessed—their tight financial
situation, his mom’s lack of education, and his fucked-up dad—and poked
right at them. Accidentally. That was clear as day.
Holy shit, she was bad with people. He’d had no idea how bad until
tonight. When it was just the two of them, it wasn’t like this.
His mom grabbed his hand. “Do you think your dad is okay?”
“I’m sure he’s fine.” His lips twisted as he imagined his old man lounging
on a yacht in Maldives next to his latest wife.
“Can you email him for Mẹ?”
“No.” He was never talking to his dad again.
His mom took a ragged breath and covered her face. “Your Ayesha was
right. He could be hurt. He’s so evil no one would care to help him, certainly
not his new woman. She’s only with him as long as the money lasts.”
He fisted his hands as a familiar rage threaded through his muscles. “That
amount of money should last a long time.”
“Not the way he spends. He thinks he’s a big shot. Nothing was ever good
enough for him, remember?”
Not this again.
Aditya clenched his jaw as his mom launched into another retelling of a
story he’d heard a thousand times. He sat down next to her and listened with
half an ear so he could make the appropriate sounds when she paused.
Words like uses women and bad person and liar stuck out, and he couldn’t
help noticing how well they applied to himself. Look at all the lies he told.
Look at what he did to pay the bills. Look at him taking money from Ayesha
for doing what any other guy would do for—
Cold horror soaked into him. This was why it had felt so wrong to accept
Ayesha’s proposal. It was wrong. He was taking advantage of her. What kind of
man accepted money from a naïve woman to teach her things she could learn
for free?
He’d finally taken the last steps and become his dad. That couldn’t be
right. That wasn’t him. He was better.
Their arrangement had to end right now. Where was she? Fuck, was she
waiting for him outside?
He shot to his feet before his mom’s story was half finished. “I have to go,
Mom. I’m sorry about . . . tonight, about everything.”
“There’s no need for sorry. If you love her, we’ll learn to love her, too.”
At the mere mention of that word, sweat broke out over his brow. “I
don’t.” That made his actions worse, didn’t it?
His mom waved his protest away. “Bring her back another day. I won’t
microwave the plastic when she’s here.”
“You shouldn’t microwave it any time.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She said the words in such a manner that he knew she would
continue doing things her way regardless of what she’d been told, and
Aditya swore to himself he’d throw all her plastic away and replace it with
something safe. Right after he spoke to Ayesha.
“Good night, Mom.”
“Drive careful.”
He escaped the house in record time, but he came up short as he stepped
outside.
She was gone.
He gripped one of the porch’s wooden support pillars and dragged in deep
breaths as his heart rate slowed and his mind cleared. Cool air, the buzzing of bugs, and the distant whir of a car’s motor.
Maybe it was best that she wasn’t here. He needed time to compose a
decent parting speech. Something short but nice. It was him, not her, and—
No matter what he said, she was going to cry. The thought twisted his guts
into knots. She’d think it was her fault. Because of how awkward she was in
bed and out. Because of the unintentional debacle tonight.
He walked to his car and got inside. After he turned the ignition, he sat
with his hands on the wheel. He didn’t know where to go. Her place or his?
They needed to talk, but he wasn’t ready for her tears on top of his mom’s.
The new box of condoms on the passenger seat caught his eye. He’d
bought countless such boxes over the past three years. He hadn’t looked
forward to opening any of them as much as this one—because Ayesha was
different. Now, he’d be back to using the contents of the box with countless
Fridays of women, providing a simple service for fair payment. It didn’t hurt
or take advantage of anyone. That was better than what his dad did. Aditya
could do that and still be himself. Too bad he didn’t want any of those women
like he did Ayesha.
He pushed the box onto the floor and out of sight before heading to his
own apartment. Tomorrow. He’d do the right thing tomorrow.
thanks for the support.
knotted.
She knocked.
Nothing.
She knocked louder.
Still nothing.
She confirmed the address on her phone. This was the right place.
Aditya’s Swift car was even parked in the driveway. Before she could drive
herself crazy deciding what to do, the door opened.
Aditya smiled at her. “Right on time.”
She tightened her grip on the stuff she’d brought, basically having an
internal meltdown of uncertainty. “I don’t know if I got the right things.”
He unloaded the sweets and chocolate from her hands with an odd
expression on his face. “You didn’t have to bring anything. Really.”
Panic surged. “Oh, I can take them back. Let me put them—”
He set the items on a side table and stroked a thumb over her cheek. “My
mom will love them. Thank you.”
She released a long breath. “What happens now?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I think the usual greeting is a hug.”
“Oh.” She held her hands out awkwardly and stepped toward him, certain
she was doing everything wrong.
Until his arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her close. His scent, his
warmth, and his solidness surrounded her. That was one hundred percent
right.
He pulled away with a soft look in his eyes. “Ready?”
At her nod, he ushered her through a marble-tiled entryway, past a formal
dining area, and into a kitchen that was open to an adjoining family room.
The massive boxy TV in the room grabbed her attention.
A man and a woman
in traditional Marathi attire humming out a series of
fluctuating notes. After a particularly impassioned iteration, Aditya’s grandma clapped.
Sitting next to her at the kitchen table, his mom paused in the process of
peeling mangoes to voice her appreciation.
When she noticed Ayesha and Aditya, his mom waved with her peeler.
“Hello. We eat soon.”
Ayesha worked up a smile and a wave. Bracing herself for an evening of
nerve-racking social performance, she approached them and asked, “Can I
help?”
A wide smile stretched over Aditya’s mom’s face, and she set her peeler
and the plate she’d used to gather mango peels in front of the empty chair to
her left. When Ayesha unbuttoned her cuffs, Aditya flashed her a grin.
As she washed her hands in the kitchen sink, she watched him heat a large
pan, pour oil in, and add ingredients in the careless, yet somehow intentional
manner of someone who knew how to cook.
By the time she sat down next to
his mom, the air was heavy with the scents of tandoor, garlic,
lemon, and sauce. He’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and she
couldn’t help admiring his sculpted forearms as he stirred the contents of the
pan.
It took effort to redirect her attention to the mango, and she’d just begun to
peel the large fruit his mom had handed her when the tinkling of a piano in
another room caught her attention.
His mom pushed away from the table with a tight smile. “I have something
for you to try. Let me heat it up.”
While Aditya’s mom dug in the fridge, his grandma pointed to the bowl
of already sliced mango. Ayesha dutifully plucked a small slice from the bowl
and ate it, enjoying the sweet tang of the fruit. His grandma mmmmed and
returned to peeling her mango.
Ayesha released a small breath as her stomach relaxed. She liked sitting
with Grandma most of all.
A youngish sister in jeans, a T-shirt, and a messy ponytail flopped into the
kitchen, picked a piece from the plate, and popped it in her mouth. When she noticed Ayesha, she waved. “Ayesha, right?
I’m Pooja aka Pinky.” She plucked another piece, but her mom
slapped the back of her hand, and she yanked her hand back with a yelp. Her
mom shooed her toward the table with
a fast torrent of Marathi.
Pinky sat across from her with an easy grin that was higher on one side—
Aditya’s grin. “So how do you like Aditya?”
Ayesha lifted her shoulder in a noncommittal way.
Pinky laughed and ate a large mango slice. “That good, huh?”
Before Ayesha could think up a response, Aditya’s mom set a plastic
container on the table and opened the lid. Steam rose from a light green
spongy cake. “Eat, ah? Kaman Dhokla. It’s very good.”
Ayesha set her peeler and fruit down and stretched a hand toward the
container when she noticed it was cheap plastic, like the kind takeout came in.
“You shouldn’t microwave these kinds of containers. The food probably has
BPA in it now.” It was basically poison as far as Ayesha was concerned.
His mom pulled the container close and smelled the cake. “No, it’s fine.
No BPA.”
“Glass or Pyrex are more expensive, but they’re safe,” Ayesha said. How
had no one told Aditya’s mom this? Did they want her to get sick?
“I use these all the time, and no problem.” Blinking rapidly, his mom held
the lid of the container to her chest.
“You wouldn’t notice right away. It’s repeated exposure over time. You
should really invest—”
Pinky snatched the plastic container from her mom and stuffed a piece of
green poison cake into her mouth. “These are my favorite. I love them.”
Sending Ayesha a pointed look, Pinky had a second one.
Aditya marched to the table and took the container from his sister before
she could eat a third piece. “It’s true, Mom These containers really are bad. I never thought about it. You shouldn’t use them.”
When he tossed it in the garbage, his mom protested in Marathi. Was
the lady upset because Ayesha didn’t want anyone to eat poison?
Pinky pushed away from the table and left the kitchen as two girls stormed
inside. They were both twenty-something with long black hair, pale
olive-toned skin, and curvy builds. If Ayesha hadn’t already learned the
hard way that questions like this irritated people, she would have asked if they were twins.
“You fat cow, why didn’t you ask before you took it and spilled wine on
it? While you were making out with my boyfriend?” one girl shouted.
Ayesha flinched, and her already anxious heart squeezed. Fighting was her
absolute least favorite thing. When people fought, it always felt like a
personal attack for her. It didn’t matter if she was just a bystander.
“You said you two were through, and I was curious. Also, I wouldn’t have
spilled all over it if it fit right. Who’s the fat cow now?” the second girl
shouted back.
Grandma picked up a black remote and squinted at the buttons. As vertical
green lines crawled across the screen and the volume climbed, the music went
from distracting to unpleasant.
“That’s it. I’m taking back all the jeans I gave you.” The first girl shouted
even louder to be heard over the TV.
“Go ahead and take them. Show what a selfish bitch you are.”
Grandma muttered and increased the volume yet again.
Ayesha set the peeler down with shaky hands and tried to slow her
breathing. This was getting to be too much.
Two more girls walked into the kitchen. One was shorter and darker than
the rest and looked to be about Ayesha’s age. The other one was high college
young. They had to all be his sisters. One, two, three, four, five of them.
The short one stabbed a finger in the twins’ direction. “You two are going
to stop fighting right now.”
They scoffed and crossed their arms in almost the exact same manner.
“Ever since you ran away and married that loser and left us with Mom’s problems, you lost the right to say anything to us,” the first sister said.
The short sister rolled forward like a tank. “It’s time
for me to live my life, too. Try to think of others for once in your lives.”
“So now we’re the selfish ones?” the second sister asked. “You’re out,
and we’re home holding Mom’s hair while she
vomits after her chemo treatments.”
“She’s not doing chemo right now . . . Right?” The short sister looked at
Aditya for confirmation.
His mom snatched the remote from Grandma and maxed out the volume
on the TV before she went to putter around by the sink. Ayesha rested damp
palms on the glass surface of the table. This had to stop eventually. She just
had to outlast them.
“She was, but she didn’t respond well, so they switched her to a drug
trial,” Aditya provided.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because you’re so goddamned busy with your marriage crap, why else?
Mom didn’t want to stress you out more than you always are,” one of the
twins said.
“Finding out this way is stressing me out worse.”
“Boo-hoo, Amrita,” the other twin said.
As the sniping continued, a harsh beeping sounded, and his mom took a
white bowl out of the microwave. Using tongs, she put steaming rice
into a large bowl along with the tandoori chicken and an
assortment of salads.
She placed the plate in front of Ayesha with a polite smile. “Aditya’s curry.
You’ll like it.”
Ayesha’s chin bobbed on a jerky nod. “Thank—” A suspicion rose, and she
snuck a glance at the bowl. She pushed the bowl away. “The bowl is
made of plastic. No one should eat this.”
His mom froze, and a tide of red swept over her face as she stared first at
Ayesha and then the bowl. “Let me make a fresh bowl of rice for you.”
Before his mom could touch the bowl, Aditya grabbed it. “I’ll do it. Sit,
Mom.” His expression was strained as he removed the poisoned food, and Ayesha
had the horrible feeling that she’d said The Wrong Thing, but she didn’t know
how else she could have navigated the situation.
His mom sat down and eyed Aditya’s sisters as they continued their
argument in by the refrigerator. Sighing, she picked up her
peeler and resumed where she’d left off with her last mango.
Ayesha kept her eyes on her own work, growing more and more nervous
with every passing moment. She was painfully aware of the lack of
conversation between them, and her instincts urged her to fill the silence—if
silence was even the right word. His mom wasn’t speaking, but his sisters
were, and the TV had been blasting this whole time.
When the piano started playing again, her nerves stretched to the breaking point.
That flat A note rang one, two-three, four times. Had anything ever been so irritating?
“You really should get the piano tuned,” she said. “Where is your husband
again?”
When his mom continued peeling her mango without answering, Ayesha
assumed she hadn’t heard the question.
So she asked again. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone,” his mom said in a final tone.
“Does that mean . . . he’s passed away?” Should she offer condolences?
She wasn’t sure what to say now.
His mom sighed, keeping her eyes on her mango. “I don’t know.”
The answer tripped Ayesha up, and she frowned as she asked, “Are you
divorced, then?”
“I can’t divorce him if I can’t find him.”
Ayesha stared at Aditya’s mom in complete bafflement. “What do you
mean, you can’t find him? Was he in an accident or—”
A large hand gripped her shoulder and squeezed with firm pressure.
Aditya. “The rice is almost done. Do you eat cashew?”
She blinked at the interruption. “Sure, I’m not allergic.” When he nodded
and went to the kitchen island, she refocused on his mom. “How long has he
been gone? Have you filed a missing-person re—”
“Ayesha.” Aditya’s voice split through the air, a startling reprimand.
His sisters stopped arguing, and all eyes locked on her. Her heart pounded
louder than the TV and the piano. What had she done?
“We don’t talk about my dad,” he said.
That didn’t make any sense. “But what if he’s hurt or—”
“You can’t hurt someone when they don’t have a heart,” his mom
interrupted. “He left us all to be with another woman. I want to divorce him,
but I don’t know where to send the papers. He changed his phone number.”
His mom pushed her chair back and stood. “I'm tired. You kids eat, ah?
Maybe go buy something for Aditya’s girlfriend if she doesn’t like what we
have.”
His mom left, and the piano music ended abruptly. His grandma turned off
the tv, The sudden quietness was a relief, but it felt ominous somehow.
Her blood rushed, her head throbbed, and her breaths came in short gasps like
she’d been running. Or maybe she was preparing to run.
Pinky hurried into the kitchen. “What just happened? Why is Mom
crying?”
No one answered, but seven sets of eyes accused her. It was worse than all
the noise from before, far, far worse.
She’d made Aditya’s mom cry.
Ayesha’s face flamed with embarrassment and guilt, and she jumped to her
feet. “I’m so sorry. I need to go.”
Ducking her head, she gathered her purse and fled.
• • •
Aditya stared at the doorway Ayesha had rushed through, feeling like he’d
watched a car accident in slow motion. A mix of unholy emotion
coursed through his veins. Anger, horror, shame, disbelief, shock. What the
fuck had just happened? What did he do now? His instincts urged him to
chase after her.
“You better go check on Mom,” Pinky said.
That was right. His practice girlfriend had just put his mom in tears. What
a great son he was. He went to look for her without a word. With heavy feet
and a heavier chest, he climbed the stairs, walked down the carpeted hall, and
paused outside his mom’s bedroom. The door was ajar, and he peered around
the edge, finding his mom sitting on her bed. He didn’t need to see her face to
know she was crying. It was written in her slumped posture and the way her
head hung.
The sight destroyed him. No one got to hurt his mom. Not his dad and not
his past girlfriends. Not even Ayesha. “Mẹ?”
She didn’t acknowledge him as he entered the room and padded to her
bedside.
“I’m sorry about all the things she said.” He tried to keep his voice low,
but it came out unnaturally loud. “The piano, the food, Dad . . .”
He didn’t know how Ayesha had managed it, but in just a few minutes,
she’d found every sensitive spot his family possessed—their tight financial
situation, his mom’s lack of education, and his fucked-up dad—and poked
right at them. Accidentally. That was clear as day.
Holy shit, she was bad with people. He’d had no idea how bad until
tonight. When it was just the two of them, it wasn’t like this.
His mom grabbed his hand. “Do you think your dad is okay?”
“I’m sure he’s fine.” His lips twisted as he imagined his old man lounging
on a yacht in Maldives next to his latest wife.
“Can you email him for Mẹ?”
“No.” He was never talking to his dad again.
His mom took a ragged breath and covered her face. “Your Ayesha was
right. He could be hurt. He’s so evil no one would care to help him, certainly
not his new woman. She’s only with him as long as the money lasts.”
He fisted his hands as a familiar rage threaded through his muscles. “That
amount of money should last a long time.”
“Not the way he spends. He thinks he’s a big shot. Nothing was ever good
enough for him, remember?”
Not this again.
Aditya clenched his jaw as his mom launched into another retelling of a
story he’d heard a thousand times. He sat down next to her and listened with
half an ear so he could make the appropriate sounds when she paused.
Words like uses women and bad person and liar stuck out, and he couldn’t
help noticing how well they applied to himself. Look at all the lies he told.
Look at what he did to pay the bills. Look at him taking money from Ayesha
for doing what any other guy would do for—
Cold horror soaked into him. This was why it had felt so wrong to accept
Ayesha’s proposal. It was wrong. He was taking advantage of her. What kind of
man accepted money from a naïve woman to teach her things she could learn
for free?
He’d finally taken the last steps and become his dad. That couldn’t be
right. That wasn’t him. He was better.
Their arrangement had to end right now. Where was she? Fuck, was she
waiting for him outside?
He shot to his feet before his mom’s story was half finished. “I have to go,
Mom. I’m sorry about . . . tonight, about everything.”
“There’s no need for sorry. If you love her, we’ll learn to love her, too.”
At the mere mention of that word, sweat broke out over his brow. “I
don’t.” That made his actions worse, didn’t it?
His mom waved his protest away. “Bring her back another day. I won’t
microwave the plastic when she’s here.”
“You shouldn’t microwave it any time.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She said the words in such a manner that he knew she would
continue doing things her way regardless of what she’d been told, and
Aditya swore to himself he’d throw all her plastic away and replace it with
something safe. Right after he spoke to Ayesha.
“Good night, Mom.”
“Drive careful.”
He escaped the house in record time, but he came up short as he stepped
outside.
She was gone.
He gripped one of the porch’s wooden support pillars and dragged in deep
breaths as his heart rate slowed and his mind cleared. Cool air, the buzzing of bugs, and the distant whir of a car’s motor.
Maybe it was best that she wasn’t here. He needed time to compose a
decent parting speech. Something short but nice. It was him, not her, and—
No matter what he said, she was going to cry. The thought twisted his guts
into knots. She’d think it was her fault. Because of how awkward she was in
bed and out. Because of the unintentional debacle tonight.
He walked to his car and got inside. After he turned the ignition, he sat
with his hands on the wheel. He didn’t know where to go. Her place or his?
They needed to talk, but he wasn’t ready for her tears on top of his mom’s.
The new box of condoms on the passenger seat caught his eye. He’d
bought countless such boxes over the past three years. He hadn’t looked
forward to opening any of them as much as this one—because Ayesha was
different. Now, he’d be back to using the contents of the box with countless
Fridays of women, providing a simple service for fair payment. It didn’t hurt
or take advantage of anyone. That was better than what his dad did. Aditya
could do that and still be himself. Too bad he didn’t want any of those women
like he did Ayesha.
He pushed the box onto the floor and out of sight before heading to his
own apartment. Tomorrow. He’d do the right thing tomorrow.
thanks for the support.
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