by Nisha Sharma
His eyes always seemed to light up whenever he responded in kind. It was as if he was sharing a secret with her, a secret he’d never told anyone else. She’d rarely dated Indians, and never Punjabis, so the language connection created a deeper level of understanding that was . . . intimate. More intimate than she’d expected.
“This is Metropark. Next stop, Metuchen.”
The New Jersey transit automated voice pushed her out of her trance, and she got up, laptop bag and tote in hand, to follow a small crowd onto the train platform and down the stairs. She approached one of the idling cabs and recited her father’s address for the driver.
“Are you Indian, ma’am?” the sweet-looking older gentleman said. He had a thick accent, and a weathered wrinkled face that made her think of happy grandfathers. His smile was bright and cheerful as he peeked at her through the rearview mirror.
“Isn’t everyone Indian in Edison?” she said.
The man howled in laughter as if he’d never heard the joke before. “Where in India are you from?”
“My father is from Delhi, my mother from Amritsar, I’m from New Jersey,” she said, reciting the same answer she’d given most of her life.
“Punjabi!” he said with such enthusiasm that he practically bounced in his seat. “I love North Indian food, but you know, not good for my blood pressure. Do you speak Hindi?”
She thought of Hem again, and the way he called her hiriye.
“Mostly Punjabi.”
She enjoyed the driver’s happy chatter as a distraction from the evening that lay ahead. Her father wouldn’t change his mind about hosting a small dinner party for what she assumed was a client that Sanjeev planned on acquiring. She had no idea why her presence was required, but since she hadn’t seen her dad in some time, she decided to make an appearance.
The cab pulled into a circular driveway in front of a large colonial home. She paid the driver and slid out of the car with her things just as the front door opened.
“Daddy?”
Her father, tall and broad shouldered, closed the door behind him. He wore the same black suit Mina had seen him in countless times before whenever they passed each other in the halls at the firm.
“I wanted to see if you were wearing heels,” he said. He eyed her shoes and scowled. “Mina, you’ll have to change out of those.”
“You know I always take my shoes off when I come in the house. It’s not that big of a deal.” She gave him an air-kiss on his cheek and turned to walk inside.
“No, you have to wear shoes through dinner,” he said, stepping in front of her.
“What? In the house? We never wear shoes in the house.”
“Our guests don’t believe in that cultural practice.”
“Cultural pr—I thought they were super traditional!
Her father crossed his arms over his chest. “Apparently, they still like their shoes on despite their preponderance for tradition. It makes them feel more American.”
“Oh my god, they’re heathens. Why do we want them as new clients again?”
“Mina,” he snapped.
She laughed and patted him on his arm before walking past him. “If this so-called wealthy family and you want shoes in the house, I’ll wear them to make everyone feel comfortable. But no one, even you, will tell me what kind of shoes I can wear.”
“Are you trying to embarrass them?”
“No, of course not. It is, of course, fun to watch grown adults feel inferior to a tall woman with Louboutins.”
She strode inside, feeling a little dirty about not removing her heels. She followed the sounds of chatter into her father’s living room in the back of the house.
There were five people in the living room. Her uncles Sanjeev and Kumar, Mr. and Mrs. Aulakh, and Virat Aulakh, the man that her uncles wanted her to marry to secure the immigration law firm acquisition.
It was all starting to make sense as to why they wouldn’t tell her the names of the clients attending the dinner party.
Virat leaned against the fireplace, holding a wineglass. His hair was cut short and his chin was still weak. His white button-down shirt was tucked into khaki pants and brown loafers. When he smiled at her, that bright, hopeful grin, she looked at the other two guests in the room.
Mr. Aulakh was dressed identically while Virat’s mom wore a bright floral blouse. Unlike the other smiling members of the party, she glared at Mina’s heels.
Deal with it, woman.
“Hello, everyone,” Mina said, trying to take the identity of the dinner party guests in stride.” I apologize for my delay. The trains are always so unpredictable.”
“You should’ve taken a car, Mina,” Sanjeev said. “Then you could’ve enjoyed Virat’s wonderful stories about his trip to South Africa.”
“Oh?” She placed her things on an empty seat at the end of the couch. “I didn’t know you’d be here, Virat. I hope I still have a chance to hear about your trip.” Virat approached her and Mina had to bend her knees so that he could press a kiss to her cheek. She remembered the first time she stood next to Hem. It had felt right, unlike the awkwardness she currently had to endure.
“Wine, Mina?” her father asked.
“Yes, please,” she said. “Whatever everyone else is drinking.”
“I’m drinking seltzer,” Mrs. Aulakh said. She stood, her lips pinched, as she motioned to the glass in her hands. Her hair was cut in a militant bob colored an unnatural black and didn’t move an inch when she nodded.
The woman held her glass up a little higher, pointing to it. Mina almost groaned. Virat’s mom was one of those. The surviving breed of aunties that demanded traditional gender roles and suppression. Thank god her mother had taught her the difference between choice and ignorance.
Mina’s father cleared his throat to interrupt the silence.
“I’ll still have the wine, Daddy. Thanks. I’m Mina Kohli, Mrs. Aulakh. We haven’t met. I see Virat has your beautiful eyes.”
She softened at that and leaned forward for Mina to air-kiss her cheek.
“And you must be Mr. Aulakh. I read your white paper on the moral ambiguity of revoking work visas for valid H-1B spouses. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You as well, guddia. You as well. It’s nice to meet the woman that may cost me the law firm that I’ve worked so hard to build.”
She ignored the childish endearment of doll, took the wineglass her father passed her, and then froze. “Wait . . . I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said it’s nice to meet you since your marriage to my son may cost me my firm!”
She looked over at Sanjeev, who smirked at her.
That son of a bitch. He knew she wasn’t going to start a fight in public, so he chose to fuck with her here in her mother’s old home.
Mina plastered a serene smile on her face. “Well, I hope you’ll consider the merger regardless of any proposed . . . arrangement that my uncles have hinted toward. I’ve seen the projections, the numbers, and I’ve done the benchmarking myself. You’d profit heavily from the deal.”
“And Mina knows profitability!” Kumar Uncle said as he stood, patting his belly. “She’s working on a case right now that I know will prove to be very profitable.”
“Kumar Mamu,” Mina said, using the respectful term for her mother’s brother. “We don’t know that yet.”
“I do.” He grinned.
Her father’s cook stepped into the entranceway. “Dinner is served in the dining room, family style.”
Mina stepped aside and motioned for Virat and his parents to go first. She held Sanjeev back, and when everyone was out of earshot, she whirled to face him.
“What the hell is this?” she hissed.
Sanjeev crossed his arms over his chest. “This is a business meal.”
“They still think I’m going to agree to marry Virat, Sanjeev. What games are you playing?”
“None at all,” he said. His skin looked oily in the dim light, and she hated that he alway
s reminded her of a snake.
“You said that this wasn’t an option any longer if I’m working on Bharat.”
“But you haven’t delivered on Bharat yet,” Sanjeev said. “I don’t know what’s taking so long.”
“It’s due diligence, not a game of tic-tac-toe. I have to go through all the steps for the board.”
Sanjeev stepped around her and started toward the dining room. “Fine. But until I get the answer I want from Bharat, you’re going to be an eligible match for Virat. I’m going to get my worth out of working with you, Mina. Otherwise what good are you?”
His words were like a blow to her ego. She’d worked her ass off her whole life, and for Sanjeev to minimize her like that was painful. Instead of engaging, she squared her shoulders and followed him into the dining room. Virat and his family were already seated at the polished mahogany table. It was obvious that the empty seat next to him was where she was expected to sit. He smiled when she lowered onto the satin cushion chair and picked up a bowl in front of her plate.
Mina served herself some of the potatoes and held the dish out for Virat to take. He looked at her with a puzzled expression.
“Don’t you want some?” Mina asked.
“Uh, sure.” He took the dish and began scooping the food onto his plate. He passed it on to his mother, who shot daggers at Mina before she served her husband first and then herself.
Ah. Well, that explains it, Mina thought.
She dug into the potato curry with relish. Ignoring the evil side-eye she was receiving from everyone. She’d almost managed to zone out when she heard a phone buzzing from the other room.
Everyone paused and checked their pockets and devices.
“It’s mine,” she said quietly. “Feel free to ignore it.”
“No, it’s okay,” Virat said. “I wouldn’t be able to concentrate for the rest of dinner if I didn’t see who called.”
Desperately taking the opportunity for a few moments away, she mumbled an excuse and went back into the empty living room. Pulling her phone from the front pocket of her bag, she saw the missed call. Without thinking twice, she redialed.
“Hiriye,” Hem said smoothly.
“Hem,” she replied, with almost desperate relief.
“Mina? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m—I’m fine. Dinner at my father’s house with some guests. It’s a bit too much sometimes.”
“In Edison?”
“How did you know that?”
“Background check. It’s required for all consultants who are working on premises for extended periods of time.”
“You could’ve told me.”
“I figured you’d assume.”
Mina let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Hem, you looked into my life. I thought we were past the games.”
“It’s not a game. It was a formality. I’m sorry, though. You’re right, I should’ve told you. Now are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I . . . It’s this dinner party. My father and my uncles are too much sometimes.” She sat on the arm of the sofa and toed off her shoes. “I think I’m here for another hour unfortunately. Then I have to take the train back to Manhattan.”
“Sit tight. I’ll pick you up.”
“What? Hem, you can’t come here.”
“I can. I’m in Alpine visiting my folks. It’ll take me an hour with traffic this time of night, but that works with when you wanted to leave anyway.”
“No, I’m fine. Please don’t—”
“Too late,” he said. “Mai tuhade lai a ri aahn.”
I’m coming for you.
He hung up the phone with the type of finality that had Mina wanting and wishing their circumstances were different so she didn’t have to take it slow.
“Mina?”
She jerked and almost fell off the arm of the couch.
Virat stood behind her, hands in his pockets. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I was . . . arranging someone to come and take me back to the city tonight. They were, uh, calling to confirm.”
He nodded. Silence stretched between them for an awkward beat. “Uh, I know we’re in the middle of dinner, but I wanted to ask you if you’d be interested in going out sometime. We don’t have to think about mergers and our family pressuring us into an arrangement. It’ll be just you and me.”
“Virat, I’m working on a really demanding case right now, and I really don’t appreciate the family pressure that’s coming along with the merger. I’m sorry. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to . . . You know what? How about we talk about this some other time?” She wanted to have a conversation with her uncle first before she told Virat that she had no intentions of agreeing to an arranged match.
Virat nodded, then crooked his elbow for Mina. She accepted his arm and walked with him barefoot back to the dining room.
“I have to say, I like you without the heels. I feel more comfortable when you’re closer to my height,” he said with a laugh.
“That’s too bad. I always wear heels.”
“Oh.” Virat frowned.
She ignored his disappointment and slipped back in her seat after they reentered the dining room. “I apologize for the interruption, everyone.”
“No apologies needed,” Virat’s father replied.
The conversation continued around Mina as she picked through her food, no longer hungry. She didn’t know if it was because of Virat’s comments on her heels, or because she knew she was about to see Hem again.
Forty-five minutes later, dessert was served and Mina helped pass around the bowls filled with sweet gulab jamun soaking in sugar syrup. She loved gulab jamun, but tonight, all she could do was push her dessert around in her bowl.
“Mina, do you cook?” Virat’s mother asked, interrupting her thought process like a wrecking ball. The woman leaned forward and frowned at Mina’s plate.
“I can cook, yes, though I don’t have much time for it.”
“Mina is an amazing cook,” her father said. “Just like her mother used to be.”
The praise would’ve meant something to Mina if it had been genuine. The truth was that her father had never had her cooking before. It wasn’t until she’d started law school that she learned. Before then, her father had always had someone leave meals for her in the house.
“Mina, are you a lawyer because of your father and uncles or because of your mother?” Virat’s father asked.
“My mother. She began Kohli and Associates.”
“Yes,” Sanjeev said with a sigh. “My sister was the oldest, and although she didn’t have a good head on her shoulders, she managed to make a living.”
Mina’s fork dropped to her plate. The clatter was loud enough for the room to grow silent. “Mom was brilliant,” she said. “She made sure her two younger brothers finished college and law school. She had a win rate better than her peers at a time when South Asian women were hardly allowed in the courtroom. She made a fortune before I turned ten. If it wasn’t for her, none of us would be here.”
Kumar snorted. “And if it wasn’t for her, we’d already be a top ten firm. Her drinking problem got so bad that we were hemorrhaging clients. We almost had to sink the firm at one point.”
“Not to mention, her late-night parties gave us such a bad reputation,” Sanjeev added with a laugh.
“My mother didn’t have a drinking problem,” Mina said, gripping the edge of the table. The mere thought that someone would suggest it had her stomach churning.
Her heart pounded at the looks of pity from around the table. She expected her father to say something, to say anything, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. In the fifteen years since her mother’s death, not once had anyone mentioned alcohol abuse.
“Mina doesn’t see her mother the same way we do,” Sanjeev said, his expression smug. “You didn’t know about the drinking problem, did you? Nakhul, I’m surprised you kept that little gem from your daug
hter for so long!”
Kumar laughed. “Probably because he had to deal with Mina on a regular basis. Who wants to put up with our little Mina’s fury?”
“I don’t believe you two,” she said, pointing to her uncles. “I knew her. And seriously, Dad? You’re not going to say one thing to defend your wife?”
Virat’s mother gasped. “You’d speak to your uncles and father like that?”
“Yes. And my mother did, too.” Mina had had enough. She stood from the table for the second time during the meal, her hands shaking. “I just wish she learned earlier not to trust any of them. Excuse me, my ride should be here. It was a . . . pleasure.”
She left the room, her strides stiff, her pulse fast. It took her three tries before she was able to put her feet in her shoes and grab her purse. She’d wait outside or at the corner of the block if she had to, but there was no way she could sit in that room with her family any longer. How dare they try to stain her mother’s legacy? True, she’d been drinking the night of the accident, but that was the only time she’d gotten drunk . . . wasn’t it?
Her uncles were full of bullshit. She had to find out what Sanjeev was doing with Bharat and hold him accountable. Then maybe she could kick him out of the firm, and she’d have a fighting chance of taking it over. She needed to honor her mother’s legacy and she was ready to do whatever she needed to make it happen.
Her phone buzzed in her bag just as she reached the front entrance. She heard Virat call after her but she bolted outside and was already jogging down the walkway. Thank god for small miracles, she thought. The Tesla hadn’t even come to a full stop when she yanked open the door and slid in the passenger seat.
“Mina? What—”
“Drive,” she said.
Thankfully, Hem didn’t argue. She saw Virat through the side mirror just as the car peeled onto the street.