by Sara Desai
“Then she wrote the note, told me this was a romance, and walked out the door.”
“A romance? Fuck.” He slammed his fist into the wall. “A romance means marriage. She’s marrying one of the dudes on her father’s list. It’s probably the yoga guy. You know how flexible they are.”
“Wasn’t that what she wanted?”
Sam paced the room. “She was supposed to want me. I waited too damn long. I wanted to fix everything first. I wanted to show her I was worthy.”
“Worthy of what?” Royce dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
“Worthy of her. I wanted to be her Westley.”
Royce froze, the last piece of brioche half in and half out of his mouth. “I thought your name was Sam, but sure, if you want to be Westley, go for it. I don’t know many brown Westleys but it’s a new world out there.”
“He’s a character in The Princess Bride.” Sam folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket. “It’s Layla’s favorite film. I watched it three times with Nisha and my mom. Westley storms the castle with his friends, defeats the bad guys, stops the wedding, and rescues Princess Buttercup.”
“I thought you liked horror films, although a movie with a male lead named Westley and a princess named after a flower sounds horrible to me.” He sipped his espresso, long fingers curled around the china cup.
“I’m glad you called. We have to find her.” Sam pulled open the door. “We have to stop the wedding. Let’s go.”
“Do I look like a sidekick?” Royce waved a vague hand over his dove gray suit, pink shirt, and cartoon-graphic tie. “I think you might find what you’re looking for downstairs. They’re planning some kind of party. Maybe you can pick up a few expendable crew members to assist you on your quest. At the very least, they might know where to find her.”
Sam raced down the stairs and pulled open the back door to The Spice Mill. Although the restaurant wasn’t open for business, the air was fragrant with spices, and he could hear the rattle of pots and pans.
“What do you want?” Daisy stood in front of him, blocking his path. Her bright green leggings matched the bow in her Kool-Aid red hair. She had thrown a leather jacket over a high-necked lace dress that looked to be at least one hundred years old.
“It’s vintage.” Daisy smoothed down the full skirt as she followed his gaze.
“I’m looking for Layla.”
“She’s not here. Good-bye.”
“Daisy. Wait.” He took a step forward. “She left me a note. Is she getting married? Is it someone from the list?”
“You’ll have to ask Nasir Uncle.” She gave him an evil smile. “He’s in the kitchen. That means you’ll have to run the gauntlet of aunties, and only if you survive will you get an answer to your question.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he spluttered. “You obviously know. Just tell me.”
“You didn’t earn it.”
Sam tipped his head from side to side, making his neck crack. “Okay. I’ll do it. Point me in the right direction.”
“You need to be loose and relaxed.”
Sam jumped up and down a few times and shook out his hands. “I’m loose.”
“There are four aunties in there plus Jana Auntie. You are a young, handsome, single man, albeit everyone hates you for evicting the family. It’s going to get nasty.”
“I have aunties. I know how they work.” He smoothed the collar of his shirt and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
“Don’t let them smell your fear. Once that happens . . .”
Sam bent forward and took a deep breath. “I know. I know. They’ll never leave me alone.”
“Never,” Daisy said. “They’ll be showing up at your office with boxes of Indian sweets, bumping into your mother in the grocery store so they can invite you all over for tea, walking up and down in front of your house with their daughters and nieces in tow on a pretend Sunday stroll. You have to be strong.”
“I’m strong,” Sam said.
“You have to be determined. This is for Layla. Don’t agree to look at pictures of nieces or granddaughters or cousins. And don’t tell them where you work or how to contact you. And whatever you do, don’t smile. You’re too handsome for your own good.”
“I can do this.” He wiped his hands on his black dress pants and scowled.
“Max and I will run interference.”
“Wait.” He paused on the threshold. “Why are you helping me?”
Daisy grinned. “It’s part of my charm.”
They walked quickly through the kitchen. A woman in a blue salwar kameez skewered bright orange pieces of chicken to go into the tandoor. An older woman was peeling and slicing a bag of onions. Two cooks in white aprons stirred pots full of spicy potatoes, braised lamb, and chunks of paneer swimming in creamy spinach. At the back of the kitchen, the cook who had glared at him when he had come to talk to Nasir used a giant paddle to stir a vat of what appeared to be goat curry.
Sam breathed in the sweet mixed aroma of cardamom, turmeric, garam masala, and fresh chilies as Daisy led him past the stainless steel counters. It was the smell of his mother’s kitchen last night when they’d had dinner together. The scent of home.
“That smells divine. Are you using fenugreek in the murgh makhani?” Daisy blocked one auntie’s inquisitive stare.
“Better check the oven, Lakshmi Auntie,” she called out. “I think that naan is overcooked. You don’t want three days’ bad luck.”
“I love that color on you, Charu Auntie. So bright!” She spun the woman in the blue salwar suit around to face the door so Sam could slip past.
Too late. Sam sensed a change in atmosphere. The low chatter and laughter died down. Tension thickened the air.
“Daisy! You’ve brought someone to visit.” A woman in a pink sari pushed her way past the cooks toward him. “Who is this?”
“This is Sam, Salena Auntie. He has business with Nasir Uncle.”
“He looks like an engineer.” Salena waved over another auntie. “Pari. Come see. Daisy has brought a boy who looks like an engineer.”
“An engineer!” Pari wiped her hands on her apron and ran over to greet them.
“Actually, I ran a downsizing business,” Sam said. “But now I’m—”
A tall, thin man with a receding hairline joined them. “Who’s an engineer?”
“This boy, Hari Uncle.”
“I’m not really a boy . . .”
“He doesn’t look like an engineer. Now, Nira’s son . . . he looks like an engineer.”
“Actually, I’m a doctor,” Sam said.
Daisy groaned. “I’m not going to be able to help you now.”
“Doctor?” someone shrieked. “He’s a doctor!”
Daisy tugged on Sam’s arm, but it was too late. The aunties rolled toward them like a tidal wave, spilling out of doors and alcoves, crashing around counters, and thundering across the floor.
“Is he single?” Salena asked.
“Who’s single?”
“This man. He’s an engineer.”
“No, he’s a doctor.”
“A doctor engineer? Does he have a Ph.D.?”
“Does he know Dagesh Gupta? He’s an engineer in Florida.”
The conversation flew thick and fast around him. With so many people talking, Sam couldn’t keep up.
“My boys are going to be doctors. Their teacher says they are rascals, but it’s because they are so intelligent they are bored at school.”
“Someone get him a plate of food. He’s too thin.”
“Who is his family?”
“Stay strong,” Daisy whispered. “Here comes Jana Auntie, Layla’s mom.”
Layla’s relatives parted like a tidal wave to reveal a woman in a worn red apron, her long, dark hair braided and pulled through the back of a brig
ht orange Giants cap. He could see Layla in the shape of her face, but her eyes, when he met her gaze, were cold and hard.
“So, you’re the one,” she sniffed.
Sam didn’t know if she meant he was the one who had evicted the family, or the one who had steered Layla away from an arranged marriage, or the one who had distracted everyone in the kitchen, but in any event, it clearly wasn’t meant kindly.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Patel.” He swallowed hard. “I’m looking for Layla.”
“She’s at Oracle Park for the game.” She tapped the Giants hat. “First game I ever missed.”
Hope swelled in his chest. “So she’s not getting married?”
“Sam!” Nasir’s voice boomed through the kitchen. “Nice to see you again. Everyone, leave him alone. Get back to work. He’s not on the market. Put your photos of nieces and daughters away. Stop taking pictures. Who tied that rope around his ankle?” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand and instantly the crowd melted away, the rope sliding off his foot as someone pulled it into the crowd.
“Layla . . .” Sam made a helpless gesture with his hands. “I messed up, Mr. Patel. I love her. She can’t marry someone else.”
He heard a collective sigh, but when he looked over his shoulder, everyone was busy with their cooking.
“Sam.” Nasir sighed and shook his head. “It’s too late. She picked someone from my list. The family has already met him”—he looked around the busy kitchen, one eyebrow slightly quirked—“and they approve. We’re expecting a big proposal at the ball park—something spectacular, maybe on the big screen or that kissing camera.”
Sam’s eyes widened in dismay. “I have to stop him. Tell me where they’re sitting and I’ll go—”
“I don’t know . . .” Nasir drummed his fingers against his lips. “I think she really loves this boy.”
“She doesn’t know him!”
“I think she knows him very well.” He patted Sam’s shoulder. “Well, it was nice seeing you. I believe your sister is out in the restaurant with John. We’re having a little going-away party this afternoon and invited our friends from the law firm upstairs. You and your partner are welcome to join us. Maybe Layla and her new fiancé will be back to celebrate, too.”
Sweat trickled down Sam’s back. Why did nothing go the way he planned? He scrambled for something that would change Nasir’s mind. “Wait! The kiss cam. He can’t propose to her like that. She would hate it. She wouldn’t want her personal life splashed all over a big screen for a stadium full of people to see. She had a terrible experience being filmed in New York, and then there was an incident here at a sports bar . . . If he doesn’t know that about her, he shouldn’t be marrying her.”
“Hmmm.” Nasir turned to Jana. “What do you think? Should we tell him where they’re sitting? I don’t want to ruin her big day.”
Jana shrugged. “He’s right that she wouldn’t want it to be so public. But the game already started. He would have to drive very fast.”
God. It was just one obstacle after another. “I ran into a deer and my car is still being assessed by the insurers.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call an Uber.”
“An Uber?” Nasir stared at him in horror. “You would leave something so important to a stranger? This is my daughter’s future. Arun can drive the big van we use for picking up supplies. We can all fit in.”
“All?” Sam frowned. “You don’t all need to come.”
“We’re family,” Nasir said. “Of course we do.”
* * *
• • •
“CAN he drive any slower?” Sam muttered as old chef Arun inched the van along the I-80.
“It’s the traffic. Calm down.” Daisy patted Sam’s arm. “Do you want to hold Max? He can give you some emotional support.”
“Thanks, but I want to get there with all my fingers intact.”
“Don’t throw shade on Max. He’s gotten me through some hard times.” She patted the dog’s fluffy head. “Like now. It’s emotionally trying to sit beside you listening to you mutter and grumble like an old man. We’ll get there when we get there.”
“What if we’re too late?” Sam’s hands clenched into fists. “What if it’s kiss cam time, and he proposes, and she’s humiliated but she’s forced to say yes because tens of thousands of people are watching her, but she really doesn’t love him, and she can’t back down because it was so public, and she marries him and lives an unhappy life . . .” He paused for breath, and Daisy gently placed Max in his lap.
“Work your magic, Maxy.”
Max looked up at Sam and curled up in his lap, his razor-sharp teeth nowhere in sight. With a sigh, Sam patted Max’s head, his tension easing despite the fact that they were almost at a standstill.
“Do you want to eat something?” Taara Auntie handed him a Tupperware container. He’d been given a quick introduction to the relatives who had joined them in the van, and thanks to Layla’s briefing the afternoon before he was supposed to have met them, he’d been able to remember them all.
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry right now.”
“Layla told me never to eat anything in a Tupperware container,” he whispered to Daisy.
“Very wise. Taara Auntie made candy crab trout cream surprise. Anything that ends in surprise will send you to the restroom for at least three days. Not what you want when you’re trying to rescue the woman you love from marrying the wrong guy.”
“Do you have his marriage résumé? I need to know what I’m dealing with before we get there. None of the guys on Nasir’s list were worthy of her. What makes this one different?”
Daisy shot him a sideways look. “I’ll see if I can find it. Meantime, you’ll need to download the ballpark app so I can transfer your ticket.”
“I can buy my own ticket.”
She gave an exasperated groan. “Clearly you haven’t thought this through. I happen to have an extra ticket right beside her.”
“Why?”
The van lurched forward and he put his hand around Max to keep him secure. So far, so good. Max seemed content to lie on his lap and stare at him, but he was careful to keep his fingers away from the Westie’s mouth.
“Arun!” Layla’s mother’s bellow belied her slight frame. “You drive like an old man. The game will be over before we get there. Pull over at the next gas station and let me drive.”
A few minutes later, her Giants hat pulled low over her eyes, seat jacked up as high as it could go, Layla’s mother pulled onto the road and wove in and out of traffic like a race car driver. “I’m getting off the I-80,” she shouted. “We’ll take the back roads. Hang on.”
She yanked the wheel to the side and the van screeched as they barreled off the freeway.
“That’s my wife.” Nasir looked over, pride etched across his face. “She taught Layla to drive.”
Teeth clenched, one hand braced on the seat in front of him, the other holding Max, Sam gritted out, “Why am I not surprised?”
By the time they neared the stadium, Sam’s back was covered in sweat, his heart was racing, and he had turned his wrist so many times to check his watch that his forearm ached. Even Max’s soothing presence on his lap couldn’t calm him down. How had he let things go this far? What had he been thinking? If he lost her now . . .
“Next stop sign, you jump out,” Layla’s mother called as they turned down Third Street. “You can go in through O’Doul Gate. We have friends nearby where we can park. We’ll see you inside.”
“Inside? You’re all coming? Do you have tickets?”
“Of course,” Nasir said. “We would never miss the end of the game.”
• 29 •
“LAYLA!”
She heard him before she saw him, and even when she saw him, she almost didn’t recognize him in the orange Giants jersey he had pulled over his sui
t jacket, and the navy and orange ball cap shoved on his head.
Sam thundered down the stairs, skirting past a woman with a toddler and two teenagers carrying loaded hot dogs. With the sun setting and a soft breeze blowing from the bay, it was a beautiful evening for a game. She’d already seen Kevin Pillar catch some fly balls right near her, finished her Dungeness crab sandwich, sung and cheered with the enthusiastic crowd. It was her favorite place in the city and she wanted to share it with the person she loved.
“Where is he?” Sam glared at the empty aisle seat beside her. “Did he do it? Are you engaged?”
It was hard not to laugh at his fierce expression. If she had brought someone to the game, she doubted he’d be long in his seat. “No.” She patted the seat beside her. “Why don’t you sit down? You’re blocking people’s view.”
“Is it Hassan? You can’t marry him. He’s a scammer.”
“It’s not Hassan.” She held out a bag. “Nuts?”
Sam waved them away. “Dilip? Did you choose him because he can dance? I can dance.” He put his fingers together the way she’d shown him at the fountain and twisted his hands. “Wolves. Flowers. See. I remember.”
Layla pulled him down to sit beside her. “I don’t think dancing right now is a good idea. People are trying to watch the game. And no, it’s not Dilip.”
“The firefighter? You said he was too much of a jock.”
“Daisy would kill me if I married him. She’s meeting him for drinks next week.”
Sam clenched and unclenched his fists. She had never seen him so agitated. Even when she’d walked into Royce’s party, he’d still held it together.
“It better not be Faroz. He’s delusional.”
Layla laughed. “I was tempted to be a spy wife, and I don’t think many people could get me elephants for my wedding, but it’s not Faroz.” She heard the crack of the bat and the crowd cheered. She hoped Sam realized how much she cared. There were very few things that could pull her away from a game.
“Not . . .” His voice caught. “Harman?” He flexed an arm. “I’ve been working out four times a week.”