“Do you really think the aunties are going to believe you when you show up with me by your side two weeks before your sister’s engagement party? Will your dad believe you?”
She scowled at him. He had a point. Everyone was going to think she’d lost her mind.
Kareena very well might before the end of this.
She began lining up the rest of her tools on a felt mat after wiping them down with the towel. Without turning to him, she said, “I’m not saying yes, but how do you propose we make this look like we’ve been dating for months?”
“Get dressed in something other than your Mechanic Indian Barbie outfit, and I’ll take you out to lunch. We’ll take pictures and talk about logistics. Or we can pick up where we left off last time.”
She whirled on him. That had to be a joke. “I think you need to stop bringing up my birthday mishap.”
Prem slowly shook his head, his eyes darkening. “If you’re asking me to forget my one night with you, no matter how short it was, then you’re out of your mind.”
She stopped, every part of her frozen with confusion. “Prem . . .”
“Come on. Get dressed. I’ll buy.”
Kareena thought about it for a moment longer. “Fine,” she said. “But I want Indian food.”
“Punjabi Express?”
Her jaw dropped. “You remembered?”
He rolled his eyes, as if her surprise was a ridiculous reaction. “Of course. Now hurry up. Let’s get out of here before your grandmother and sister come out to find us.”
Kareena grabbed her phone. “Speaking of my family, you don’t want to go through the house unless you plan on spending time helping Bindu plan her engagement party. I can meet you out front by your car.”
“Good idea.”
She swore she felt Prem’s fingertips graze the base of her back as they cut across the yard in two separate directions. But then again, it could’ve been the early June heat playing tricks on her.
Either way, she had to be on her toes for the next couple hours. If she was going to spend it in Prem’s company, she couldn’t let her guard down. He was the type of man who pushed until he got what he wanted, and there was no way she would ever roll over for a partner, especially someone like Prem Verma.
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Indians Abroad News Dear Readers, If you are arranging with the matches for the first time, encourage them not to eat. Food is often a distractor and an opportunity for one candidate to judge the other. A classic cup of chai is always preferred.
Mrs. W. S. Gupta Columnist Avon, NJ
Chapter Ten
Prem
It took less time than Prem figured it would for Kareena to surprise him again. Fifteen minutes, in fact. The car ride from her house to Punjabi Express was filled with the same easy conversation he’d discovered with her when they met the bar. Their sentences connected one after the other as if they were not only on the same page, but in the same paragraph, creating the same story together. “I’m starving,” she said as they entered the small strip mall restaurant. Prem hummed in agreement. He pressed his fingertips at the base of her spine, and even though she stiffened under his touch, she didn’t pull away.
“Should we order first?” Kareena paused in front of one of the empty booths. “Or should one of us sit to hold the table?”
“You sit,” he said. “I’ll get us something to drink to start off with. Mango lassi?”
She looked up at him, startled.
Yup, I remember.
She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Sure, that would be great. I can pay for my own, though.”
“Rina, honey, sit down,” Prem said, and stifled a laugh at her mutinous expression. He crossed the restaurant but paused before reaching the counter so he could turn back and watch Kareena slide into the booth. She immediately began scrolling on her phone. Who was she talking to? Was she still hell-bent on finding another guy to hang out with for the rest of the weekend?
“Excuse me?” the uncle behind the counter said. “What is it you want, sir?”
“Uh, two mango lassis, please. To start.”
The man rang him up and slid the cups and straws across the table.
Kareena was still scrolling on her phone when he returned with their drinks.
“Can you please refrain from having conversations with other men while we’re together?” Prem said. The idea of her talking with someone else still rubbed him the wrong way, especially when it was obvious that she had options while his only choice was her.
Kareena rolled her eyes, even as she put her phone down, and shoved a straw into the opening at the top of her cup. “I’m checking my work email.”
“On the weekend?”
“You’re working, too, aren’t you?” she said, pointing to the phone he’d placed at his elbow. “You’re on call. I’m just answering client emails.”
“Touché, Rina. Touché.”
“It’s Kareena, and I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I prefer Rina.”
Kareena’s expression grew pensive as she drank. “Do your parents get it? What you’re trying to accomplish?” she asked.
Prem snorted before he could stop himself. “Not at all. They want me to become like my perfect cousin, a surgeon who is happily engaged and planning a big-ass wedding. They think I’m pissing away my education.”
Kareena nodded. “My father says he’s happy I found my calling and my passion, but I know he’s irritated I took a pay cut. He recently threw it in my face that I would’ve been able to afford the house on my own if I had stayed at a top law firm.”
“I don’t see you thriving in a place like that.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t. I didn’t. I worked at a big firm until I made the switch, and I’ve never been happier with my decision. But I can’t really blame our parents for feeling the way they do. Their roots were torn clear out of the soil in India, and they had to work hard to plant them again in the U.S. Then, to ensure that the whole family tree remained stable, they tried to usher us into stable jobs.”
Prem leaned in across the table until they were inches apart. “Their purpose doesn’t excuse their actions, Rina.”
“No, but it helps shape my actions,” she replied.
Before Prem could say anything else, a plate of pani puri artfully arranged on a tray floated past their table. The snack food was one of his favorites. The fried shells were crispy and the shape of an oversized golf ball. He loved cracking a hole into the shell, then stuffing it with seasoned potatoes, chickpeas, diced red onions, chutney, and spicy water.
“Oh my god,” Kareena said, her voice as reverent as he felt.
Prem was already salivating. “Yeah, I’m thinking the same thing.”
The server gave the pani puri to a couple across the room, and Prem watched as they each picked up a shell, cracked it with a quick firm tap of the thumb, added the fillings, and immediately popped it in their mouths.
“Okay, favorite snack food,” Prem asked.
Rina’s eyes brightened. “Pani puri,” she said, without hesitation.
“Excellent choice. They’re just a fun food.”
Rina’s expression became dreamy. “I remember visiting India with my parents when I was a kid. We’d go to see my grandmother and walk down to the local market where there was a pani puri cart. The man would tap the shell and fill it between one blink and the next. Then scoop in the water, put it in the dried leaf shaped like a cup, and hand it to me. My sister and I were so young, but we’d try to compete to see who could eat the most pani puris.”
The memory of their conversation had Prem smiling. He motioned to the tray. “That’s a lot for two people.”
Kareena scoffed. “Hardly. With my years of practice? I could probably polish that off myself.”
It delighted him that she remembered their conversation. “You could probably eat half of one,” Prem said. “But definitely not the whole thing.”
Kareena adjusted her glasses. “I’ll have you know that I am the best pani puri eater in our family. But I doubt that’s something a health-conscious doctor like yourself would understand.”
Prem’s eyebrow twitched. “Excuse me, Rina. I bet you I could eat double the pani puris that you eat and not even blink an eye.”