This time, his mother flipped off the stovetop and turned a full ninety degrees to look at him. “Love! And I do say it. Every day.”
Prem snorted. “No, you do not. I’ve never heard those words from you before. Not to Dad, not to me, not even to the extended family.”
“That’s because I don’t say them with my mouth. I feed you your favorites, I put your Superman socks in the dryer so when you get out of the shower they’re toasty warm—”
“No,” he said, cutting her off for a second time. “Not actions. The words. Why haven’t you ever said them?”
His mother turned back to her parantha and began rolling out the stuffed dough. He waited, watching as her hands moved quickly, but she took the time to gather her thoughts. “Sometimes,” she started quietly, “the words are hard to say, because you’re so scared that something will happen to the person you care about if you say them. And the longer you go without saying them, the easier it is. Our parents never said the words, and honestly, we never did either because it was more comfortable for us to just show you.”
Her words rocked Prem to his core. He moved to the closest counter stool and sat.
That was exactly it. His heart, bruised and sore, ached as he first thought of Gori, and how hard it was for him to survive her death. How could he possibly survive losing Kareena?
“Words are important to her,” Prem finally said.
“Do you love her, my beta?” His mother added oil to the pan.
It took a moment for Prem to respond, even though he didn’t have to look her in the eye to say it since she was busy at his stove. “Rina’s what’s been missing, what I’ve been waiting for. From the moment I saw her at Bunty’s restaurant. It’s as if my center of gravity shifted.”
His mother flipped the parantha onto the skillet and wiped her hands on a dish towel she’d pulled from his drawer. “Darling, there are no guarantees in life, but if you feel love for her, don’t you think she deserves to hear the truth? Communication. You’re always talking about how important communication and honesty are for healthy relationships. Think of this as communicating and being honest.”
Prem rubbed at his still aching head. “The words won’t come out. At the engagement party, I just stood there while she cried, and I felt like the biggest asshole, Mom. All because I was so worried that if I told her, maybe it’ll stop. And maybe she’d leave when it’s over. Maybe all the things I’ve always thought were true would happen to me again. After Gori—”
“Darling, your circumstances with Gori were different. You can’t compare your past with your future.”
“I know, but Rina could get sick or bored and I’d be left with these words that I’ve said, and old memories.”
“Hai bhagawan,” his mother called out as she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling. “How did I raise such a scared child?”
“Gee, thanks. I’ll send you my next therapy bill.”
His mother ignored him. “Saying what you feel out loud doesn’t stop those feelings. If anything, your love will only grow.” She filled the beautifully made parantha and smiled. Her happy lines around her mouth winked at him. “I have so much love now after years of marriage. I may not say it, but I wake up every day grateful for it.”
Prem sat in silence and watched as she grabbed a plate from his cabinet, put a chunk of mango pickle on the edge, a blob of butter, and then a second blob on top of the parantha still on the tava.
“You know,” she started as she put the parantha on his plate, “I can’t wait to meet Kareena. She must be something special. She was ready to sacrifice her feelings just to be with my son!”
“She’s definitely something special.” But Prem had no idea if she still felt the same way now after what he’d put her through. It was as if his mother had flipped on a light switch, and the idea of loving someone felt so much more comfortable than it did before.
Prem’s mother slid the plate in front of him, and he smelled the delicious spiced potatoes, the tart mango pickle, and the richness of the butter.
“Hey, Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
He saw her flush. “I love you, too. Now what are you going to do with my bahu?”
“If you keep calling her daughter-in-law, you’re going to jinx me. Right now, I have to convince her to hear me out.”
“Are you ready to plan a wedding and move to the suburbs?” his mother asked.
“Yes.” The word was out of his mouth before he could stop and think about it. Yes. There was no one else who made him feel, that made him want that kind of future, like Kareena.
The front door burst open, and Deepak and Bunty barreled in carrying paper bags filled with what looked like vegetables. “We found a farmers’ market,” Bunty said, shaking one of the bags. He had the biggest grin on his face. “The veggies in season were superb.”
“Ooh, is that parantha?” Deepak asked. He crossed the room and pulled out the stool next to Prem. “Aunty, can I have one?”
“Of course, beta. Bunty? Do you want one?”
“Yes, Aunty. Thank you. I’ll start the chai.”
“What a good boy,” Prem’s mother said to Prem’s six-foot-five friend who towered over everyone in the room.
“How’s the head?” Deepak asked Prem.
“Better. I love Kareena.”
Both Deepak and Bunty paused.
“What did you just say?” Bunty asked. He held a hunk of ginger in one hand.
Prem grinned at his friends. “I love Kareena. I mean, I’ve always loved her, but now I’m okay with saying the words. I can even say them in front of my mother. Wow. It gets a lot easier now that I’ve repeated it a few times. Like all I had to do was— Ouch!”
Deepak slapped him upside the head. “That’s for ignoring your two best friends,” he said. “You seriously waited for your mom to give you permission to love a woman?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“Dude, we’re trying to break the desi mama’s boy stereotype,” Bunty said, shaking his head. “You’re not helping us out.”
“He’ll learn,” Prem’s mother said with a smile. She held a plate stacked with three paranthas ready to go. “Now, who’s first?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Kareena
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Kareena tucked her phone back in her pocket when her rental car pulled onto her street.
“Just park right in front?”
“Yes, please,” she said.
Her house. Well, almost. She’d woken up every day that week, still bruised from her interaction with Prem, but acknowledging the silver lining.
She’d have her home, even though it would be devoid of the love she’d always wanted there. But she could survive. She would survive.
“Whoa,” she heard her driver say reverently. “Is that a BMW E30 M3?”
“What did you say?” Kareena jerked forward until she was practically in the front of the car with him. There, through the front windshield, was her beautiful shiny new baby with a fantastic paint job, new tires, rims, the works. “Oh my god!”
She bolted out of the car and ran in her heels, her feet sliding from being so sweaty in the late summer heat. “It’s my Beamer!” Kareena shrieked. She vaguely heard the car service vehicle peel away from the curb behind her. Her entire focus was on the classic BMW parked in front of her home.
Dave, her crusty, middle-aged mechanic, climbed out of the driver’s seat. He had clean clothes on for the first time since she’d met him years ago, and held up a set of keys. “She’s done!” he proclaimed proudly.
Kareena ran her hands over the rear of the small sedan, tears pouring down her cheeks in earnest now. It was finally here. The vehicle she’d been working on for years. “I thought I was supposed to come to you! I have to pay for all the work.” She’d been worried about that, because the bill was going to take a huge chunk out of what she was hoping to use as a down payment to her father.
“The bill has been taken care of,” he said, grinning.