“You could have found the time,” she says, voice tight. I know she’s mad and simply looking for reasons to lash out, but the hostility still grates. Noori Aunty busies herself with the stove, not wanting to bear witness to her best friend’s outburst.
“We have some time now,” Kush says before I can retort. I glance over to him. “It’ll take a bit to cook the kulchas,” he says, nodding at the tray. “So Rani and I can drop off a plate and get driving practice in at the same time.”
Aai considers. “Not a bad idea,” Noori Aunty offers. “Get both things done at once.”
Aai waves a hand. “Fine,” she says. “Go.”
There’s no need to tell me twice. I grab the keys and head to the garage, letting Kush follow with the food.
When he meets me a couple minutes later, my arms are still crossed, my face hot with irritation. He pauses in the dim garage light after setting the carefully boxed karahi in the trunk.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I say, voice small and hard, the very antithesis of fine. I move toward the driver’s door, but Kush halts me.
“You didn’t actually think I was going to let you drive, did you?”
“Will youeverlet me drive,” I say, “is the golden question.”
“Tomorrow,” he says, patient and refusing to rise to my bait. “At our scheduled practice time.” I begin to retort, but he continues. “It’s getting dark, and you have no experience on the road. We’ve yet to have a successful parking lot session. I was just trying to give you an escape from the kitchen.”
It’s hard to argue with this logic; the sun has indeed started to dip below the horizon, casting the neighborhood in hazy yellow light. And it’s not like I don’t appreciate the out. Spending another moment with Aai would surely have triggered a full-on fight. Or worse, my tears.
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks for that.”
He slides into the car, and I follow after him, clicking in my seat belt. We start to drive, and the radio automatically queues on low volume in the background.
“Is she like that often?” he asks at the first stoplight.
“Psycho and blaming, you mean?”
His mouth twitches. “I wouldn’t have used those exact words.”
I deflate, feeling a twinge of immediate guilt for my characterization. “Neither should I. She is… very overprotective. Of us all. She panics over our well-being very easily, as you saw.” I consider. “And she expects a lot from me when it comes to taking care of the twins. But I guess that’s kind of my job.”
He tilts his head. “Is it?”
I consider the question. “I want it to be,” I say. “Most of the time, anyways. I love the boys, and I like being involved in their lives.” It’s the truth, but a deeper answer is that I can’t really imagine an alternative. Since my childhood runaway attempt, this has always been my role within our family.
“Still,” Kush says, skepticism lacing his voice. “It’s got to get a bit excessive.”
I shrug, giving him this. “Sometimes,” I agree. “But it’s a big-sister thing.” I cluck my tongue. “You wouldn’t get it. Only-child privilege and all.”
He’s looking at the road, so I can’t be sure, but he grimaces. “Not always a privilege,” he says. There’s a beat, and he rushes to clarify. “For instance, you have guaranteed plus-ones to all the family functions. I’m forced to endure those alone.”
“That is a drawback,” I say. “Though you do a good job of escaping most events, as it is.” It’s true—today’s appearance is somewhat of a surprise. Aside from the unavoidable major gatherings, Kush does his best to stay far from our family friend circle.
“Benefit of being everyone’s favorite hardworking future doctor,” he says. “No one doubts that I’ve got more important things to do with my time.”
“So you’ve been faking!” I cry, and he laughs, dimples cutting into his cheeks, the sound both startling and pleasing.
“Not faking.” He pauses. “Embellishing, maybe,” he admits. “And only when talking to Shilpa Aunty feels particularly onerous.”
“Onerous is kind of her whole vibe,” I say.
“Real,” he agrees, and a smile pushes at my lips. I realize with a jerk that this is one of the firstfunmoments I’ve had with Kush in a while. We’re usually at odds in some capacity or else stuck in stiff, formal social settings.
Eager to keep the energy light, I ask, “How’s your weekend been, otherwise?”
