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“You know you can count on me to pick up your slack,” he said. Melinda stilled. “Then we’re all descending upon you,” he continued, “so get your chutney going. But we have plenty of time now for you to come clean about this guy who’s sniffing around. Grunt, was it? Tell me about him. Ma says we’re not allowed to have him killed.”
Melinda wrapped a tamarind-and-turmeric-colored throw around her shoulders and grinned.
“His name is Grant.” She aimed for righteous indignation and fell completely short. “And no, we can’t have him killed. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” She caught herself. How could she mean that? He kidnapped her! He tortured her! Remember, she thought. Forgiveness is not wrong, and he tortured no one. Look at that, she was growing as a person. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and that included having feelings for her, reaching out to her, or waiting to hear from her. “But we might have to do something, because he knows too much.”
Max laughed and Melinda smiled. She had forgotten how much she loved to hear her brother laugh.
“Didi,” he said. “Mom says you’re gaga over him.”
“Oh great.” Melinda’s eyes rolled skyward.
“She told me some crazy story where you guys ended up stranded at a cabin during that huge blizzard a couple weeks ago. He saved your life, yeah? You okay? I wanted to call after I heard, but she told me to let you do you.”
Melinda exhaled. Is that what her brother had been doing? Letting her do her? And what had she been doing? Assuming the worst of him. She shook her head—back to the phone call. Was that the picture her mother had painted of her encounter with Grant? Not too bad. She could work with that.
She filled in Max on the details—the Kaar decoy, the blizzard, the power outage. The walk in the snow, the head wound. That she had had...significant interactions with Grant and was maybe accidentally totally in love with him. She heard herself say as much to Max and caught her breath but hurried on. Grant had poured his heart out. Melinda had opened up but then just as quickly shut down, and hadn’t replied. Melinda had gone underground.
“So yeah,” she finished. “Yeah, I think he’s kind of great, Bhai.” Her chest hurt. She loved her little brother so much. “I know he’s great. No ‘kind of’ about it. But what do I do?”
“Well, hell,” said Max. “We gotta rope this guy in, don’t we? I’m on it. Let me think.”
“Think?” Melinda said, confused. “Rope him in? What?”
“Lina.” Melinda’s chest warmed at his use of her nickname. “Too much time has passed. You left the guy hanging. And speaking of leaving someone hanging, Didi, what the bloody hell? You think you’re going to disappear on me for two years, and then just leave me a message and we’re all good? Where the hell did you go? What the hell did I do?”
Melinda’s stomach sank so low it hit her toes.
“Max...”
“Seriously, Lina, was I that bad of a cellmate that you absolved any knowledge of knowing me? I haven’t even gotten a birthday card!”
“It’s not like you called me, either!”
“It’s not like you gave me the option! You didn’t even tell me you’d gotten a condo. I found out from Mom last spring after a mailer I sent you bounced back from your place downtown.”
“Mailer?”
“Yeah, a mailer. An invitation. My band opened at Red Rocks and I wanted you to be there.”
Now Melinda’s stomach hurt. This was the opposite of the conversation she’d had with her mother. Her brother was looking for accountability and, unlike her mother, Melinda was ducking for cover. She’d abandoned her brother when each had been the only close family the other had had. He’d reached out to her and she hadn’t even bothered to send him a forwarding address.
“Max,” she said. “I was just...falling apart. But I didn’t know I was falling apart. I thought I was independent. I thought I was focusing on my career. I had to focus on my career. Hawking oven timers takes a while to add up to a mortgage.”
Silence answered her. Okay, that was weak. She sighed.
“The truth is that it was easier to blame it on you,” she admitted. “I had already blamed Mom and Dad for everything that happened in Bellingham, so when we both ended up here, you pretty much became the scapegoat for things that didn’t go my way.”
She wondered if he’d hung up.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s about how it felt,” Max said finally and the pain in his voice seared her heart. Anger shielded sadness.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the phone pressed hard to her ear, her knees wedged beneath her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know that I was so broken.”
Max sighed. “It’s okay, Lina. I get it. I haven’t exactly been the perfect brother, either. The first half of my twenties could stand a serious shoeshine.”
Melinda sniffed, heart in her throat. Could he forgive her?
“But look,” he said. “It doesn’t matter how perfect this guy is, you gotta make a grand gesture if you want him to remember your name. And since I’m coming to your soiree, I want to make sure he’s worth the effort. Plus, it’s Christmas, and we’re Bengali. Go big or go home. It’ll make for a good blog.”
Relief washed through Melinda’s limbs and cooled her anxious core.
“Wait, what?” she asked. “Are you reading my blog now, too?”
“Of course, Didi. What kind of brother would I be if I neglected Lina’s daily wisdom?”
Melinda was speechless. What next, Grandma Zaara would call her for seasoning tips?
“Okay. I know what we’re going to do,” Max said. “Put your salt away, Betty Crocker, there’s a new cook in the kitchen.”
