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A cranberry flew over the kitchen island and hit her father in the back. Melinda giggled and her father grumbled in Hindi about people accepting their mistakes and moving on. Melinda pulled ingredients for the payesh onto the countertop: short-grain rice, bay leaf, coconut milk, coconut oil, coconut sugar, cardamom.
Her father measured rice into a bowl, topped it with water, and swirled the grains with his fingers. Melinda poured coconut milk into the saucepan and turned the heat to medium. She measured the sugar and her father ground cardamom with a mortar and pestle.
“Is your mulled wine done?” He inhaled the steam rising from the stockpot.
“It is, Pita ji,” she answered. “Should we sample?” she asked and selected two robin’s-egg blue teacups from the cupboard.
“Definitely.” He ladled the drink into the cups. “Only because it would be wise not to serve your Swedish mother unsavory glögg.”
Melinda smiled and clinked cups with her father.
“I love you, Dad.”
“And I you, beloved one.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Of course, Meye,” he said. “I might be a numbers man, but I also know the value of a sweet moment.” Melinda smiled and her father returned to grinding cardamom. They’d had so many sweet moments in her youth. Why had she forsaken them?
“Dad?” Something in her tone stilled his hand and he turned to face her.
Now what did she say?
Now be brave.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For Heaven’s sake, why, Meye?”
“Because I forgot...you.”
Her father was watching her, hearing her, being with her.
“What do you mean, my dear?”
“I thought you weren’t there for me. I forgot who you were. Who you are. How you are. The way you love us.”
To his credit, Aarjav Sen was not afraid of big or strange feelings. No one married to Melinda’s mother could shrink in the face of emotion; it would find him like a heart-seeking missile.
“Meye, I did not know how to be what you needed me to be, and so I know that I became nothing.” Melinda’s heart constricted. “But human beings are meant to dance in and out of the nothingness, and I hope to one day be something to you again. I’m sorry, too, for not being the father you needed. I should have said so long ago.” His smile was gentle and without condemnation.
Is that what he’d felt all that time? That she thought of him as nothing? And she thought that he must be right. She had thought of his steadfast presence as nothing for her whole life. Crap. Why hadn’t she seen that before? Why had she been locked inside the prison of her own perspective? She stared into her mug.
Her father set aside his drink and folded her into his arms. For several luxurious minutes Melinda held on for dear life. Then she righted herself and smiled at her father with a lump in her throat.
Where is Max?Melinda returned to her drink. He should be here for this. If her brother would just get back from his errand, and hopefully before it was time to eat. Or before the wind picked up and blew him off the road.
A knock sounded at the door. Nice timing, little bro, Melinda thought. Her father turned to the rice and gestured that she go while he continued with the payesh. Melinda wiped her hands on her apron and ducked out of the kitchen to hurry toward the door.
Melisa beat her to it.
“Thank you for coming,” Melinda heard her say and Melinda’s hands clenched inside her apron pocket. She’d had more time than he to prepare for this moment. Her hair was brushed, her lashes thickened, her black wrap dress formfitting but still family-appropriate and comfortable. Her jutti slippers were festive—black and gold and encrusted with sparkly baubles. Her mouth was painted a deep mauve, blotted several times, just in case it might have a chance to smear onto someone else’s mouth. Not that she was getting her hopes up.
Melisa stepped aside and then there he was, a head taller than her brother, eyebrows knit together. He’s angry. Oh, God, he’s angry. Of course he was angry! Why had she listened to her brother? Or her mother? Or anyone? Why hadn’t she left well enough alone? Why had she even gone to that stupid conference in the first place?
Grant froze where he was, eyes wide. She knew Max had been feeding him lies about a meeting and Melisa’s distraught client to get him in the car. Melinda assumed Max had stolen a moment to clue in Grant’s father, who had to be the grinning man behind Grant.
Grant’s gaze pinned her where she stood, disallowing her another step forward, doubling down on the knot in her stomach. Her toes curled in her slippers and her breath all but disappeared. He held her hostage and the rest of the room was suspended along with her. Then he blinked and squared his shoulders.
