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Grant flashed back to sessions with his therapist, Bernard—the trust they’d built over time, the way Bernard didn’t pull any punches. He’d have to watch himself with this whole family. They would talk circles around him.
“Mafi, take our guest’s coat. He looks ready to bolt,” Katrina said. Max stepped dutifully forward, collecting their coats, and hanging them by the door.
“Thank you, Max. Mafi. Max.” This is going well. “And it is a delight to meet you, Mrs.Sen,” Grant stumbled along. “Thank you for the hug. We Samson men aren’t up to date on our hug quota, I’m sure. But who is this Malina or Lina you’re all talking about? My guess is that you mean Melinda?” He turned to face her just as she blushed.
“Yes.” Melinda joined the conversation at last. “Perhaps the biggest irony of this case of mistaken identities is that my Hindi name—my real name—is Malina. Like Mafi, at some point in my childhood it became easier on the teachers, or the other kids, or me, to anglicize my name. And thus Melinda was born.” She ducked her head. “Just think, if I’d never changed it, maybe we wouldn’t be here at all.”
A chill ran down his spine. “Don’t even say that,” he said before he thought twice about it. Melinda’s head lifted and she smiled cautiously. At least I’m getting smiles. From her place at his side, Katrina squeezed his arm.
“Malina is very glad you’re here, Grant,” Katrina smiled up at him. “We all are. So don’t act any differently than you would at home. Malina has told you how I make my living, I assume?” Grant nodded. “Then you’ll know that I can’t psychoanalyze you properly unless you’re quite candid about who you are. So please don’t sugarcoat anything for us. And please call me Kat, or I’ll start a rumor that you’re afraid of red-nosed reindeer.”
Grant joined his father and the others in laughter.
But was Melinda really glad he was there? Grant couldn’t let it rest. She was wearing a dress, that was a good sign. And makeup, that counted for something, right? But it was a holiday, of course she looked nice. She had smiled at him; everyone had smiled at him. But Max had smiled at him too and Grant wasn’t convinced Max wasn’t interested in tossing him in a snowdrift.
“Take her seriously,” Max said from his latest perch against a wall where he spied on Grant. “Don’t let that therapeutic voice fool you. Whatever secrets you think you’re hiding, she’ll get them out of you.”
“Max!” Melinda hissed.
“He can take it, Lina,” Max said, eyes on Grant. “Why don’t you spare Dr.Sen the effort and tell us, Grant, do all of your relationships begin this way? Or just the short-term ones?”
~
Melinda could have smacked her brother across the face. What was he trying to do? Why was he being so antagonistic? Hadn’t he helped her lure Grant here in the first place?
“Silver lining, if you need alter egos for a bank robbery, you’ve got Malina and Gerald,” Max said, to Melinda’s relief. Was Max only teasing? “Now that this cowboy’s been sized up, can I have a drink please? And can I get one for my new friend, here?” he asked. “Lina makes a mean masala spiced wine, Buck. It gets you nice and cozy before it knocks you on your keister.”
“Mafi!” her mother said.
“You don’t have the market cornered on witticisms, Katrina,” Max said. Her mom darted to his side to swat his arm and wrap him in an effusive hug. Melinda’s heart squeezed as Max didn’t shy back, allowing their mother to embrace him, then return the gesture in kind.
How could Melinda have shut out these amazing people for so long? Her head spun.
Max led Buck, her parents and Melisa into the kitchen to procure everyone’s beverages of choice, and Melinda made a mental note to thank him later. Had he meant to leave her and Grant alone together? And what was with his cagey commentary? She had a few things to ask him when they spoke later.
Grant stayed by her side with his hand hovering at her elbow.
“Will you take me on a tour?” He offered his arm.
Melinda’s eyes drifted up his shirt to his face. He seemed happy to be there—was he angry that she had tricked him? She scanned his face. His eyes were crinkly at the corners. Oh. Because he was smiling at her. Melinda took a steadying breath. She placed one hand on his arm, surprised that she both needed and wanted the support.
Looks like there’s a bear in my condo.
“Um, sure,” she managed. “You’ve seen the, uh, grand foyer,” she began, and he grinned. The others faded into the background as Melinda led Grant around her condo, stopping first at the windows.
“I was hooked on this view the moment I first saw it.” He nodded his agreement. “You can see halfway to the top of the park when it’s clear.” They negotiated the coffee table. “These are my couches,” she said with a grandiose sweep of her hand, and he laughed.
“Do you have an office?” he asked. “Or do you end up writing out here?”
“How’d you know?” she laughed. “I do have an office. It’s upstairs, next to...” Don’t say bedroom don’t say bedroom don’t say bedroom. “The bedroom. My bedroom. My office is next to my bedroom.” Smooth. “Anyway, sometimes I can manage to write there, if I’m feeling particularly grown-up. Mostly I use it as a yoga studio,” she said. “I take my laptop down here, make myself some tea, and channel my kitchen. The office is too far away! How am I supposed to get culinarily inspired all the way upstairs?”
Grant chuckled.
Was she babbling? She was babbling. Time to move on.
“My TV is my super fancy room divider,” she gestured as they walked farther. “And here’s the dining table where I keep my junk mail.” Grant laughed. Was he falling for this? Did he think she was stable? Good, she needed time to collect herself. She’d known he was coming, and even so, seeing him had completely thrown her. Touching him was slowly melting her brain into fondue.
“I know you’re just buying time until we get to the kitchen.” Now it was her turn to laugh.
