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“Cheers,” I say. We clink our glasses together and each take a sip of the sweet, bubbly drink.
A beautiful woman enters the room. Her caramel skin is a shade lighter than Jaron’s, but when she smiles at me, I can see Jaron’s same dark eyes, beneath her long, elegant lashes. She’s wearing tight fitting jeans and a pale pink shirt, which accentuates her figure. She sets a small plate of something deep fried and triangular in front of us.
“Thanks, Mom,” Jaron says, smiling appreciatively.
Mom? I would never have guessed that this beautiful young woman was Jaron’s mom! She doesn’t look old enough to have a teenager, let alone six kids.
“This is Emma,” he says, pointing to me with an outstretched hand.
She smiles and extends a hand to me. “It’s so nice to meet you, Emma.”
“You as well,” I say, nodding. We shake hands briefly and his mom returns to the kitchen.
Jaron looks at me and smiles. “Have you ever had Indian food before?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think I have. But it looks delicious.”
“These are called samosas,” he says. “You can dip it in this tamarind sauce, or in this mint chutney sauce,” he says, pointing each one out.
I’m both excited and nervous to try them. My parents aren’t very adventurous, as far as cuisine goes. So, I haven’t had a lot of opportunities to try ethnic foods. I grab a samosa from off the plate. It’s warm, pastry shell dents beneath my fingers. I follow Jaron’s example and dip before taking my first bite. Thespices swirl in my mouth and dance on my tongue. It’s nothing like I’ve ever had before, and I love it.
“This is delicious,” I say, after swallowing the last bite. I reach for another samosa off the plate. “Please tell your mom how much I love it.”
Jaron cocks his head and grins.
His mom comes back into the room, followed by a couple of older girls. Each of them is holding a dish of food, which they place on the table.
“Hey Mom, Emma wants me to tell you how much she loves my cooking,” he says.
My jaw drops. “You made all this?” I ask.
Jaron’s grin widens. “You bet I did.”
“Jaron is a great cook,” his mom says. “I’ve been teaching him in the kitchen since he was very young. And sometimes, he even helps fill in at the restaurant.” His mom smiles proudly. “If baseball doesn’t pan out, he’s got a great career ahead of him, cooking for the restaurant.”
I am in awe. I think I made a box of macaroni and cheese once…
Jaron’s sisters giggle and I smile over at them. They both have straight, long, dark hair and gorgeous dark eyes. They glance at me and whisper in hushed voices. Their mom gives them a firm look, but says nothing.
“Thank you,” Jaron says.
Once the dishes are in place, his mom shoos the whispering girls out of the room.
I look at Jaron. He grins at me.
“Okay, well I definitely need a picture of this incredible meal,” I say, snapping a few shots of the beautiful feast. “All the girls are going to be so impressed that you cooked for me,” I say.
“You’re the only girl I care about impressing right now,” he says.
I know I’m blushing again. I try and change the subject. “I didn’t know you guys owned a restaurant,” I say.
“Yeah, Dad came over from India for college, met Mom, and never went back. They opened their restaurant about six years ago.”
“That’s really cool.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
