Dating Dr. Dil (If Shakespeare was an Auntie #1)(19)

“I think it’s best if we all forget this ever happened,” Prem finally replied. I’m going to hold this against Kareena Mann for the rest of my life. “But thanks for calling, I guess.”

“Wait! I promise you it’ll be worth your while. I know how you can ‘recover from the show’! It’s the least I can do for you. But I’d rather not tell you on the phone.”

Prem had no idea what she could possibly recommend to salvage Dr. Dil, but she’d definitely piqued his interest. He looked up at his friends, who nodded. “I’m listening,” he finally said.

“Great! I saw all the comments, I know that you are trying to build a community health center. All you have to do is come for chai. We’ll talk about my plan, and I know you won’t regret it. I’ll text you the address. Thank you for giving me this chance, Prem! Dr. Verma!” With that she hung up.

“What do you think she has planned?” Bunty said on the computer screen, mouth full of stir-fry vegetables.

“I have no idea. But I also don’t have options.” Deepak’s solution was fake dating. Bindu’s plan could potentially be something better. Prem looked down at his phone again then back at his friends. “I think I’m going to Edison.”





Chapter Six

Prem




Gregory LTD Financial: I don’t know if I can trust you. I’m sorry, my decision still stands.

Prem: I’m going to keep trying to change your mind. This health center is really important for my community, Greg.

Gregory LTD Financial: I believe you, but you’re asking for a large investment, and with the way that your community currently perceives you, I don’t think you can be trusted.

Prem: Then I’ll have to gain back their trust and yours.





An impending sense of doom haunted Prem as he walked up the front stone path of a beautiful white colonial with black shutters and a small front porch. His curiosity was the driving force behind his agreement to the meeting, but now that he was here, he wasn’t so sure this was a good idea.

He paused at the base of the porch steps and scanned the neighboring yards. He always figured that maybe one day when he was married and settled, he’d find a place like this in the suburbs that was close enough to the city, but also had a nice yard.

Later though. After he finished his health center.

He raised a fist to knock on the freshly painted front door. “Here goes nothing,” he mumbled.

What did Bindu want? Why did he have to come over for chai to talk about her video? Was she going to shoot a follow-up or something and claim that the first video was a setup? Would that even work? Was he going to see Kareena Mann again?

He hoped he did. Then he could strangle her. “Here goes nothing,” he mumbled.

Prem pulled at his neckline in the early June heat, and seconds later Bindu opened the door and stood framed in light.

“Hi! You made it. You came from work?”

He looked down at his scrubs. “Yes, I did.”

“Great! Come on in.”

Prem peeked in the door. It looked like a normal house. “Uh, can’t you just tell me why I’m here first?”

“Nope!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the entryway.

Years of conditioning in a desi household had him toeing off his Chucks. Bindu held on to his arm the whole time, assuming correctly that he was a flight risk. “Bindu, this is really strange. I appreciate you doing the show and everything, but I don’t know how else you can help this situation.”

“You’ll see.”

There was something about her tone that had him glancing around. That’s when he noticed there were quite a few sandals in the foyer. Ladies’ sandals.

He then smelled something delicious.

Prem froze. “Wait, Bindu are there . . . aunties here?”

There was a brief moment of panic on her face before her grip on his arm became viselike and she dragged him into the kitchen. Damn it, he should’ve known it was a trap. Smelling ghee, curry leaves, and cumin seeds with a hint of rose incense was always the indicator of aunties present.

The scent grew bolder as Bindu dragged him down the hallway into the kitchen.

Before he could call out “Stranger danger,” he was faced with five older women sitting in a semicircle in a kitchenette. A table covered in snacks was pushed against a wall, and the only empty seat was in the middle of the semicircle facing the firing squad.

Aunties were literally Prem’s worst nightmare. The older married Indian women in his community were ruthless. It didn’t matter if they were East Coast aunties, West Coast aunties, aunties in Australia, or aunties in India. He was a tall, single, thirty-five-year-old desi dude with an M.D. His parents were doctors, and he even had his own talk show. It sounded pretentious, but he was aunty catnip, and he barely made it out of social gatherings unscarred.

“Everyone, meet Dr. Prem Verma,” Bindu said. She practically shoved him into the chair.

His training kicked in before he could get up and make a run for it. “Uh, namaste,” he said, folding his hands together.

The aunties smiled at him in approval.

“Hello, beta,” the oldest woman present said. She was wearing a maroon velour tracksuit, thick socks, and Adidas house chappals that smacked against the tile floor as she got up to retrieve a plate of samosas from the table. She shoved it in front of his face. “I am Kareena and Bindu’s grandmother, but you can call me Dadi. Would you like a samosa?”