Dating Dr. Dil (If Shakespeare was an Auntie #1)(2)

Kareena paused in front of the framed photo of her mother that took up most of the freshly painted hallway wall. The large portrait had a string of fake marigolds tucked into the top corners, so it draped like a necklace over Neelam Mann. Her eyes were full of love, and she looked so happy.

“Miss you every day, Mom,” Kareena whispered. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and to the base of the picture. “I feel you every time I take care of our house and work on your car. My car now.”

After saying a quick thank-you prayer in the temple room next door, Kareena lugged her tote bag downstairs, and through the narrow hallway to the kitchen in the back of the house.

“Hello, I’m here— Oh. Um, what’s going on?”

Instead of seeing Dadi in the kitchen hovering near the stove, Kareena’s grandmother and father were sitting at the dining table with bowls of cereal. Over a dozen glittery gold letter boxes sat between them. Dadi was on her large tablet, while her father was reading something on his cell phone. Neither of them spared her a glance.

“You guys are having cereal?” Kareena asked.

Dadi sat back in her velour maroon tracksuit. Her freshly dyed black hair was wet from her shower and combed back in a short severe style accentuating the happy lines around her mouth and eyes. “If you want something, you can make it yourself. I taught you how.”

“Okay, but . . . well, aren’t we celebrating?” Kareena responded in the same mix of Hindi, English, and Punjabi her grandmother used.

Dadi’s eyebrows furrowed. Then with a look of surprise, she motioned to the gold boxes with her chai cup. “Oh this? Your sister wants us to look at invitations. She plans on personally delivering these gold boxes with scrolls in them to all her guests. You may have to help her. Her wedding is less than a year away, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Kareena said. She’d known since the day her sister announced her engagement. It was right after Kareena had shared the news that she accepted a position at Women Who Work as their general counsel, which wasn’t received with nearly as much excitement.

“Why are you standing like that over there?” her father asked. He sounded irritated, which was no different than how he normally sounded to her lately.

Kareena dropped her tote bag and pressed a hand to the ache in her chest. “This is a joke, right? You two couldn’t have . . . I mean, I know I’ve been working late, and I haven’t seen you for the last few days, but there is no way that you don’t remember. It happens every year.”

When her father and grandmother looked at each other, then at her, Kareena knew.

They’d forgotten.

She hadn’t woken up particularly happy about her birthday, but damn it, she was really looking forward to those paranthas. And maybe even a moment that was about her. A moment that didn’t revolve around her sister or her sister’s wedding, or her sister’s YouTube channel.

Kareena should’ve been angry, but after so many disappointments recently, this was expected.

“Happy thirtieth to me,” she mumbled.

Her father and grandmother must’ve heard her because their eyes went wide.

“J-just kidding!” Dadi said, and bolted from the table. She hobbled forward, arms out for a hug. “Happy birthday, my bachcha! How could I forget my May grandbaby?” She squeezed Kareena around the waist.

Kareena patted her grandmother on the back. “It’s fine, Dadi.”

She met her father’s eyes as he rose from his seat. He was dressed for work in khakis with a phone clip on his belt. “You don’t want to celebrate today anyway,” he said as he rounded the table to give her a hug. “Thirty is your first infertility milestone.”

“And to think, I wanted to spend my morning with you both. Well, if there are no paranthas, I’m going to catch an earlier train into the city.”

“No, no sit!” Dadi said motioning to the table. “Your sister wanted gobi paranthas today during lunch while we reviewed her wedding invitations. I’ll just make them now for you.”

Kareena didn’t miss the double standard that existed for her sister when it came to food. “You know I hate cauliflower paranthas. Leave it, Dadi. It’s fine.” Damn it, what did she have to do to get that kind of treatment from people she loved?

Oh, that’s right. She had to get married.

Her grandmother was already taking out the Corelle cups and plates with the cornflower blue floral design on the edges from the cabinets Kareena refaced the month before. Then came the ceramic yogurt container with homemade dahi, the mango pickle, a Tupperware container of dough, and a matching container with dry durum wheat flour.

“It’s already prepared,” Dadi said. “Just sit, it’ll take me two minutes to make.”

“Dadi, it’s fine.” Kareena really hated cauliflower paranthas. It was like putting garam masala on farts.

“You shouldn’t be shouting at Dadi,” her sister said. Bindu strode in from the mudroom with her cascade of perfect curls. They flowed around her like the loose fabric of her maxi dress. Her hooped nose ring sparkled, and her bangles clicked as she dropped a gift bag to the floor.

“Happy thirtieth birthday, big sister!”

Holy crap, her younger sister actually remembered her birthday. Kareena had to admit it was a nice surprise that she showed up at all, since Bindu spent more time with her fiancé now than anyone else.