Dating Dr. Dil (If Shakespeare was an Auntie #1)(90)

“Life is complicated,” he said. He rubbed his knuckles. “He said you were getting married.”

“I-I can’t go through with it.”

“Is it because he didn’t come and meet me formally? Or because I haven’t been introduced to his parents properly?”

She rolled her eyes. “And you wonder why I’m such a smart-ass,” she said. “No, it’s because Prem doesn’t love me. Doesn’t think that love is anything more than an illusion.”

“But you love him?”

Kareena nodded, swallowing hard. “Enough to almost go through with the engagement.”

Her father made a humming noise, as if to say han, samajh gaya. Yes, I understand. “This didn’t have anything to do with your mother’s house, did it?”

“Dadi asked that question, too.” Kareena debated telling him the truth and figured there was no harm in it now. He was going to list it regardless. “At first, Prem and I talked about a fake engagement. He needed to repair his reputation to get his community center, and I needed you to give me the down payment money for the house.”

Instead of an angry retort, her father chuckled. “That son of a bitch. Smart idea.”

“Daddy,” Kareena chided.

“What? It is. Better than what that Loken can come up with. At least your sister scares him. I never have to worry about her.”

She snorted. “I wonder what they thought of me after I left?”

“That there’s one in every family,” her father replied. “They were fine. The party was cut short because no one was in the mood to be there. We all decided to give you space, so we stayed until everyone left, but your grandmother wouldn’t let me drink any more after you left so I could drive. Bindu’s mad at you for ‘killing the vibe.’ Those are her words.”

Kareena cringed. “I’ll make it up to her. When she moves out, I can help her clean her room and get the house ready to put on the market.” The process would be so heartbreaking, but she was already hurting.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not, but like you’ve reminded me repeatedly, it’s your house.”

“Only if you don’t want it.”

Kareena sat up. “What?”

She could make out her father’s crooked smile in the dark. “I’ve decided to hold off selling the house for another six months. It gives you time to save money to buy it from me. And if you still fall short, I’ll lower the sale cost.”

Kareena didn’t know what to say for a full minute. She put her hot chocolate down on the shed floor because her hands began shaking.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s what your mother would’ve wanted. And what’s six more months?”

Kareena looked up at the house with glowing lights accented by moonlight. She could feel the tears burning in her throat again. Oh my god. She could stay here, stay in her home like she’d always wanted. If she worked hard, she could save more than enough money for the down payment. And then it would be hers.

“You mean it?”

Her father rested a hand on her shoulder. “I loved your mother,” he said quietly. “But I love you, too. I’m sorry I’m so hard on you. Take the six months, Kareena.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said with a sniffle. “I really appreciate it. I’m going to make Mom proud.”

He grunted. “You already have, beta. You already have.”

They sat in silence for a moment longer, with the midnight breeze rushing through the grass and the surrounding trees.

Her father finally got to his feet. He cleared his throat. “So. When am I going to meet this man’s parents? Do you know his birth date, and the time he was born?”

“I appreciate the questions, Dad, but I think that ship has sailed.”

“Nonsense,” he said, flexing his hand again. “If he has as thick of a skull as I know he has, then he’ll come around.”

“I’m going to focus on other important things,” Kareena said. “Like getting ready for home ownership.”

Kareena stood and looped an arm through her father’s. Her heart still felt broken, but at least she knew that she was handy and could work on fixing it herself. She didn’t need a cardiologist after all.





Chapter Thirty-Two

Prem




The last time someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on his nuts was when he was a junior in high school and about to be late for the SATs. This time, it was much, much worse.

He woke with a startling gasp and bolted off the couch. Then, because he was still in shock, he missed the empty pizza boxes, jabbed his toe against the coffee table, and fell flat on his ass in front of the TV.

“Fu—”

“Prem Verma!”

The sharp, high-pitched tone was enough for him to stop mid-expletive and jump to his feet. “Mom!”

Prem looked up to see his primly dressed mother in tan slacks and a cream-colored blouse with a small rolling suitcase at her side. In one hand was the mop bucket from his utility closet. The other hand was propped on her hip.

Her mouth thinned. “I let you come to the East Coast so you could study and be a contributing member to society. And this! This is the son I raised?”