Dating Dr. Dil (If Shakespeare was an Auntie #1)(92)

When he reentered the living space, his mother had rolled up her sleeves and was kneading dough at the island. What was even more surprising was that the entire place sparkled. The pizza boxes and beer bottles had been transferred to the trash. The rug looked like it was vacuumed, and all the dust and crumbs were swept off every surface in the house. The hallway closet rumbled with the sound of the washer in the background.

Prem pulled out one of the stools at the island and sat. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Thanks, ka bachcha,” she muttered before slamming the dough down onto the counter. “You go to an engagement party with the intention of announcing your engagement, but don’t invite your parents to be there.”

He winced. “You know it’s complicated, Mom.”

“Only idiot sons make it complicated,” she said. The microwave dinged, and she pulled out a steaming container of giant potatoes. It must’ve been burning hot, but since his mother hasn’t felt anything in her fingertips after singeing them while flipping rotis for years, she didn’t blink an eye as she leisurely moved it to the sink to rinse in cold water. “If your father and I were there, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself punched in the face.”

“Did Bunty and Deepak tell you all this?” Prem asked.

“No, Falguni Kaushal did.”

“Who?”

His mother made a smacking sound of impatience. “Falguni! You know, my bahu’s aunty?”

“Bahu . . . wait what? Are you talking about Kareena? My Rina?”

“Do I have any other daughters-in-law?”

Prem cradled his head in his hands. His mother spoke a different language sometimes. “Mom, you have no daughters-in-law.”

“Semantics,” she said, and made quick work in peeling the hot potatoes. She dumped them in a bowl and began pulling out the Indian seasoning he kept in the back of one of the cabinets for when she visited. “Kareena has four aunties. One of them is Falguni Kaushal. That’s who I talked to. She’s a lovely woman.”

“How did you meet one of Rina’s aunties?”

“Do you remember Namrita Aunty? She had the failed Botox in her upper lip. Now she looks like she’s snarling all the time. Namrita’s brother-in-law has a cousin in New Jersey. I asked if he knew anyone in the Edison area who was friends with the Mann family. His sister is a Hindi teacher who taught Falguni Kaushal’s kids when they were young. After speaking with his sister, and confirming the connection, I immediately called Falguni when I got her number, and we connected the dots.”

Prem didn’t know whether to be mortified or impressed. “You are scary women,” he said.

“I’m resourceful.” She seasoned the potatoes while Prem watched in silence. Garam masala. Salt. Dried mango powder. “Falguni told me everything. She even told me about Kareena’s house, and how concerned they were for your engagement. Because Kareena Mann is looking for a love marriage, and my idiotic son can’t see past his own big brain. You get that from your father, you know.”

“Mom, I—”

She held up a hand sticky with potato chunks. “You deserve it.”

“Wait, what?” That was the last thing he expected his mother to say.

She wiped her cheek with the back of her wrist and let out a huff when she transferred a smudge of flour. “You’re my only baby, but you hurt my poor bahu.”

“She’s not your daughter-in- . . . you know what? Never mind.” Prem sat in silence for a few minutes, watching his mother move around his kitchen like it was her own. She grabbed a rolling pin and began pinching golf-ball-size pieces from the dough ball she’d created. Like a pro, she stuffed the dough with potato mixture.

Kareena would love these, he thought. She would probably love his mother, too.

The problem was that she also loved him.

She loved him, past tense. How could she possibly feel something for him after the engagement party?

Prem leaned against the countertop, arms folded. “Can I ask you something?”

“What is it, my beta,” she said as she put a flat tava on the front burner and added some ghee from a small container that he’d left in the back of his fridge.

His heart began pounding like when he was a kid, and he was about to have a serious discussion with his parents. “How come we don’t say ‘I love you’?”

She stopped flipping the parantha back and forth between her palms and stood blinking wide-eyed. “What in the world is this bakawas garbage, Prem? Why would you ask that?”

This conversation is going well, he mused. He stood from the island and went over to the corner cabinet to pull out some ibuprofen. After popping two pills and swallowing them dry, Prem leaned against his counter and faced his mother.

“Rina wants a love marriage. Bells, whistles, all of it. We have rising divorce rates, and mounting studies out there that talk about how love can actually cause heart damage. That it can be a fleeting emotion, and it’s not enough to sustain a long-term relationship.”

“Prem?” She said his name as if expecting him to continue, to go on.

The sticky, raw conversations were always hard to talk about with his parents even though he was lucky enough to always have their support. “You and Dad had a love marriage, didn’t you?”

“Of course. We told you that. Your father’s witch of a mother didn’t like me. But now she’s finally dead.”