From Twinkle, With Love(46)

Sahil’s house was just as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. There were statues and pots and paintings all over the place, with spotlights shining down on them like in a museum. “Oh my God,” I said again, walking over to a metal plate on the table with what looked like little vines etched all over it. Dadi had a similar one in her “room” (just a big laundry closet Mummy and Papa converted for her when she insisted I should take the second bedroom, which was too small for two beds). This one was much bigger, though, and looked like it was made of real silver. “Your house is so cool.”

“That’s from India,” a female voice said.

A tall white woman in a gray tunic and white leggings was smiling at us. Her eyes were green and her brown hair was pulled back into an untidy bun. An oversize watch hung loosely from her wrist. She was beautiful in an earthy kind of way, like she enjoyed messy things that made you sweat—gardening and rock climbing and stuff. “I love it,” I said.

“You must be Twinkle.” She came forward, still smiling warmly, and clasped one of my hands in both of hers. “Sahil’s told us so much about you—”

Sahil cleared his throat theatrically.

“… your directorial skills,” his mom amended, laughing. “I’m Anna.”

I laughed too, even though my cheeks were flushed. What would Anna Auntie say if she knew I was crushing on both her sons? I bet she wouldn’t be so welcoming. “That’s nice to hear. Sahil’s been a great producer.”

I followed her into the kitchen, where a man stood at the stove with a dish towel over one shoulder, flipping pancakes. He was almost as dark-skinned as me, with thick glasses and a balding head. “Twinkle!” he called jovially. His voice had just a bit of an Indian accent coating his American one. “How are you? My name’s Ajit. I’m Sahil’s father!”

“I’m fine, Uncle,” I said. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Uncle!” He beamed at Anna Auntie and poured more batter onto the griddle. “What did I tell you? Indian kids, best manners in the world!”

Anna Auntie rolled her eyes good-naturedly, like she’d heard this a million times before. “Yes, dear, I know. Our kids aren’t so badly behaved themselves.”

“But being only half-Indian, my manners are only half as good,” Sahil said. “But I did manage to call your parents Uncle and Auntie in the nick of time.”

“That would explain why they were so obsessed with you.” I turned to Anna Auntie. “My entire family loves Sahil. They usually don’t even like boys.”

Sahil took a mock bow and his mom flapped her hand at him. “No one likes a show-off,” she warned.

“Except Twinkle’s parents, apparently,” he said, carrying a glass carafe of orange juice over to the table. Was a carton too trashy? We didn’t even have carafes at my house. If I asked for one my parents would probably laugh until they cried and then say, Why don’t we just burn some money for fun?

“I think it was more your charming producer demeanor,” I said, just as Ajit Uncle brought over a platter of pancakes. I stared at him. Papa would never serve us, and especially not wearing a frilly apron around his waist. I hadn’t noticed it before because he’d been behind the stove. It had hummingbirds and hearts on it. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t be rude in my staring. I mean, he’d just complimented me on my manners and everything. It was cool to see an adult man not caring about society’s artificial rules for masculinity, though.

We all sat, with Ajit Uncle and Anna Auntie taking seats across the table from Sahil and me. Two chairs at the head and foot of the table sat empty.

“So … is Neil here?” I asked, trying not to be too obvious about why I was asking.

“He’s at his friend Patrick’s house,” Ajit Uncle replied. “He’s at practice so much that he tries to see them as much as he can!”

“Wish he felt the same way about spending time with us,” Anna Auntie added, laughing. “Right, Sahil?”

Sahil, I noticed, had gone still. He wasn’t looking at me as he poured himself some milk. Right. That whole sibling rivalry thing. “Yep,” he said with forced heartiness.

I took a bite of the pancake and almost fainted. “Oh my God,” I said, after I’d swallowed. “This is … You should open your own restaurant!”

Ajit Uncle laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“Papa’s being modest,” Sahil said. “He basically cooks every meal around here.”

“Hey, now,” Anna Auntie said between bites. “I make mac and cheese.”

Sahil snorted. “Out of the box.”

“Yes, but I add hot dogs and red pepper flakes to it.” Pointedly, she added, “My own recipe. That Sahil loved, FYI, until two years ago.”

I laughed. “I think it’s great that Ajit Uncle cooks. My mom and dadi are the cooks in my place. But they never make peanut butter chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Twinkle’s a bit of a peanut butter chocolate nut,” Sahil said. “Skid’s always trying to convince her to branch out, sweets-wise, but she’s stubborn.”

“I know what I like,” I said. “I can’t help it.”

“A person who knows her own mind is a rarity,” Ajit Uncle said, tucking into his third pancake. “Tell me, Twinkle, where do you plan to go to film school?”