by Nicola Marsh
She’d bear the brunt of it, because she knew what to look for: the nuances in behavior, the subtle snubbing. Hopefully, Rory would be oblivious and she could tick this off her to-do list: “Introduce boyfriend and baby daddy to Indian community without him being publicly labeled a boy toy and her a cougar.”
Interestingly, the age difference didn’t matter to her anymore. The moment he’d committed to being a father, he’d instantly grown in her estimation. Considering his transient job and lifestyle, a young guy in his twenties could’ve pretended to care without wanting any involvement. But Rory wasn’t like that, and she hoped the crowd today saw what she saw: a kind, caring guy invested in them for the long haul.
Samira turned the doorknob. Unlocked, of course. Even a stranger would be admitted to an Indian party and welcomed unreservedly. Hospitality ranked up there with arranged marriages as par for the course.
Bhangra music blasted her eardrums as the pungent aroma of fenugreek assailed her nostrils and she cast a quick glance at Rory. Rather than appearing stunned, he sniffed appreciatively and grinned.
“It’s like stepping into a real Bollywood movie,” he said, gesturing her forward. “Lead the way, gorgeous.”
Pia made mock barfing sounds and strode ahead of them, leaving her to lean into Rory and murmur, “Thanks for doing this.”
“Hey, we’re a couple, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah, but I could’ve eased you into this by meeting Mom first.”
“This will be fun.” He did a little jive, complete with gyrating hips. “I watched a Bollywood flick last night. I’m going to wow them.”
She smiled and kissed his cheek. “You’ve wowed me, and I’m the toughest crowd there is.”
His tender gaze told her more than words ever could. Neither of them had remotely mentioned the L word—it was too early for that—but his support and willingness to meet everybody went a long way to cementing what she already knew: she was more than halfway to falling for him.
“Samira, is that you? Why are you hiding in the dark?” Kushi stood at the end of the hallway, silhouetted by the kitchen light. She wore a festive emerald green sari shot through with gold silk, an old favorite Samira knew she only wore on special occasions; like meeting prospective sons-in-law, if she had her way.
Samira sighed. “Come meet my mom. And remember, ignore any talk of our wedding, which she would’ve already planned to the nth degree in her head.”
Rory laughed. “Got it.”
When they reached the end of the corridor, Samira said, “Mom, this is Rory.”
“P-pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Broderick.” He held out the gerberas, and Samira watched for her mom’s tell of disapproval: a tiny pulse beating at the base of her ear.
But there was nothing but a reserved smile from Kushi as she accepted the flowers. “Thank you. These are beautiful. Now, don’t be nervous, young man, come and meet everyone.”
A blush stained Rory’s cheeks. Samira had picked up on the slight nervous stutter too, and she found it endearing. She knew Kushi could be lulling him into a false sense of security, but her mom had eased up on the Manish talk the last few weeks and seemed resigned to accepting her baby’s father. Only time would tell if the rest of the aunties were as accommodating.
“Are you hungry, Rory?” Kushi laid the gerberas on the kitchen bench before gesturing at the table in the corner, laden with pakoras and vada.
Samira knew this was a test. If Rory didn’t consume his body weight in spicy snacks and ghee-laden sweets, Kushi would hate him forever. Samira had warned him about the Indian propensity to force-feed their guests, and to her relief, he shot her a wink before smiling at Kushi.
“I’m ravenous, and your cooking smells divine.”
Kushi gave a nod of approval. “Help yourself while I put these flowers in water.”
“Take three of everything,” Samira murmured under her breath, and he grinned.
“I love tasty Indian morsels,” he said softly, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “But I thought you already knew that, considering how I feasted on you last night . . .”
Heat surged to Samira’s cheeks, and she elbowed him away, but not before her mom had witnessed their exchange. To her surprise, Kushi looked at them with benign acceptance rather than disapproval as she filled a vase from the kitchen tap, unwrapped the flowers, and placed them in the water.
“These are my favorite flowers, young man, so what else did my daughter tell you about me?”
“She said you’re an excellent cook, a wonderful mother, and a big fan of Bollywood movies.” He gave Samira the plate he’d piled with snacks, before helping himself to another; a huge tick in Kushi’s eyes by the approving glint. “Did she tell you I’m in the TV industry?”
Kushi nodded and bustled over to them. “Yes, I’d be very interested to hear all the behind-the-scenes gossip.”
And to Samira’s shock, Kushi threaded her arm through Rory’s elbow and led him to the door. “But we can talk later. For now, let me introduce you to everyone and then you can eat.”
Samira gaped as she followed them, bracing for the wave of noise to hit as Kushi opened the back door leading to the garden.
But as the three of them stepped out, the chatter and laughter stopped, as about thirty pairs of curious eyes fixed on Rory. Thankfully, the music filled what would’ve otherwise been an awkward silence, and she fixed a smile on her face.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Rory. My boyfriend,” she added, not that there’d be any doubt. She’d only ever brought one guy to a gathering like this in her childhood home, and she’d ended up marrying him.
A chorus of hellos rang out before the cacophony of voices rose again, and she could’ve sworn Kushi breathed as loud a sigh of relief as she did.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Rory said.
“The night is young.” Samira elbowed him, and Kushi nudged her away from his other side.
“Leave him be, Samira. He has to meet everyone at some stage, and no time like the present.” Kushi pointed to his plate. “But first, you eat.”
“Because once the aunties start their interrogation, you won’t have a chance to.”
Rory picked up a pakora and bit into it, his eyes widening with pleasure. “These are amazing.”
Kushi flushed. “Try the vada. They’re my specialty.”
He obliged, and this time a little groan escaped his lips. Overkill, Samira thought, but then again at the rate he demolished it, he wasn’t faking.
“You are an amazing cook.” Rory touched her mom’s arm. “Thank you.”
“And you are a sweet boy,” Kushi said, clearing her throat. “Rory, let me take you around, but first I want to have a quick word with Samira. Why don’t you refill your plate and meet us back here?”
Rory shot her a glance like he’d done something wrong, and Samira gave an approving nod. After he’d stepped back into the kitchen, her mom pulled her close.
“Samira, I will be honest. I was prepared to dislike this Australian man who has fathered your child out of wedlock. I intended to make life difficult for him here tonight.” She glanced away, shamefaced. “But I was wrong. He is a lovely young man. He has manners and he is respectful and I see the way he looks at you . . .”
When Kushi met her gaze again, there were tears in her mom’s eyes. “I still think Manish would make a good husband for you, but if this Rory makes you happy, I will try to support you as best I can.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Not a stamp of approval, exactly, but enough of an admission that Kushi would let up on the matrimonial machinations—hopefully.
However, as Samira accompanied Rory while her mom performed introductions to the aunties and a plethora of hangers-on who’d obviously come out of curiosity, the hour dragged. She didn’t blame Rory for becoming increasingly quiet, considering he’
d fielded questions from “Are you related to Chris Hemsworth, because you look alike?” to “You’re very young. Do you know how old Samira is?”
Rory seemed amused by it all. Hell, if this was painful, what would they say when she announced her pregnancy? It wouldn’t be long now. She’d worn a loose dress tonight to hide her small baby bump. She’d considered passing it off as a rice belly, but she knew astute eyes would put two and two together and come up with ten. Wild assumptions were a daily ritual with the aunties.
They’d made the rounds of the garden when they came to Sushma, Samira’s least-liked auntie. Shrewd and calculating, she’d been one of the ringleaders in her lynch mob back in the day when she’d left Avi. And their first meeting again months ago hadn’t endeared her to the annoying woman.
“Auntie, I’d like you to meet Rory,” Samira said, forcing a smile.
Sushma’s beady eyes glittered, shrewd and appraising, as she looked Rory up and down. “Hello, Rory. You seem awfully young for our Samira. Let’s hope she won’t tire of you.” Her exaggerated wink held more spite than amusement. “She’s been around the block a time or two already, you know. Married and divorced. And barren, so if you’re wanting children—”
“That’s where you’re wrong—”
“Rory, it’s okay.” The last thing she wanted was for him to blab her pregnancy now. She didn’t want his introduction to be hijacked. This crowd was tough; one shock at a time. “Auntie, Rory and I have no secrets between us. We’re happy, and it would be nice if others could be happy for us too.”
Sushma’s eyes narrowed at the direct jibe. “Your mother had a mixed marriage, and look how that turned out.”
Anger wasn’t good for the baby, but Samira couldn’t help the wave of rage that washed over her. How dare this cow belittle what her parents had shared? And worse, ostracize her mother for so many years because of it.
“My father died after many happy years with my mother. Aren’t you a widow too, Auntie? Your husband may have been Indian, but he died just the same.”
Samira had been taught from a young age to never talk back to the aunties. Respect first and foremost. But Sushma had gone too far, and she couldn’t help but retaliate.
“Living in America has made you rude.” Sushma tut-tutted, waggling her finger. “Maybe if you had an Indian husband you would learn some manners—”
“I think your mom’s calling us,” Rory said, slipping his hand into hers and squeezing. His touch instantly infused her with a calm she desperately needed.
“Excuse us,” Rory said, with a brief nod to Sushma, before guiding Samira toward the back door leading to the kitchen.
“That vile cow—”
“Hey, don’t let her get to you.” He opened the door and guided her into a thankfully empty kitchen.
“They’re all so bloody judgmental,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s one of the reasons I fled Melbourne after my divorce. I couldn’t get away fast enough.”
He hesitated before saying, “Now that you’re moving back, won’t you cop the same shit again, especially when they discover you’re pregnant?”
She jabbed at him. “Thanks for almost blurting the news, by the way.”
He grimaced. “I wanted to shut her up.”
“It was a close call . . .” She trailed off, wondering why she really cared whether they announced their news now or not.
Initially, it had been out of deference for her mom. This crew had finally accepted her mother at a time Kushi had needed it most; they were her friends, and while Samira wouldn’t have to see them often even when she moved home permanently, her mom would. They’d been Kushi’s support network for years when she hadn’t been around, and she owed it to her mom to be circumspect. But she’d like nothing better than to barge outside again and announce to everyone she was expecting Rory’s baby.
“You were awfully quiet out there,” she said. “Overwhelmed, huh?”
He glanced away, his expression shuttered. “Something like that.”
Before she could quiz him further, she heard a clearing of a throat and glanced up to see Manish in the doorway leading to the hallway.
“Sorry to interrupt, but the front door was open and I let myself in.”
“Come in,” Samira said, torn between wanting to throttle her mom for inviting Manish tonight and doing a happy dance because he could meet Rory. “Manish, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Rory.”
Rory tensed and stepped forward as if poised for battle. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Manish shook Rory’s hand, his smile guileless, but Samira couldn’t get a proper read on the flicker of unease in his eyes. “You’re a brave man.”
Rory’s eyebrows rose as he released Manish’s hand. “How so?”
Manish pointed toward the backyard. “Meeting that crowd for the first time is like walking into a lion’s den holding ten pounds of sirloin steak.”
To her relief, Rory laughed. “Man, you have no idea.”
“Actually, I do. I’m Anglo-Indian, I’m forty, and I’m single. Whenever I’m around those aunties, I’m the sirloin, a piece of meat ready to be bartered.”
Rory laughed again. “Want a drink?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
Samira’s head swiveled between the two of them; she was relieved they were getting on. Moving back to Melbourne meant she’d like to keep Manny as a friend, and she didn’t need her boyfriend getting jealous over it.
“There’s lassi or nonalcoholic fruit punch?” Rory asked.
“Punch is fine.” Manish turned to her. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.” Her hand automatically drifted to her belly like it always did whenever she thought of that night eight weeks ago and how close she’d come to losing her much-loved baby.
“You haven’t been back to the hospital, and I haven’t heard from you, so I assumed everything’s okay.”
Rory’s quizzical gaze darted between them as he handed Manish a glass of punch. “You know about the miscarriage scare?”
Manish nodded, hesitant, as if he knew he’d just stepped on a land mine. “I work in the ER at the hospital where Samira was admitted. I saw her the next morning.”
A tense silence stretched between them before Rory finally said, “I’m glad she had a friend around for her. Thanks, man.”
“No problem,” Manny said, raising his punch in a cheers.
But by Rory’s rigid body language and the mutinous clenching of his lips, Samira knew there were problems.
And she wasn’t in the mood for dealing with them.
Forty-Three
After Rory survived the inquisition at Kushi’s house, Samira dropped Pia off at the health center to catch up on some admin before heading to his place. He’d been grateful for Pia’s presence in the car, because she kept up a steady stream of conversation, from amusing anecdotes of the various people he’d met at Kushi’s, to accurate imitations of the aunties that had him laughing when nothing about the evening had been remotely funny.
He’d been out of his depth from the moment he’d walked into that cozy family home in Dandenong. Samira’s mom had been lovely, and they’d got on well, but as for the rest . . . he’d wanted to charm them, but he’d clammed up like he’d done many times before when floundering. He’d probably come across as moody and recalcitrant, but Samira hadn’t seemed to mind.
Then Marvelous Manish with his piercing gray eyes and movie-star smile had strutted in and really turned the evening on its head.
Why hadn’t Samira told him Manish had been there for her at the time of the miscarriage scare?
He wasn’t jealous per se, more annoyed that some guy who her mom would rather see her married to had been around to support his girlfriend when it should’ve been him.
The moment he’d stepped off the plane at Tullamarine, he�
�d almost kissed the ground. He was a city boy through and through, and being stuck in the outback for eight weeks, faking it in front of a bunch of tossers, had made him crave home.
Now that he was back and re-bonding with Samira, he knew it would be damn near impossible to leave her again; this time for much longer.
He would miss the entire pregnancy: the five-month scan where they’d discover the sex if they wanted to, the fitting out of a nursery, the Lamaze classes.
It sucked.
He didn’t like being an absentee boyfriend, and he sure as hell didn’t like the thought of Manish hanging around Samira to pick up the slack. He’d be gone for a long time . . . unless . . .
“Do you mind if I don’t come in?” Samira kept the engine running. “I’m beat.”
“You’ve never been inside my place. Aren’t you the slightest bit curious?”
She recoiled at his abrupt tone, and he dragged a hand over his face. “Sorry. I guess I’m beat too.”
“Then let’s catch up tomorrow—”
“I’m thinking of quitting Renegades,” he blurted, knowing it sounded ludicrous but strangely relieved.
He knew it wouldn’t be easy getting out of the contract he’d signed, and the money would help support the baby beyond the ten grand he’d given Amelia, which they couldn’t take back thanks to careful wording in his contract courtesy of Chris’s astute wrangling, but he wanted to gauge Samira’s reaction. Did she want him around for this pregnancy as much as he wanted to be?
“Where’s this coming from?” She switched off the engine and swiveled to face him, her expression inscrutable in the dim lighting. “It’s your dream job. You said so.”
“I want to be here for you and the baby.” He reached across and placed his palm flush against the curve of her belly. “I don’t want to be stuck in the outback at the other end of the country if something goes wrong.”
She stiffened slightly. “Is this about you being jealous of Manny? Because I already told you, we’re friends, that’s it, and he happened to be working in the ER the morning after the miscarriage scare.”
