“I didn’t know all this,” whispered Mom. I could tell she was upset. The father and mother she had adored and thought of as demigods had feet of clay; they had shirked their duty toward their sick, elderly parents. And it was probably dawning on her that Akka, the aunt everybody disapproved of because of her outlandish ways, was the one who came up looking like a hero. “I’m sorry, Akka. I had no idea.”
“That’s okay, Kaveri,” said Akka with a dismissive hand gesture. “It’s not your fault. Your parents are basically good people. They regretted their mistakes. Before your papa died, he apologized to me for his behavior.”
Mom looked crestfallen. Dad cleared his throat and asked everyone if they wanted some tea. When Mom and Akka nodded, he gave me the look that silently ordered me to go to the kitchen and take care of it. I reluctantly left my comfortable seat to brew tea.
I had a feeling the elders wanted to talk some more about the surprise Akka had just dropped, without Maneel and me listening in. Fortunately Maneel followed me into the kitchen and filled me in on some of the afternoon’s details.
I filled the teakettle with water and placed it on the stove. “So, our renegade Akka was your savior.”
He smiled. “She warned them about how they would never see their grandchildren if Naseem decided to elope with me.”
I went still. “You guys weren’t really ... thinking of eloping, were you?”
“Not eloping, but Naseem and I’ve talked about getting married with just Mom and Dad and our family and friends at the ceremony. That is, if her parents really disowned her.”
“So you two are really getting married?”
“Definitely. I just don’t know when. Now that Naseem’s parents are convinced that the wedding’s going to happen with or without their blessings, her dad’s going to discuss it with their maulvi.”
I gave him a hug. “Congratulations, you big devil.”
“Thanks.”
I pretended to scratch my head in puzzlement. “Hard to imagine the guy who liked dressing up as Dracula for Halloween and scaring me to death, with a wife and kids.”
Perhaps because he was relieved and happy that his future looked more promising, and that put him in a generous mood, he smiled indulgently. “Maybe you’ll be next to get married, Meena.”
I took out cups from the cabinet and placed the teabags in them. “If I can find a guy who’s willing to marry a midget.”
Maneel ruffled my hair, something he rarely did. “But you’re a beautiful midget with a big heart.”
“You’re beginning to scare me, Maneel.” I threw him a suspicious look. “When did you morph into a nice guy who compliments his annoying little sister?”
But he refused to take the bait. “Any man would be lucky to have you for a wife. Like I told you, lots of guys are interested in you.”
“But I’m not interested in them.” And because my brother sounded so sincere in his compliment, I began to choke up and had to try hard to bite back the tears. He had changed. Was this what falling in love did to a person? In Maneel’s case, it had matured him so much, I could hardly recognize him.
Suddenly my brother was a grown man. And he was going to be married soon.
Chapter 20
“Meena, can you go to Washington on my behalf for a few days?” Paul stood in the doorway to my office, looking a little tired. He was usually in good spirits in the mornings, but not today.
It was the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, so I thought it was just the usual slump that comes after eating too much and watching ball games on TV all weekend long, and then getting over Monday’s extra-large workload.
I looked up from my computer. “Something wrong in the DC office?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Remember I was supposed to leave this evening to help with Prajay’s project in Washington? Well, something’s come up here that I ... um ... need to take care of.”
“Must be serious.” When he continued to avoid my eyes, I asked, “Are there problems with the company, Paul?” I’d been wondering if the latest buyout had overextended the company’s finances. I wasn’t a financial genius, but it didn’t take brains to realize the price tag for the new acquisition had to be huge. “Are there going to be layoffs?”
I hated to think of the L word. I didn’t want to experience it again, not when I’d finally found my niche.
Paul shook his head. “The company’s fine. This is personal.”
“Jeremy?” If it affected Paul this deeply, then it had to do with Jeremy.
“How’d you guess?” Paul came inside to sit in the guest chair across from my desk.
“Instinct.”
“Jeremy has to go in for surgery tomorrow.” Paul looked like a lost little boy, and I wanted to go around the desk and give him a comforting hug. But I didn’t. Most men I knew didn’t appreciate sympathetic displays of emotion.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I said after a few seconds of silence.
“It’s okay. It’s a hernia on his abdominal wall. He’s had it for some years, but it didn’t bother him. He was painting the family room over the weekend. Maybe from lifting the heavy paint cans or something, he started complaining of severe pain.”
“Poor Jeremy.”
“So he saw his doctor yesterday. He was told he needs to have surgery.”
Despite the news about the surgery, a sense of relief swept over me. A hernia was pretty much routine if my limited medical knowledge could be trusted. I’d heard Mom and her sisters talking about hernias as if they were minor colds. “It’s not something serious, then, thank God.”
“No, it’s not, but I’d like to be there ... just in case. And you know how Jeremy is.”
“I understand.” If the man I loved were having hernia surgery, I’d want to be there, too. And that reminded me that the man I loved was in DC. “So you want me to take care of the Washington project?” We always called it the Washington project, although Prajay’s office as well as his home happened to be in Fairfax, Virginia, a short distance outside Washington.
In all honesty, I didn’t want to do it—put myself through the torture of seeing Prajay again. In the last few days I’d more or less succeeded in keeping my thoughts about him on the objective side. With each passing day the sting of rejection had become less and less painful.
A couple of days ago, I’d even responded to an e-mail from some guy Madhuri-pachi had put in touch with me. His name was Ajit Baliga, and he was a thirty-two-year-old stockbroker from Connecticut. I had no idea what he looked like or anything else, but my aunt seemed very impressed.
Ajit Baliga came across as a decent guy, born and raised in Connecticut, with an MBA from Tufts. He even seemed to have a sense of humor. I was somewhat interested in meeting him. Maybe after a few more e-mails and phone calls, we could meet face-to-face.
I’d traveled that route before, so despite my curiosity I wasn’t exactly jumping with excitement at the prospect of getting together with him. If my aunt was right about his looks and personality, perhaps he was the one for me. Mom was very optimistic.
But now Paul was asking me to go to DC. It would inevitably put me in direct contact with Prajay again. Damn.
“If you don’t mind doing it,” said Paul, pulling me back from my troubled thoughts. “It’ll only be for two or three days.”
“I don’t mind. But do you trust me with such an important project?” I had helped with the press releases and knew there were information packets going out to select senators’ and congressmen’s offices and targeted lobbyists.
The newly acquired company had come with a monopoly on software used for specialized defense applications. Rathnaya was planning on wooing the Defense Committee on Capitol Hill in addition to the Homeland Security office.
Paul and I had to work in coordination with Maryann Merlino, Prajay’s Fairfax office manager, and the advertising firm recently hired by Rathnaya to produce brochures and other promotional literature.
“I’d trust you to take ov
er my job any day, Meena,” said Paul with an encouraging nod. “You worked on most of the press release kits anyway. And Prajay more or less asked me to send you there.”
“He did?”
“Yes. He thinks highly of your work.”
So Prajay admired my work, but not me. “That’s nice to know.” I stood up. “So when do you want me to leave?”
“This evening if possible. The lobbyists are getting ready to start work, but we need to give them appropriate brochures and info packages. You can easily handle that.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to look enthusiastic about my first real independent assignment. “You mind if I leave early to get packed, then?”
We both looked at our respective wristwatches. Paul got up from the chair. “Go home now, so you can pack and leave before rush-hour traffic gets bad. I’ll have Pinky call the hotel in Virginia and tell them to change the reservation from my name to yours. I’m booked for three nights. It’s the Hyatt in Fairfax, very close to the office.”
A short distance from Prajay’s office? I knew he owned a house somewhere in the vicinity, too. I was setting myself up for more misery. Three nights would mean I’d be returning home on Friday. Maybe I’d never have to see him.
Prajay might even set it up so I could be working exclusively with Maryann and the advertising folks. “All right, I’ll finish what I’m doing and leave in about half an hour. Can you give me all the paperwork, and e-mail me the hotel information?”
“Sure, my portfolio’s ready. Pinky’s typing up the last-minute stuff right now. The Hyatt has directions on their Web site.” He gave me a grateful smile before heading for the door. “Thanks, Meena. I know this is very last minute.”
“No problem.”
Pinky poked her head inside my office a while later. “So you’re going to hang out in Washington for a few days?”
“Looks that way. It’s actually Virginia.”
“Same thing.” She gave me a wink. “Go throw a line at Prajay Nayak, will you? You guys didn’t have enough time to get to know each other when he was here. And this time, don’t fall on your behind.”
“I’m not throwing a line at anyone,” I retorted. Least of all Prajay Nayak. Throwing a line was a slangy Indian term, line maarna—as in fishing. Pinky used it often, and I’d heard many of the other Indian employees use it.
“Okay, no line,” she said amiably. “When’re you coming back?”
“Probably Friday. So it’ll be Monday before I return here.” After she disappeared, I picked up the phone to inform Mom about my trip. She was with a patient, so I had to hold for several minutes before she came on the line.
“You’re going to Virginia?” She sounded both excited and a little concerned. “But you’ll be alone there.”
I laughed. “Of course I’ll be alone, Mom. It’s a business trip, not a party.”
“How do you plan to get there?”
“I’m driving.”
Mom was silent for a prolonged moment. “I have an idea. Why don’t you take Akka with you?”
“I don’t need a babysitter. I was alone at college for several years, remember?”
“Not for babysitting, dear. I was thinking maybe she could do some sightseeing in Washington on her own when you’re working. She’s getting bored at home all day by herself.”
I heaved a deep sigh. I knew exactly what Mom was up to. She was worried about my going somewhere alone, and she was tired of Akka’s presence in the house. By foisting Akka on me she’d be able to solve both problems in one sneaky maneuver. “You can’t expect a seventy-eight-year-old lady in a sari to go around a big city on her own, Mom,” I protested.
“Don’t be silly. She has traveled to Europe, Singapore, all kinds of places on her own.”
“But still ...”
“She speaks perfectly good English, and she’s very smart,” Mom assured me. “Buy her some tickets for guided tours around Washington and put her on a bus in the morning. I’ll pay for the tickets. She’ll love it.”
“Mom, are you trying to get rid of Akka for a few days?”
“Of course not,” Mom snapped. “Like I said, she’s all alone at home, and she has nothing to do but watch those movie videos I rented for her.”
“All right, I’ll take her. She’ll have to settle for sharing my hotel room, though.” Actually, having Akka for company in the evenings would be a heck of a lot better than eating a lonely room-service dinner and watching TV.
Mom chuckled. “She grew up in a middle-class home in India with a bunch of brothers and sisters. Sharing a hotel room in America is still a luxury for her.”
When I got home an hour later, I found an excited Akka at the door, all packed and raring to go. She wore a pretty coral sari with a string of matching coral beads around her neck. She said Mom had called her about the trip. She nearly yanked me inside the house. “You and I are driving to Washington, Meena. This is going to be so nice.”
I gave her an indulgent smile. “It’s Virginia. No need to get that excited, Akka. This isn’t a vacation. I’ll be working all day, so you’ll be going sightseeing all by yourself.”
“I don’t mind, charda. Your mummy called Maneel and had him do some Internet research for Washington tours. You know what, that sweet boy booked online tickets for me already—for two whole days.” She held up two skinny fingers. “He said it was his present to me for talking to Naseem’s parents.” She smiled. “So thoughtful of him, no?”
“Very,” I said. Although a bit unexpected, it was nice of Maneel to have done that for Akka, and a blessing for me. Driving home, I’d been wondering how I could go about finding information on guided tours of Washington and buying tickets at the last minute for Akka.
The drive to Virginia would take at least four hours, and it would be late by the time we arrived. Before tomorrow morning I had tons to do. Paul’s bulging portfolio had to be studied thoroughly before I could go to bed tonight. So Maneel’s gesture solved a number of my problems.
I hastily packed a suitcase while Akka warmed up some of the previous night’s leftovers for lunch. We ate, threw the dishes in the dishwasher, loaded up the car, and set out a little after two o’clock. The skies were somewhat cloudy. Rain was in the forecast for later.
Akka proved to be a good travel companion. Once or twice she got on my nerves by jabbering nonstop while I was trying to get through insane rush-hour traffic near Baltimore, but otherwise she had kept me amused and prevented me from getting drowsy at the wheel on the boring stretches of highway.
We stopped for a quick cup of coffee and a trip to the ladies’ room at a rest stop. It was getting dark, and threatening clouds loomed above us as we climbed back into the car. A few minutes later the rain began to come down, a thin, cold drizzle. I was glad Akka was wearing a thick coat and a cardigan underneath.
A sari was most unsuitable for American weather, but she wasn’t likely to wear anything else. At least she wasn’t averse to wearing socks and sneakers. She seemed to like Reeboks.
By the time we reached the hotel in Fairfax, it was nearly seven o’clock. It was pitch dark outside and still drizzling. We dragged our suitcases inside, and while Akka waited in the lobby, I registered us at the reception desk and picked up the key card to our room.
As I turned to leave the counter, the desk clerk handed me a sealed envelope. “There’s a message for you, Ms. Shenoy.”
I thanked him and went over to Akka before I opened the envelope. I figured it was from Paul—some last minute information he’d forgotten to give me. The message was scribbled on the hotel’s letterhead. But it was from Prajay, asking me to call him on his cell phone. His number was included.
Frowning, I wondered why he wanted me to call him. I’d figured I’d go into the office tomorrow and then worry about running into Prajay. Tonight I wanted to have a quiet dinner with Akka and later study my notes.
Akka looked at me with anxious eyes. “Problems?”
I shook my head. “I don�
��t know. It’s a note from my boss, Prajay Nayak. He wants me to call him as soon as I get in.”
“So you’ll call him now?”
“Let’s go to our room first. I’ll call him from there.” I picked up my suitcase and started rolling it, letting Akka roll her own. She was an independent old woman and had made it clear that I didn’t need to pamper her by pulling her suitcase when she was perfectly capable of doing it.
Our room was on the third floor and typical: two double beds separated by a nightstand, landscape prints on the wall, and dark, floral bedspreads with heavy matching curtains on the window.
The bathroom was spacious. Akka and I would do just fine. While Akka ran to the bathroom to freshen up, I pulled out my cell phone and called Prajay.
Although I was prepared to hear his voice, his deep, manly “Hello” gave me a jolt.
“P-Prajay, this is Meena.” Couldn’t I at least keep the stuttering to a minimum?
“Hi. You got my message.”
“Yes.” My equilibrium was slowly returning. I was going to keep this nice and formal. “Was there something you needed to discuss before I meet with Maryann tomorrow?”
“Yes and no,” he said. “Mainly I wanted to ask if I could take you out to dinner.”
“Why?” Would he have invited Paul to dinner? And he was making it clear dinner was not going to be at his house.
“You have to eat at some point, don’t you? So do I. I just arrived home from work, and I’m starving.”
“If you just got home, wouldn’t you prefer to eat in your own kitchen and relax?”
“I hardly ever cook. Making a pot of coffee is a challenge for me.”
“Well then, do whatever you usually do instead of entertaining me. I can always find a place somewhere around here.”
The Reluctant Matchmaker Page 19
