by Mona Shroff
Despite her family’s lack of enthusiasm, Annika had allowed herself to become excited at the prospect of being a mother. She had been in love, she was getting married and she was having a baby. Her path may not have been straight, but she was happy. Her family had been in the midst of quickly throwing together a wedding until blinding cramps had her in the ER in the middle of the night, changing her life again.
“I need to work.”
Phil grinned at her. “Well, then, let’s get out of your head and back to work, eh? That new guy’s waiting to stare into his soup.”
Annika let out a small chuckle. Even though she had tried not to, she’d been watching Chopper Guy while she worked. He hadn’t so much as sipped his bourbon as he had stared at it. And from time to time, he scanned the room and rested his gaze on her. Though she pretended not to notice, every time those green eyes found her, a little thrill went through her body.
“Got it, boss.”
Phil placed a hand on her shoulder. “Clara has your favorite waiting in the back.”
Mrs. P. was forever feeding her, but Annika was still grateful every time she remembered to save a generous bowl of the crab soup for her.
“Nothing gets between Clara and feeding the ones she loves.” Phil grinned and squeezed Annika’s shoulder. “She’s got plenty.”
Content with love, Annika smiled and headed for the window that opened to the kitchen. Clara, or Mrs. P., as everyone else called her, was quiet and introverted, the yin to Phil’s yang. Her cooking was amazing, and more than once she hit Annika up for Indian recipes, always looking for new dishes to learn. On cue, Mrs. P. hit the bell again for Annika to pick up the soup.
Annika grabbed the soup, inhaling the comforting aroma of cream and spices. This soup rivaled her mother’s khichdi for best comfort food ever.
She brought it to chiseled-jawed, double-dimpled, green-eyed, superhot Chopper Guy. Oh, God! Was she a teenager again? She showed him the spoon before pointedly placing it next to the bowl. “So you don’t have to stare at it.”
Chopper Guy rewarded her mockery with a laugh. And what a reward it was. His eyes crinkled and his mouth opened wide, revealing almost perfect teeth. One of the very side ones was slightly crooked, and it caught her eye and her curiosity. It was the sound of his laugh that drew her attention. It started as a low rumble, almost as if he hadn’t laughed in a while and needed to warm up. Then it progressed to a more abandoned sound, not loud, but rumbling and free. The laugh gave her a reason to look at his mouth. She was drawn to that mouth, more than seemed normal. If looking at a guy’s mouth even qualified as normal.
The truth was, she had recognized him as soon as he’d entered the bar. It was the walk. Sure, he was tall and muscular and had that chiseled jaw and great hair, but she remembered the quiet confidence of his gait from the other night. The way he had moved efficiently and gracefully, completely unaware of his own presence.
The laugh ended in a smile, perfect lips parted just slightly over those almost perfect teeth, with a dimple on each side, and her knees actually weakened a bit as she stood there.
Annika had no trouble believing that all he had to do was turn on that smile and women would swoon.
His eyes met hers, and something jumped in her belly. How could you not notice those eyes? With dark chestnut hair—just long enough to tempt one to run her fingers through it, yet short enough to be professional—and skin the color of desert sand, one expected rich brown eyes. So, when Chopper Guy flashed fiery green eyes at her—and he did flash them, intentionally or not—one had to look twice. She just didn’t have to melt like she did.
Right now, those eyes studied her, and her belly fluttering was getting out of control. It was bad enough that Bobby had to announce that Chopper Guy was superhot (Bobby always noticed the hot ones, and always tried to set Annika up with the ones he wasn’t interested in), but she had gone all hot and sweaty with embarrassment. Bobby had grinned when he noticed, so she knew Chopper Guy had noticed, too.
He granted her a playful version of that smile and picked up the spoon. “I don’t have a questionable history with cream of crab soup.”
How many versions of that smile were there? She wouldn’t mind finding out. But the smile disappeared as he brought the spoon to his mouth. “Mmm.”
It was almost a groan, and Annika swallowed hard. She was salivating. And it wasn’t because of the soup.
“You were not kidding.” Chopper Guy landed his gaze on her again.
Who reacted to a groan like that? “I don’t kid about soup.” Fantastic. She was talking to this hot guy about soup. Clearly, she was not ready to be in the company of attractive men.
Thankfully, Chopper Guy directed his appreciation toward the kitchen, where Mrs. P. stood in the window, watching them. Mrs. P. nodded and returned to the back, accepting his broad grin and thumbs-up.
Chopper Guy took another spoonful and turned those green eyes on her. “Thank you.”
“Just doing my job.” She needed to walk away from him, but her knees had once more turned to jelly. So she stood frozen for a moment longer than necessary.
Amusement filled his eyes as he leaned toward her and whispered, “You going to watch me eat?”
Annika flushed. He was very close, and damn if he didn’t smell amazing. A combination of some musky cologne, soap and something deliciously unidentifiable. With great effort, she gathered herself and leaned away. “Well, it would certainly be more entertaining than watching you drink.” She smiled at him and nodded at his bourbon before finally making her legs walk away from him.
This guy was trouble.
CHAPTER SIX
ANNIKA
MILD NAUSEA CLAWED at Annika’s stomach as she drove the thirty-five minutes from her apartment in Baltimore to her childhood home in Columbia, Maryland. She’d been making this trip more often these past few months since...everything.
When she had been with Steven, she’d ignored the obvious strain her relationship with him had put on her relationship with her family. She had told herself they simply didn’t understand, and they would come to love him, just as she did.
But they had seen what she had not, and while she’d chalked up their resistance to Steven to his not being Indian, or that she was pregnant outside of wedlock, the reality was that they hadn’t liked Steven because he was selfish and didn’t really have her best interests at heart. They loved her, and so had ultimately gone along with her decision, but a distance had crept between them. She missed that closeness and was working to get it back.
Problem was, her parents were pushing for her to get married. Like, soon, before she could make another mistake.
Her teenage brother, Nilay, was out on the driveway playing basketball with his friends. They were dressed in shorts and muscle shirts, seemingly oblivious to the October chill. They stopped playing as she drove up, and Nilay ran to her car.
She parked in the street, and before she was fully out the door, her brother had grabbed her in a sweaty bear hug.
“My sister’s home!”
“Ugh, Nilay, you stink!” Annika squirmed to get out of his grasp, but it was really nice to be hugged by him.
“You missed me, Didi. Admit it.”
Annika always melted a little when he called her Didi. He managed to roll up all his affection into that one little endearment, so it meant much more than “big sister.”
“If I admit it, will you let me breathe fresh air?”
He let her go. “It’s not that bad.” He sniffed his armpit. “Well, maybe it is.”
“Gross.” She waved to his buddies. “Your muscles are coming along, I see.”
His eyes widened. “You think?” He looked at them. “I’ve been lifting...”
Annika giggled, causing him to roll his eyes and return to his game.
She turned to the house. The front door currentl
y had a paper jack-o’-lantern taped to it, something she must have made in grade school. She studied it for a moment. Sure, her kindergarten students could make something like this. Maybe her mother would let her take this home so she could use it as an example for her class.
Small pumpkins decorated the three steps leading to the door. Along with the pumpkins, tea lights flickered in decorative diya, and a colorful rangoli design done in colored chalk brightened up the small landing. Jack-o’-lanterns and rangoli. Halloween and Diwali settling in on the same stoop—pretty much summed up how she was raised.
“Hello?” She inhaled the scent of her childhood, cinnamon and cloves sautéing with onion and garlic. Pair that aroma with the sound of the exhaust fan attempting to remove the strongest of the scents, and she was twelve years old again, trying and failing to avoid the cooking lesson with her mother. Cooking was a life skill, and one should know the basics, her mother would insist. Sadly, even now, cooking was not something Annika enjoyed. Hence the pity food from Mrs. P.
She took off her shoes just inside the front door and dropped her purse.
“What? Is that Annika?” Her mother’s Ws still sounded like Vs, something her brother always teased their mother about.
“Yes, Mom. It’s me.” Annika slipped on indoor clogs and found her way to the kitchen.
Usha Mehta still kept her hair in a single long braid down her back and was only an inch shorter than her daughter. She wore a simple red tunic with gold bordering over jeans. Annika let her mother pull her into a deep hug, enjoying the cinnamon-and-clove scent that always seemed to surround her even when she wasn’t cooking. It didn’t matter how old she got—there was nothing like being hugged by her mom.
“No work today?” Annika glanced at her mother’s attire. Her mother worked part-time as a pharmacist, and she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing jeans to work.
The older woman shook her head. “Tomorrow.” She wrinkled her nose. “You smell like you saw your brother.”
“He gave me a sweaty hug.” Annika shook her head and smiled. “You put the diya out early.”
Her mother shrugged. “Just easier. Diwali is coming soon, anyway. You are in time to help me make rotli.”
Despite Annika’s distaste for cooking, Annika and her mother had built their relationship making the fresh hot flatbread together for the family. They had many a heart-to-heart while her mother rolled out the flatbread and Annika baked it on a flat pan, then topped each one with ghee. They’d also had many an argument while Annika was a teenager and groused about whatever it was that irritated her that day. Nilay always said the rotli didn’t taste as good on the days they argued. Maybe he was right. In any case, rotli making was their thing.
Her mom picked up the thin rolling pin reserved solely for making rotli and dusted the countertop with flour. Annika kneaded the dough and started making small balls, which her mother would roll flat.
Her mother smiled at her, pride in her eyes. “You still make excellent lua.”
Annika got about halfway through the dough, then switched to baking. Her mother’s skills were good enough that she would be able to make the lua and roll the rotli while Annika baked each piece.
“How are you?” Her mother side-eyed her, a tentative pause in her voice.
“I’m good.” Similar caution in Annika’s voice. She thought of the hospital band in her pocket and blinked away the burn behind her eyes.
Silence.
“Beta.” Her mother stopped her work and forced Annika to look at her. “It is okay to be sad.”
Her nose prickled as tears built again. Annika nodded her head, afraid to speak, and swallowed hard. She squeezed her mother’s hand. Long, thin fingers, small calluses, soft skin—all familiar comfort for Annika. She inhaled deeply and found her voice. “Yeah, okay.”
Her mother squeezed back and smiled before turning again to her work.
Small silence as grief weighed on them for a moment.
“How is Naya?” A forced lightness in her mother’s voice told Annika they were moving to other, less demanding topics.
“She’s good.” Annika relaxed. “Law school is kicking her butt.” Especially since she doesn’t want to be a lawyer.
“Veena-kaki wants Naya to meet Urmila-auntie’s son. Do you remember Ravi? He’s a lawyer now.”
Annika smirked. Naya’s mom was persistent. Annika’s dad and his brother were so alike; it was interesting that their wives were so different. Veena-kaki kept trying to set her daughter up, and Naya had agreed to the matchmaking, just as she had agreed to go to law school. But Annika suspected her cousin didn’t want to get married any more than she wanted to be a lawyer. She simply did what was expected of her. It kept everyone happy. Except for maybe Naya.
As much as her own mother wanted her to be married, Annika was relieved she hadn’t tried to set her up yet.
“Mom, I don’t really think Naya wants to get married. She wants to see the world after law school. Maybe join the Peace Corps.” She planted the idea in her mother, hoping it would get back to Veena-kaki.
Her mother shrugged. “Well, you never know.”
“Where’s Papa?” Annika used her fingers to flip the rotli over to bake the other side.
“He should be home any minute. How is work?” Her mother’s bangles jiggled and clanked on the counter as she quickly and efficiently rolled out the flatbread.
Here was another point of contention, although with the boyfriend and pregnancy it had sort of fallen to the wayside. Annika had been pre-med in college and had the grades and MCAT scores to go to medical school. As the time loomed closer to apply to those schools, however, Annika had been filled with dread. What she wanted was to be a kindergarten teacher. Not a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer.
“Work is great, Mom. I love it,” she said automatically, almost in defiance of what she thought her mother was thinking. She placed the rotli directly on the gas, allowing it to puff up. The kitchen took on the comforting aroma of fresh bread, and Annika allowed herself to sink into it.
“Glad to hear it” came the automatic reply.
“Glad to hear what?” Her father was home. She turned to him. If there was any doubt what her brother would look like in thirty years, all one had to do was look at their father. Anil Mehta stood a few inches taller than his daughter, and a few shades darker. He had a full head of hair, though there was a good deal of salt in the pepper, and he still parted it on the side as he had all his life. He was handsome in that mild-mannered, Clark Kent kind of way, and his eyes still lit up when he saw his wife. Her mother offered her cheek and her father kissed it, smiling.
His smile faded slightly, taking on a shadow of firmness as he turned to Annika. She did her best to ignore it.
“Hi, Papa. Just telling Mom how much I love teaching.” She continued to cook the rotli as she spoke.
“That is good to know that your education is at least making you happy, even if it won’t buy you a future.”
Who said Indian men didn’t understand sarcasm?
“Have you thought about what we suggested?” He pierced her with his gaze. Nothing like getting right to it.
“I did. But I’m not ready to get married.”
They may not have actually set her up, but they certainly didn’t stop talking to her about it.
“No one is ever ‘ready’ to get married, beta.” Her father’s voice was calm, but already starting to show agitation.
“Papa, I want to meet someone on my own.” An image of Chopper Guy flashed before her. She shook it from her head. Not going there.
Her father waved a dismissive hand. “You want to find someone and fall in love—a very American concept. Your mother and I were arranged by our parents. Love grew over time. Do you doubt that your mother and I love each other?”
The affection in his eyes as he pecked her mother on the cheek
was definite proof of their bond. “Of course not, Papa. It’s just that...marrying a stranger is not for me.”
“He won’t be a stranger. You can date him, get to know him—just let us set you up with some nice boys.” This was her mother, pleading with her.
“Why can’t I meet someone on my own, in my own time?”
“We allowed that, Annika. And look how it turned out.” And there it was. Another failure for Annika. She did not have the energy for this argument right now.
Her mother placed her hand on her father’s arm and gave him a look that told him to let it go in no uncertain terms. “Go. Get changed. We will have dinner together.”
Anil Mehta grunted and left to change his clothes.
Annika continued to make rotli without making eye contact with her mother.
Nilay came down from showering and started to set the table, taking the shak to the table. He returned to the kitchen, his mouth full of spicy green bean and potato. Annika shook her head as their mother scolded him.
“Can’t you wait five minutes until we sit down? Take the raita and the rice, but do not pick at them, too.”
Nilay swallowed and treated his mother to a smile as he picked up the yogurt-and-cucumber salad as well as the rice. “Is it my fault you’re a great cook?”
Annika rolled her eyes and made the gagging motion at him.
Her mother tried not to smile as she raised her rolling pin at him while she called him a wiseass in Gujarati. Nilay laughed and scooted out of her reach, taking the food to the table. They would leave the dal to simmer on the stove until it was time for that course. Annika spread ghee on the last rotli and brought the warm stack to the table.
By the time the table was set, her father had returned to the kitchen after changing. Annika was about to sit down across from her mother when the doorbell rang.
Her father looked blankly at Annika. “Can you see to that, beta?”
