The Five-Day Reunion
Autore
Mona Shroff
Letto da
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Capitoli
34
Chapter One
Nikhil Joshi slipped the cream silk jabho top over his head. The soft material floated over his body. He fastened two of three buttons, leaving the topmost one on the collar undone, then ran a hand through his thick hair and proclaimed himself ready. His younger sister, Tina, was getting married, and today was the first of the five days of festivities. The rhythmic beating of the tabla and the fabulous aroma of contemporary Indian street food wafted up to his room from the kitchen downstairs.
The sounds of laughter and wedding music filled him with a mixture of anticipation and dread. His entire family had congregated in DC from India and various states for Tina’s big week. He had to at least appear to be over Anita. Three years was long enough. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.
His phone dinged, alerting him to a text from his agent. His third book was to be released next week and his agent and publicist were plotting to fill every free moment he had to promote it. He needed to be available; there was no resting on the laurels of bestseller lists. Sure, that reputation helped, but each book was unique. Each book had the power to make or break him.
He would not be broken.
His agent, Chantelle Ellis, had just scheduled a livestream interview for him for tomorrow afternoon. She was sorry that it was so last-minute, yada yada, but he should do it. Could he sneak away from the festivities for an hour, hour and a half, max?
Nikhil hadn’t even thought twice about taking the meeting. Work was work. If he was going to be successful, sacrifices needed to be made. How many times had he heard that from his mother over the years?
He glanced at the small picture of him and his father that he kept here on the nightstand. His dad would have loved all this. House full, people partying. At least Nikhil thought so, but it was getting harder and harder to remember him sometimes.
He tossed his phone on the bed and focused on getting ready to face the family and all their questions about his divorce.
The toughest interrogation would be from his recently widowed, elderly grandfather. Nikhil hadn’t seen the patriarch of their family since his own wedding close to five years ago. Somehow, every time he’d tried to go to India to visit him, something else had always come up, and he’d been unable to make the trip. There was no way around that conversation. Just through.
He checked his phone again and sure enough there was an email from his publicist, confirming next week’s tour schedule, which started on Monday, with a launch party at a local bookstore. This was what he’d been waiting for his whole life. He was finally reaching the level of success he needed to prove to his family that he wasn’t a complete screwup. That he was worthy of the Joshi name.
And he’d done it on his own.
Without Joshi Family Law.
Nikhil slipped his phone into his pocket and left his childhood bedroom suite. It was time to allow the festive spirit to fill him as he joined the mass of people in the Joshi house. His sister’s wedding was a time for elation and looking to new beginnings. No more reliving his past.
His mother’s house was wall-to-wall people enjoying sumptuous food, with musicians playing the tabla and harmonium, a fabulous soundtrack for the event. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Suddenly, he was smothered in hugs by his cousins Hiral and Sangeeta, who had just arrived from Delhi that afternoon. “Nikhil! Where have you been? We’ve been hanging out for over an hour!”
“I had a couple emails I needed to answer.” He returned their hugs. It had been too long since he’d seen them.
Hiral clapped him on the back. “That’s what it takes to get a bestseller, huh? We haven’t seen you since your wedding, I think.”
Nikhil froze. Why would they so casually mention his wedding? “What?”
“Like five years—”
“Well, Tina finally found someone who would put up with her, so...” Nikhil tried a smile.
His cousins looked behind him and around the crowded room. “We thought we just saw Anita-bhabhi, but she looked busy. We’ll catch up with her later.”
Nikhil furrowed his brow. How was that possible? There was no way they could have seen their former sister-in-law. Why were they even looking for her? He and Anita were divorced. Before he could question them about it, more cousins approached and Nikhil was lost in a sea of greetings and hugs and someone pushed a shot of tequila into his hands. They took turns toasting Tina and her fiancé, Jake, and tossed back the shots.
After another round, Nikhil broke free. “I want to see my sister while I can still walk.”
Nikhil made his way through the large house, grabbing a spinach pakora from a tuxedoed waitress and popping it into his mouth. If appetizers were still being served, at least he hadn’t missed dinner.
Tina was wearing a simple cotton blue chaniya choli as she had her mehndi done. She was seated in a chair in their largest living room, the mehndi artist beside her. The artist’s hand was almost a blur as she applied the mehndi paste in an intricate pattern, using Tina’s hands and feet as a canvas for her intricate art.
His sister’s besties were seated on the ground around her as if she was a queen holding court, as opposed to a bride having her wedding mehndi applied. Maybe it was the same thing.
Joy filled and lightened him. His baby sister was a force to be reckoned with, and she’d found her equal in Jake. She quite literally glowed with happiness. He grabbed a tray of prosecco from a waiter and approached the circle of women, most of whom he’d known all their lives. They all laughed and accepted the drinks.
His mother was not among the women in the circle. Hmm. That was odd.
Nikhil made his way through to his sister.
She looked up at him, panic in her gray eyes. The mehndi certainly looked beautiful, but didn’t seem to be relieving his sister’s stress as it was purported to do. He grinned. “Hey, Teen.” He put down the near-empty tray and squeezed her shoulder. “What do you look so worried about? Everything’ll be fine.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. I thought you’d be here earlier and I wanted to talk to you.”
“I had to finish emails. And I know why you wanted to talk to me.”
“You do?” Her already big gray eyes bugged out.
He nodded. “It’s just now hitting you what a production a wedding can be.” He shrugged. “I told you to try going to city hall like I did.” He laughed and held a glass of prosecco out for her to sip. Not that his had lasted.
She looked at it longingly and then down at her mehndi-covered hands. “That’s not it.”
Nikhil chuckled. “Such a princess.” But he held the glass to her mouth so she could take a sip.
She gulped at it like it was water and she was in a desert.
“Easy there, Butthead. You have five days to go.”
Tears filled her eyes. “You have to believe me, Nikhil. I didn’t know they were going to do this.”
Small pricks of panic went through his body. “Who? Do what?”
She bent her head down. He knelt down close to her. “What are you talking about? And why are you crying?”
“She’s here.”
Nikhil had no idea what she was talking about. But the look on her face, the alarm in her eyes unsettled him. “Who is—”
“There you are, beta!” Seema Joshi’s voice cut through the din. She was the mother of the bride, and her outfit reflected that to perfection. Her peach-colored sari was exquisitely wrapped, her hair was up and her delicate jewelry sparkled. Nikhil looked away from his sister to see his mother grinning too widely, her eyes too sparkly.
His stomach roiled. Something was clearly up. This was not good.
“Come and say hello to your grandfather. He just got here,” his mother called.
Nikhil glanced at Tina. Her eyes were wide, and she bit her bottom lip. His entire being went into high alert as he approached his mother. As he reached her, his heart nearly fell into his stomach.
Standing behind his mother, looking drop-dead gorgeous in a simple peacock blue sari, her black hair in a high, sleek ponytail, amber eyes wide, was none other than Anita Virani.
His ex-wife.
From the look on Nikhil’s face, it was clear that he had not expected to see her here. Anita widened her eyes at her former mother-in-law, shocked that she hadn’t told her son about the ruse. She hadn’t intended to bombard Nikhil with her presence.
She met Nikhil’s eyes, trying to communicate intuitively that she hadn’t intended to surprise him in this way, at the same time willing him to play along as she smiled as big as she could. “Sweetheart! I’ve been looking all over for you. Dada—” she paused for emphasis, hoping Nikhil would see the light “—has just arrived from the airport and has been asking to see us, and I didn’t want to go without you.”
There was nothing of the kindness she had come to love in his face. Instead, she was met with hard, cold eyes, lips pressed together in muted anger and a clenched jaw. Much the same expression she’d seen on his face frequently in their last days and months as a married couple.
Her hands shook and heat flushed her face as she reached for his arm. He flinched at her touch, inexplicably sinking her heart into her belly. She should not care about his reaction. After all, she had been the one who left.
No matter. She gently threaded her arm through his, continuing her silent, eye-based communication that did not really seem to be working.
“Dada wants to see us,” she repeated, squeezing his bicep to steady her hand. Which was worse? Nikhil knowing she was shaking, or squeezing an arm that was so familiar yet foreign it broke her heart? Didn’t matter. She’d made her choice three years ago and she made her choice now. “Together.” She tilted her head toward his mother and tightened her lips. Help would be great right now, since she clearly had avoided this conversation as well.
Seema-auntie used one of her powerful move-it-mom looks, which worked no matter the age of the child. Anita hoped it worked on her children like that someday. Should she ever have any. She and Nikhil had talked about children, but that seemed very far away now.
Nikhil looked down at Anita, his eyes narrowed. He smelled exactly like she remembered. Same cologne, same underlying masculine scent that had given her comfort so many times. She nudged him forward, hand still squeezing his bicep. Was it bigger than she remembered? Well, no matter now. Actual explanations would have to wait.
Right now, they were on. The happily married couple.
As they followed his mother through the small mansion, the party continued around them. Aromas of Indian street food made her stomach growl. Loud voices and laughter competed with the tabla and harmonium. Nikhil grabbed a cocktail from a passing waiter.
Anita eyed his drink with envy. Alcohol would be fabulous right about now. There had been a time when he would have grabbed a drink for her as well, but clearly, that time was behind them. The flash of sadness that swept through her was fleeting, but familiar. It happened whenever she thought about Nikhil, which was more often than she should.
Anita remembered Dada from her own wedding. He had been a strong force, full of vibrant energy and opinions. He had stood a solid six feet, had always maintained fitness in his body as well as in his mind. His laugh had been infectious, wrinkling his dark brown skin, and rumbling from deep within. He’d had a full head of white hair which had strongly resembled Nikhil’s in its unruliness.
As they approached him, the toll of his sickness and grief became apparent. Dada had lost some weight, making him appear frail and weak just as her former mother-in-law had told her. Anita sighed with relief when the old man’s dark eyes lit up with amusement upon seeing them. When she had really been married to Nikhil, she and Dada had bonded almost immediately, giving her the comfort of family that she craved.
It was the first time she was really glad she’d agreed to do this.
Even if it was a lie.
She and Nikhil bowed down to touch his feet. Dada placed his hand on their heads in blessing and motioned for them to sit. Nikhil sat in the chair next to his grandfather without so much as glancing at Anita. It was the only chair. Dada steeled Nikhil with a sharp look.
“Beta, let Anita sit. Don’t be rude.”
Nikhil pressed his lips together and forced a smile as he stood. “Of course.”
Anita was unprepared for the pain and sadness that accompanied his anger as he made eye contact with her. He had once looked at her as if she were his entire world. Now he looked at her as if she’d ruined it. Well, maybe she had.
She tore her gaze from Nikhil and smiled at his grandfather as she sat down.
“Ah. That’s wonderful.” Dada-ji beamed. “Tell me. What are you both doing with your lives these days?”
She leaned toward him, squeezing his hand. “I’m so sorry about Dadi, and I’m sorry I haven’t called you. I really have no good excuse.”
Dada squeezed her hand back. “Thank you, beti. Your mother-in-law passed on your sympathies.”
“You must miss her,” Anita said softly.
“That, I do.” His voice was rough with grief, and his eyes turned down briefly before he squeezed her hand again and made eye contact. “If she were here, she would want to know why you two haven’t given us great-grandchildren.”
And there it was. The first of the million times she bet she would hear that question over the next five days.
Nikhil’s handsome face darkened. “Come now, Dada. You know better than to bring up such things.” He glanced at Anita, his expression unreadable. “Anita and I aren’t even—”
“Ready just yet,” Anita cut in. “We’re busy with our careers.” She sharpened her gaze at Nikhil. Play. Along.
He narrowed his eyes at her, but nodded to his grandfather.
“Dada,” Anita continued brightly, “you know Nikhil published a second book and is getting ready to go on tour for his third.” So maybe she’d followed his career. It didn’t mean anything. She paused, looking him in the eye.
“Seema told me that you are finishing your second year of law school. And you are working at the local legal aid center. A fantastic way to get started.” Whether Dada had noted her glare at her “husband” or not, he dropped the baby subject and beamed at her. “I did something similar when I was a young barrister in India.”
Anita saw clear as day the disappointment that flashed across Nikhil’s face as Dada made no mention whatsoever of his accomplishments. He covered it quickly, and most people probably didn’t notice.
But she did.
Seema-auntie arrived with a plate of food for her father. Anita stood. “Here, let me take that.” Nikhil’s mother gave her a tight smile and handed her the plate.
“Mom, come with me, I have to show you something in the kitchen.” Nikhil glared at his mother.
Anita stood between them, the tension building like waves around them.
“I’m busy just now.” She fussed over her father.
“It’s really important,” Nikhil spoke through gritted teeth and stared his mother down.
“I can sit with Dada—” Anita made eye contact with Nikhil’s mother and forced out the next word “—Mom.” She hadn’t used it in years. She smiled at the older man. “I want to hear his stories.”
“Actually, dear—” Nikhil narrowed his eyes at her “—it’s wedding stuff. I need you both.”
Dada, apparently oblivious to the tension, focused on his food. “I’m old. I’m not an invalid. I can eat on my own. Besides, the whole family is here.” He gestured with his hand. “Go. Take care of your business.”
Anita walked beside Nikhil, the backs of their hands brushing together, electrifying her. He still had that effect on her. She took this opportunity to really look at him. To try to glean from his face and body what he had been up to for the past three years. He towered head and shoulders over her. His cream silk jabho complemented his dark skin, and conformed to his muscles quite nicely. He was bigger than she’d remembered. But they had still been practically children back then. He was clean-shaven, as always, which allowed her to see exactly how hard he was clenching his jaw. He’d need emergency dental work if he kept that up.
Nikhil stopped at the door of his mother’s study, opening it to allow them to enter. Anita had always loved this room. She inhaled deeply and the scent of the books lining two of the walls calmed her nerves, if only just a bit. She remembered all of the books she’d read from this library and then discussed later with Nikhil. It had been one of their favorite things to do.
Anita was just about to shut the door when Nikhil’s older brother, Rocky, slipped in. He raised his eyebrows at her in surprise, then smiled at her. She smiled back—finally a friendly face. She shut the door and found Nikhil glaring at the two of them. He turned to the room and boomed, “What the hell is going on here?”
