To Have and to Heist(38)

“Is this one of those prank shows where I go to the store and people jump out and laugh at the naive candy store clerk slash suit salesperson who thought she’d met her Daddy Warbucks?”

He patted the card in my pocket. Another touch. Another sizzle of heat through my veins. “You wanna run with the big dogs, sweetheart, you have to look the part.”

“What big dogs? Where am I running?” Was he asking me out on a date? If so, shouldn’t I be offended that he didn’t accept me for who I was? Or that he assumed I didn’t have a dress fancy enough to wear to a high-society black tie event? And did I want to go out on a date with a man who kept a stash of “Clare” cards in his pocket, all ready to whip out when he wanted a hookup with someone but didn’t like the clothes she wore?

“I thought you wanted to be Bella Angelini’s wedding planner,” he said.

“I do.”

“This is how you’ll get the job.”

Eleven

My parents and my grandmother were eating dinner in the kitchen when I returned home after our boat ride from Hell.

“Here she is,” Nani called out after spotting me in the hallway. “Were you selling suits or candy today or were you out looking for a proper job?” In her usual dramatic fashion, she pressed a hand to her chest. “What is the world coming to when women have to sell suits to men? It’s the end of days.”

“I would have picked world wars, climate change, food insecurity, the rise of AI, or the fall of capitalism as indicators of the fall of civilization as we know it.” I slipped off my sandals. Suit-selling aside, the world truly would end if I walked into the house wearing shoes. “Or even my arrest as an accessory to burglary.”

“I called Riswan’s mother.” Mom gave an absent wave of the chutney spoon. “She says it’s all a misunderstanding and he’ll make it go away.”

“I’m almost thirty years old. I don’t need you calling people’s mothers when I get into trouble. I’ve got a plan to solve my problem.” I grabbed a plate and joined them at the table.

“What is your plan?” Mom asked. “Why do you need a plan when you have a cousin who is a criminal lawyer?”

“Lawyers cost money.”

“He’s family. Your father gave his father a suit for his brother’s wedding at a 10 percent discount. The least he could do is waive his fees.”

My dad shoved an entire samosa in his mouth as if he knew what was coming.

“Is he going to charge her, Rohan?” Mom glared at my dad. “His own cousin? Should I call his mother again?” She leaned across the table, shaking her finger at Dad. “He’s your side of the family. How could you let this happen?”

“I told you,” Nani muttered. “If only you’d married that doctor from Detroit . . .”

“His fees are going to be about one thousand times the suit discount if it goes to trial,” I said. “I want to pay him for his work. He has to earn a living, too.”

“At least he’s using his degree.” Nani smiled as if she hadn’t just sliced my heart with her cutting remark. “How is it? Too spicy?”

“I like spice.” I didn’t like the inquisition, but I needed a proper meal after eating five bowls of sex mousse so it didn’t go to waste.

“What are you going to do with your life?” Nani asked in the same casual tone one might use to inquire about the weather.

“I thought you were interested in my plan to stay out of jail,” I said, trying to put her off. I knew where this was headed and even my life of crime was a better topic.

“If you had a husband, you wouldn’t be worried about going to jail,” Nani said. “You’d be too busy looking after him and having babies to run around committing crimes. Even a boyfriend would be useful to keep you out of trouble.”

“She was with Anil Kapoor at the Lake Bluff marina at ten a.m. this morning,” Mom said. “Satya called me with the news.”

My father paused between bites of coconut curry. “Anil? The boy with the drones?”

“Yes, that’s him,” I said. “We went for a boat ride on Lake Michigan today with some friends.”

Mom leaned back in her chair, her plate of food momentarily forgotten. “You said he was a loser. Now you want him? You want a loser?”

“？‘Loser’ doesn’t mean the same thing it did in your Boomer times,” I said. “It’s more lighthearted.”

“We can’t be picky.” Dad patted my mom’s hand. “She’s going downhill fast. First it was the business degree. Then the entry-level office jobs. The candy store. The apartment that floods. All the failed relationships. We could do worse than a loser.”

“He’s not a loser,” I said. “He’s a little immature and naive and a bit of a geek, but he’s a nice guy.” I pushed my plate away. “I’m not seeing him. We’re just friends.”

“Men and women can’t be friends,” Nani said. “Take it from me. Every time I try to be friends with a man, we wind up in bed.”

“Please . . .” Dad held up a hand, blocking his view of Nani. “Spare us the personal details.”

Nani lifted an eyebrow. “You might learn something.”