“I came to talk to my son! And here I am, seeing that I’ve failed as a mother.” She motioned to the living room. “What kind of a woman would want to marry a man who doesn’t know how to take care of himself?”
“I can take care of myself just fine.”
“I have yet to see proof,” she said. “Go shower, brush your teeth, and get dressed. I’ll make some breakfast.”
Prem was soaked to the skin, still slightly hungover, and his head was full of thoughts of Kareena. He glanced at his disaster of a kitchen and back to his mother. “Aloo paranthas?” he asked.
She sighed, then reached into her bag and pulled out an unmarked jar of pickled mango achar. “This was hell getting through TSA. I’m assuming you have potatoes. I sent your friends to buy ginger, but if they need to get potatoes, too, tell me now.”
“I have a few potatoes.”
“Fine. I’ll boil them. Shower. Then we’ll talk.”
Prem didn’t need to be told twice. He hobbled across the room and into the bath. When he saw the bright purple bruise on his cheek, he winced. He was surprised that his mother didn’t ask him about that first.
He got in the shower and remembered holding Kareena under the spray. He leaned against the tiled wall and let out a sigh as the memory and the scalding hot water coursed over him. God, he missed her.
He picked up his body wash and began scrubbing the sticky sweat and alcohol smell off his skin. After showering and brushing his teeth, Prem moved through his bedroom, past the bed he couldn’t sleep in anymore, and walked into his closet. He put on fresh clothes, thinking how his very shirt smelled of the woman who asked for more time apart.
When he reentered the living space, his mother had rolled up her sleeves and was kneading dough at the island. What was even more surprising was that the entire place sparkled. The pizza boxes and beer bottles had been transferred to the trash. The rug looked like it was vacuumed, and all the dust and crumbs were swept off every surface in the house. The hallway closet rumbled with the sound of the washer in the background.
Prem pulled out one of the stools at the island and sat. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Thanks, ka bachcha,” she muttered before slamming the dough down onto the counter. “You go to an engagement party with the intention of announcing your engagement, but don’t invite your parents to be there.”
He winced. “You know it’s complicated, Mom.”
“Only idiot sons make it complicated,” she said. The microwave dinged, and she pulled out a steaming container of giant potatoes. It must’ve been burning hot, but since his mother hasn’t felt anything in her fingertips after singeing them while flipping rotis for years, she didn’t blink an eye as she leisurely moved it to the sink to rinse in cold water. “If your father and I were there, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself punched in the face.”
“Did Bunty and Deepak tell you all this?” Prem asked.
“No, Falguni Kaushal did.”
“Who?”
His mother made a smacking sound of impatience. “Falguni! You know, my bahu’s aunty?”
“Bahu . . . wait what? Are you talking about Kareena? My Rina?”
“Do I have any other daughters-in-law?”
Prem cradled his head in his hands. His mother spoke a different language sometimes. “Mom, you have no daughters-in-law.”
“Semantics,” she said, and made quick work in peeling the hot potatoes. She dumped them in a bowl and began pulling out the Indian seasoning he kept in the back of one of the cabinets for when she visited. “Kareena has four aunties. One of them is Falguni Kaushal. That’s who I talked to. She’s a lovely woman.”
“How did you meet one of Rina’s aunties?”
“Do you remember Namrita Aunty? She had the failed Botox in her upper lip. Now she looks like she’s snarling all the time. Namrita’s brother-in-law has a cousin in New Jersey. I asked if he knew anyone in the Edison area who was friends with the Mann family. His sister is a Hindi teacher who taught Falguni Kaushal’s kids when they were young. After speaking with his sister, and confirming the connection, I immediately called Falguni when I got her number, and we connected the dots.”
Prem didn’t know whether to be mortified or impressed. “You are scary women,” he said.
“I’m resourceful.” She seasoned the potatoes while Prem watched in silence. Garam masala. Salt. Dried mango powder. “Falguni told me everything. She even told me about Kareena’s house, and how concerned they were for your engagement. Because Kareena Mann is looking for a love marriage, and my idiotic son can’t see past his own big brain. You get that from your father, you know.”