“I’ll find you someone prettier than that girl, too,” his mother said.
I doubt that, he thought. Kareena may be his nemesis, but he wasn’t going to lie and say she was anything but the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Thez,” she continued. “I bet she’s thez.”
Prem winced. He knew that older Indian aunties called younger desi women thez as an insult. As if being street-smart was a bad thing. “Mom, do you want another lesson on stereotypes?”
“Oh, chup kar. Your grandmother used to call me that, too, but of course, that was just because she didn’t like me. Beta, what was the point of becoming a handsome doctor if you’re not going to attract the best life partner by your credentials alone? You don’t even need a personality to be married once you have an M.D. Look at your father.”
“Mom.” Prem pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep breath. “You aren’t helping my situation at all.”
Her expression softened. “I’m sorry, beta. It’s just I never want to see my children take the long hard road.”
He thought about his conversation with Kareena again and cursed himself for the amount of times her face appeared in his head. “It’s my choice. I really have to go now.”
“Fine. Go eat something.”
“Yes, Mom. Bye.” He hung up and adjusted the computer so it was positioned on top of the stack of books with the screen at eye level to where he’d be sitting for dinner.
Then he let out a frustrated groan.
The only person he’d met in his life who was worse than his mother was Kareena. His mother made his life difficult, but Kareena Mann had straight up ruined it.
Which in turn meant he had to deal with his mother.
He recalled his week like a bad highlight reel. His meeting after the show from hell was a dud, and then he received a call from Gregory at LTD Financial, his largest investor, who pulled out after seeing the viral video. That meant Prem had four months to come up with a lot more money than he expected. The funds he needed were now well beyond what he’d hoped to raise. Then, his producers had been sending him scripts all week about a new love segment in an effort to capitalize on his viral fame.
His laptop pinged with an incoming call, and Prem sat up to answer it. Always the punctual one, Benjamin Padda’s name popped up on the screen, then his face appeared moments later. Prem’s best friend grinned at him.
“Oh hey, it’s that doctor who went viral for getting fucked on a TV show for South Asian aunties. Did you know there are memes out there of your clueless face while you’re getting roasted?”
“Up yours,” Prem said. “Not only has this been a shit week, but I also just got off a call with my mother who is not happy. I really could use some compassion right now.”
Bunty snorted. “Then why did you agree to dudes’ night? If you think I’m bad, wait until Deeps shows up. He’s worse.”
“Don’t I know it. Normally he sends a text or two during the week, but I haven’t heard from him at all. Radio silence.”
The doorbell rang.
“Speak of the devil himself,” Bunty said.
Prem braced himself before he went to open the door. On the other side, Deepak Datta, best friend since Columbia, wearing a suit and a Rolex that cost more than Prem’s mortgage, shoved a large reusable shopping bag in Prem’s arms.
“You’re one dumb motherfucker.”
Okay, he was pissed.
“Yeah, it was bad—”
“And what did I tell you about social media?” Deepak said as he toed off his loafers. “When I connected you with my network head, what did I tell you about using your online presence?”
“Uh, that Twitter is toxic?”
“It’s your fucking brand, Prem! Social media is part of your brand. You should’ve done damage control.” Deepak strolled into the apartment, tossed his jacket over one of the chairs, and reached for a whiskey glass. After raking a finger through his hair, which fell back perfectly in place, he said, “Why didn’t you make a statement on how important emotional connections are? Something to make you look less like an idiot. What up, Bunty?”
Bunty toasted his webcam. “Cheers, brother. Ignore me, I’m here for a show.”
“If you wanted me to make a statement, why didn’t you tell me?” Prem said as he locked the door. He carried the bag to the dining table, smelling the contents along the way. “As the owner of the network, isn’t that your job?”