“Hi! You made it. You came from work?”
He looked down at his scrubs. “Yes, I did.”
“Great! Come on in.”
Prem peeked in the door. It looked like a normal house. “Uh, can’t you just tell me why I’m here first?”
“Nope!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the entryway.
Years of conditioning in a desi household had him toeing off his Chucks. Bindu held on to his arm the whole time, assuming correctly that he was a flight risk. “Bindu, this is really strange. I appreciate you doing the show and everything, but I don’t know how else you can help this situation.”
“You’ll see.”
There was something about her tone that had him glancing around. That’s when he noticed there were quite a few sandals in the foyer. Ladies’ sandals.
He then smelled something delicious.
Prem froze. “Wait, Bindu are there . . . aunties here?”
There was a brief moment of panic on her face before her grip on his arm became viselike and she dragged him into the kitchen. Damn it, he should’ve known it was a trap. Smelling ghee, curry leaves, and cumin seeds with a hint of rose incense was always the indicator of aunties present.
The scent grew bolder as Bindu dragged him down the hallway into the kitchen.
Before he could call out “Stranger danger,” he was faced with five older women sitting in a semicircle in a kitchenette. A table covered in snacks was pushed against a wall, and the only empty seat was in the middle of the semicircle facing the firing squad.
Aunties were literally Prem’s worst nightmare. The older married Indian women in his community were ruthless. It didn’t matter if they were East Coast aunties, West Coast aunties, aunties in Australia, or aunties in India. He was a tall, single, thirty-five-year-old desi dude with an M.D. His parents were doctors, and he even had his own talk show. It sounded pretentious, but he was aunty catnip, and he barely made it out of social gatherings unscarred.
“Everyone, meet Dr. Prem Verma,” Bindu said. She practically shoved him into the chair.
His training kicked in before he could get up and make a run for it. “Uh, namaste,” he said, folding his hands together.
The aunties smiled at him in approval.
“Hello, beta,” the oldest woman present said. She was wearing a maroon velour tracksuit, thick socks, and Adidas house chappals that smacked against the tile floor as she got up to retrieve a plate of samosas from the table. She shoved it in front of his face. “I am Kareena and Bindu’s grandmother, but you can call me Dadi. Would you like a samosa?”
“Oh no, thank you, Aunty—”
“Dadi.”
“Uh, no, thank you, Dadi. I’m fine—”
“Now, now—you must eat.”
She had a manic expression on her face, so Prem took the samosa. Damn it, he should’ve taken advantage of that coupon from Deepak’s lawyer and drafted his will.
A woman wearing matching slacks and a blouse with a slew of diamond and gold jewelry on her fingers and wrists spoke next. “Darling, my name is Mona Aunty, and all of us are very close to the Mann family. We helped raise Bindu and Kareena when their mother died.”
Every person in the room nodded.
Another aunty, this one with a kurta top and mom jeggings, spoke next. “I’m Sonali Aunty, and we have the best idea for how to save your reputation after your show last weekend. Because log kya kehenge if this continues?”
“Log kya—what will they say? Aunty, I think they’re already talking.”
They all nodded, and their expressions ranged from amusement to concern. What the hell was happening here? This was just too weird. Everything felt like a setup, but he didn’t quite know what the end game was yet.
“Now you just have to keep an open mind,” a third aunty said. This one had dark kohl-lined eyes and a streak of red powder in her hairline. “I’m Falguni Aunty, beta. Bindu, where is your sister?”
Prem’s stomach dropped to his gut. “Sister? Like . . . like Kareena?”
Everyone nodded.
Before Prem could get up and leave, the front door opened and a familiar voice echoed from down the hall. “Bindu, what is it? I’m busy.”
“Just get in here!” Bindu shouted back.
Prem was on his feet when Kareena entered the kitchen, dressed in pink overalls, with grease smudged across her cheek. She was pushing up her glasses with the back of her hand. He hated that despite everything she’d done to his career, and his chances at raising enough money for his center, he still found her breathlessly attractive. He cleared his throat to cover the wheeze.