“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.”
“I can guarantee you that I will not wind up in bed with Anil,” I said. “I’m going to take one of Nikhil’s old drones for him. Nikhil hasn’t used them in almost ten years and Anil lost his at the lake today.”
“Nikhil won’t like that.” My father speared another samosa. They were his favorite food. Usually my mother put them out of reach because he’d inhale them in a matter of minutes without even thinking to pass them around.
“It’s okay,” my mother said. “She’s a criminal now. Stealing is what she does.”
“It’s just a phase,” Nani assured her. “Next week she might be selling donuts, then she’ll join a circus, and who knows, by the end of the month she could be married with three kids of her own.”
“That’s a physical impossibility,” Dad said.
“Times have changed,” Nani said. “These young people today do all sorts of things we don’t understand.”
Dad didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t think the basics of procreation have changed since the beginning of time.”
“Could we not talk about sex at the dinner table?” I filled my plate from the dishes on the table: rogan josh, coconut curry, biryani, dal, and warm roti. I left the rest of the samosas for Dad.
“What do you want to talk about?” Mom asked.
“How about who would be the best person to talk to about planning a wedding?”
“You’re getting married!” She clapped her hands together and then frowned. “To Anil?”
“I’m not getting married,” I said. “I’m starting my own business. I’m going to be a wedding planner.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
?Detective Garcia was waiting for me outside Dad’s shop the next morning.
“If you’re here for a suit, I’d recommend the tailor shop on the next block,” I told him. “They’re having a sale on false accusations and police harassment.”
“I just have a few questions, if you don’t mind.” Garcia looked irritatingly handsome today, dressed in a blue off-the-rack suit and white cotton shirt open at the collar.
“The question is: Will my dad mind? You’re taking me away from work.”
Garcia followed me into the store and looked around. “There’s no one here.”
“You never know when people will be struck with a desperate need for a suit.” I nodded a greeting at Cristian, who was adjusting the display behind the till. “We might get a stampede any moment.”
“Then I’ll be quick.”
“Give me a moment. I’ll need to ask Cristian to cover for me.”
“He looks like a cop,” Cristian whispered after Garcia had wandered over to check out the ties.
“He is a cop.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“He wants to talk.”
Cristian held up his hands in a placatory gesture. “Look, I didn’t know she was married and I thought the cash was legit—”
“It’s not about you,” I said, cutting him off.
“Did someone overhear us in Rose’s garage?” he asked in a hushed tone. “Are we in trouble? Or does this have to do with the boating incident? I’ll tell him I wasn’t involved. I wasn’t even on the boat. You pressured me into it . . .”
“Nice to know how quickly you would throw me under the bus,” I said. “Lucky for you, he’s not here about that, either. He’s working the museum theft and probably has some questions about the night the necklace was stolen.”
“I thought I’d have to run out the back. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Cristian ran his fingers through his thick hair. “He’s pretty hot for a cop. Are you two together?”
I shrugged, feigning disinterest. “He’s not really my type.”
“Can I have him?”
I opened my mouth to tell him to take his best shot, but nothing came out. It made no sense. I didn’t like Garcia that way. Or did I? Sure, he was gorgeous, fit, and a decent guy. He had a badge and a gun and handcuffs. His warm eyes and soft smile would have made me a little weak in the knees if he hadn’t thought I was a criminal.
“He’s not a leftover bagel, Cristian. He’s a person with feelings. He probably has his own type—”
“And you’re saying it’s not me?”
“I thought your type was older women who were unhappy in their marriages, committed to their careers with no time for relationships, or newly divorced and looking for the kind of loving they’d dreamed about while raising three kids with a beta male husband who had erectile dysfunction.”
“That’s work,” he said. “Not play. In my off time, I’ll hit on anything warm and willing.”
“He’s mine so that means off-limits.” I couldn’t imagine anything worse than Cristian getting it on with the police officer searching for the necklace that we were about to steal.
“Why do you get all the hot guys?” Cristian huffed, turning away. “Didn’t your parents teach you how to share?”
“What guys?” I called out. “I have no guys.”