Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
It was one of the only times in my life when my father had stood up for me, but these days I wondered if Audrey had been right. At least at boarding school, I’d no longer have been an outsider inside my own house.
“How was the trip to Fiji?” Ajay asked, instead of pushing for more as most people back home tended to do—it wasn’t as bad now, Los Angeles a city obsessed with youth, but Audrey Advani still cut a sexy and striking figure even in her late fifties.
“Tough.” No point or need to hide that. “Diya always said she’d take me, show me around the family home. Going there without her felt wrong.” I paused on the stairs, a busy member of staff passing us with quick feet. “I spoke to their neighbors. A former police officer named Kamal, and his wife and son.”
Ajay frowned before snapping his fingers. “Oh yeah, Uncle Kamal. We haven’t visited since I was fifteen, but he was a crusty old man even then. Can’t imagine he’s improved.”
I chuckled at the apt description. “No, exactly the same. He mentioned that your sister’s always been fond of Bobby.” The present tense just came out, both my conscious and subconscious mind ever more convinced that Bobby was alive.
It was the only thing that made sense.
“Man, isn’t that the truth. I was about five when the Prasads moved to New Zealand, but I remember how she shut down at the thought of not seeing him again. Biggest crush I’ve ever seen, and she was only, like, eleven.”
“She must’ve been happy when your family got to come, too.”
“Oh, it was like fireworks inside her when our dad told us that our application had been accepted. But for that one year after they left and we were still in Fiji, she was a ghost, just drifting around. Wrote so many letters to both Diya and Bobby.”
The hospital café was quiet this near to closing time, but the staff hadn’t yet started cleaning their machines, so we were both able to grab coffees. I also ordered a large filled panini from the cabinet and was told they’d bring it to the table once they’d toasted it in the oven for me.
“Shumi ever date anyone else?” I asked once we’d taken our seats.
The barista started making our coffees while chatting to her coworker, who was taking my panini out of the cabinet.
“She wasn’t interested in anyone else,” Ajay said. “Happiest day of her life was when Bobby asked her out.” He took a little serving sachet of sugar from the small pot of sweeteners on the table and began to turn it around by the edges. “Before they became a couple, and after our family moved here, we all used to hang out. Me and Diya and Bobby and Shumi.
“Aunt Sarita and Uncle Rajesh were deep into studying for their local certifications, while my dad was working long hours, so Mum used to babysit us all when we weren’t in school. I think they were glad when we immigrated, too—we were familiar, you know? We even had rental houses down the road from each other.”
“One big happy family.”
“I’m sure I was there on sufferance—big age gap. But still…” His expression grew soft. “Those were good times. Diya and Bobby used to spend so many nights at our place. Bobby bunked with me, and Diya with Shumi, and everyone knew to behave even when Shumi and Bobby hit their teens and the hormones kicked in.”
Round and round went the sugar packet, the younger man’s focus on it extreme.
“Otherwise,” he said, “the hammer would’ve come down and ended the whole deal. The worst we did was sneak out of bed at night to raid the chocolate cookies or the leftover Diwali sweets.”
His smile faded. “Bobby was a great big brother to me. Patient in a way I didn’t appreciate until I was an older teenager myself.”
Yet another avatar of the boy who’d given a classmate a scar he carried to this day. “I heard a few difficult things while I was in Fiji—about him being a bully.” I twisted my lips, bit them a little, a man uncomfortable with what he was saying. “It just struck me as off. He always seemed like a good guy.”
The barista came over at that moment with our coffees, the conversation on pause until after she’d left. But Ajay didn’t say anything even then, concentrating on tearing open sachets of sugar and pouring them into his coffee.
“I’m sorry,” I began. “I didn’t mean—”
But he was shaking his head. “I hero-worshipped him, so even if he was a bully to others, he could’ve seen me as a mascot, I guess.” His hands tightened around the cup. “I could understand if he was different with other kids—his dad was tough on him.”