Page 75 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

“Chaat, then dessert,” she had declared while also warning her husband. “I better not catch you with more sugar than you’re allowed.”

Uncle had nodded and exchanged a sly look with Mihir. As we took our seats at the dinner table, Mihir slipped beside his father. When the desserts arrived on special platters, I watched him smuggle the contraband desserts from his platter onto his father’s plate when his mother wasn’t looking.

Quick as a flash, I retrieved a pen from my clutch. At the next available opportunity—when Sneha aunty was busy talking to Amrit aunty sitting on the other side—I scribbled I’m sorry! on a paper napkin I had snagged.

Next, I dabbed my lips on it, successfully transferring a stain of a seductive pout on to it. Now, I had to wait until I caught his eye.

I watched him work his way through a bowl of gulab jamun that sat between the walnut halwa on one end and rabdi cozying up with hot jalebi on the other. Oh, what I would give to lick the sweet syrup off his lips!

As if I had spoken my thoughts aloud, his gaze turned to me, and I took the opportunity to slide the napkin to him across the breadth of the round table. My arms delivered it just short of the center. I waited, hoping against hope, that he’d gather it eventually. He did. Smoothly and discreetly. With bated breath, I watched as he unfolded the paper and looked at the contents.

Then he did something that made me want to jump from my seat, stride over to him, and bite his mouth off right there in the presence of everyone. He tossed the napkin away on the table.

My eyes grew wide first, then narrowed in a threat as he scalded me with a glare. He leaned in slightly and said, “You need to do better.”

Sneha aunty heard him. “What, beta?” she inquired with genuine curiosity.

“The kalakand,” he said, pointing to the milk fudge on his plate. “They could have done it better.”

Aunty nodded and returned to her conversation with Amrit aunty. Tara and Sameer sat a few seats away flanked by his cousins, who were having a ball messing with their new Bhabhi. Except the Bhabhi had a few surprise shots of her own.

I tried a different approach. My mother always said that my father and I were utterly transparent. Try as we might, neither could hide the true emotions affecting us at any moment. I decided to leverage that superpower. I let the regret inside me show on the outside. I sat shrunken-faced pushing the food with my spoon. I gave it a while before I looked up expectantly, hoping to see concern on Mihir’s face.

Instead, I was met with a smirk and a shake of the head. “Do better,” he mouthed, and I glowered at him with a scowl. Completely satisfied with my miserable condition, he returned his attention to the plate of desserts before him.

I moped as I considered if I had any other weapon left in my arsenal, but came up empty. Clearly, I wasn’t him. Then a perfect one landed in my lap, courtesy of Sneha aunty.

As the wedding wrapped up, I tagged alongside a resentful Mihir, only because he was supposed to drive me back to my hotel.

The four of us started back after Sameer and Tara had left in their car. Sneha aunty and I sat in the backseat while Mihir drove.

“I hope you’re not planning on leaving soon, Sona,” Sneha aunty said. I had planned for a longer stay, but given how things had unfolded that evening, I wasn’t sure Mihir wanted me around him. I would leave as soon as Tara left for her honeymoon, I decided.

“I haven’t booked my return tickets yet,” I said.

“Good. You must come to ours for dinner.”

I hesitated before agreeing. “Sure, Aunty. If I stay, I’d love to come.”

“Mihir, maybe we could have Grant and Mike over too. Grant told me the other day that he has missed my food. And Mike is always so busy. It was good to see him today.”

“Sure,” Mihir said with a gruff look at me, and the goose with the golden egg, aka Grant, landed right in my hand. I decided to torment Mihir for stomping on my apology.

“I’d also like to see Grant again, Aunty. We didn’t get a chance to talk much.”

“Then it’s settled. I’d love to cook something special for all of you.”

“Alright,” I said and smiled at her. “I can come help you. What’s Grant’s favorite thing that you cook?”

“He likes my chicken curry. But then he also likes every vegetable dish I make.” She gave a light laugh.

I glanced at Mihir, expecting him to growl and grumble, but he remained unperturbed. His eyes were straight ahead on the road, driving like nothing at all was transpiring in the car at the moment, but I wasn’t done.

“Mihir brags about being an expert cook. What will you cook for Grant and me, Mihir?”

This time, I got the response I was looking for. He glared at me with enough fire to scorch me, but I tossed a big bucket of ice on his fire in the shape of a big, happy grin.

“Mihir makes wonderful aloo parathas. So professional even I can’t beat them, and I consider myself a good cook,” Aunty said.

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