Page 209 of Snap Shot

Her thumb scrolls too far up, eyes widening as she reads. “There are some spicy texts here.”

“Lemme see!” My youngest sister peers over her shoulder. “Whoa. Man's got a mouth on him.” They giggle.

“Gimme that!” I swipe it from them. “That's enough. Out of my room.”

“Nope.” Another sandwiching embrace follows, squeezing and swaying until we topple over and squish together in the queen-size bed. “We're staying right here.”

—————

An encore of Mohammad Rafi's “Baar Baar Din Ye Aaye”—captained by my father and encouraged by my mom's older brother—is one of the most ridiculous stunts I've ever witnessed. I down bites of German chocolate cake various family members feed me. We take turns exchanging hugs after they stuff my face as they comment either on how thin I've gotten, or how impressed they are with my Gujarati or the string of suggestions.

“Indira, I know someoneperfectfor you!”

“Leave her be.” My Nani playfully smacks the shoulder of Pallavi Aunty, their flat's nosy neighbor. “My turn.” Nani slices a big chunk of the two-layer cake piece with a fork and mimes for me to open my mouth.

I lean forward to receive it, then bow to touch her feet.

“Ayushmaan bhava, saubhagyavati bhava.” Her wrinkled hands stroke through my hair, the blessings for my longevity and a blissful wedded life drawing tears to my kohl-lined lower lids.

“Not you, too,” I say through a sniffle, wrapping my arms around her neck as she squeezes my waist and pats the cheek that isn't smushed into hers.

“Saaru, saaru. Havey hun kashu nahi bolun.” Nani zips her lips, bony fingers tremoring along the path. “Not another word.”

We take a cheesy selfie. On my part anyway. She looks as graceful and ageless as ever. I kiss her temple and she kisses both dimples. A rich sense of contentment fills my insides. Maybe this trip to India was what I needed after all.

I hide in the guest room after my sisters and cousins chase me around attempting to smear my face with the coconut, pecan, and chocolate icing. My phone buzzes in hand. I expect a threat from one of my siblings. It's worse.

Gym Guy:Happy birthday

Something in my gut tightens, but I feel the need to respond. I can do this. We can be civil.

Me:Thanks

Gym Guy:Can we talk?

The door swings open. “Aha!”

“Nooooooo!” I cry, locking my knees to stop them from moving me, but the tiled floor provides no traction. While they hold my arms and the back of my head to smash my face into whatever is left of the cake, the phone clamped in hand rings, and I break free to answer.

“It's a work call!” I lie, scampering back into the extra room. This time I remember to lock it. “This is Indira Davé.”

“Oh, my God.Hi.”

My heart floats out of my chest for a moment. I check the screen. It is him, after all.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Landon repeats with a sigh.

“You said that already.”

“Right, sorry.” He chuckles, the deep rumble rushing blood everywhere. My face, my arms, my pu— “How are you?”

“Good, you?” See? Perfectly civil.

“We got knocked out in the first round.”

“I saw.”

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