Page 130 of Cakes for the Grump
Right then, I think,here I go. “I had an effective language teacher who would keep us for hours to make sure our English pronunciations matched those of his favorite Hollywood movies. We’d be repeating the same lines over and over again, and I think that early attention really faded my accent.”
“A pity,” says Agatha. “I find too much emphasis is on sounding the same these days. Accents are supposed to be charming and tell of your culture.”
“You’ll find me in agreement,” I say. “But also, if you ever come to where I hail from in Mumbai, the culture there is not lacking. That’s for sure.”
“What kind of place did you grow up in?” asks Victor, giving me a shallow nod.
“It was bright. Warm. There…wasn’t much emphasis on needing to behave in a certain way or having to live up to certain expectations. A lot of my memories are from being out in the neighborhoods. There would be construction dust everywhere, noises and honking and kids playing capture the flag or getting together for Holi or busting out firecrackers in the middle of the street.”
Agatha smiles. I think I might have said something right.I hope so.
“And look at you now,” says Vistoria. She subtly adjusts the attention of our circle so we can look at Luke, who is speaking to Vincent and Victor’s father, the CEO of Intel. “Jumping from one world to another.”
“Do you miss India?” asks Agatha.
I don’t know the right answer to this question.Will they like me if I say I’ve adapted to being with Luke? Or do they want me to be his opposite?
“I miss the…past.”
“How so?” asks Vistoria.
Which way do I go?My hands wring together for a second before I force them apart. I hate this. I hate this stress of triple-guessing every syllable falling out of your mouth. “I don’t know exactly,” I say with a laugh. “But in my head, back then, life felt uncluttered, simple, and straight. As a child, you go to school, study, play, and sleep. If you excelled at all that, it felt like you were doing alright. But as an adult?—”
“Everything complicates,” says Agatha. “I can relate to that.”
“Can you, mother?” questions Victor. “Ican’t. Our expectations were always laid out for us in the beginning. There was no playing.”
“Yes, well, your parents had different ideas.” Agatha gives me a smile. “Generations change.”
Vistoria moves and arranges everyone into one larger group, bridging personal small talk to business. Her commentary moves rapidly, going from the integrity of news outlets (“Deregulation is the way to go”) to gossip about another rich family (“Did you hear about the Donaldsons scandal?”) to wine (“The 1949 Domaine Leroy Richebourg Grand Cru served here is exquisite”).
Someone’s alarm goes off, indicating that the rest period has ended and that we must rejoin the larger conference group. Luke and Mr. Duncan lead us back to the manor, Vistoria and Agatha congregating in the middle, and me and the sons left in the back.
Even this order mulls heavily on my brain. Should I be projecting myself forward and joining Luke at the forefront, but it’s not like I’ve spied an opening yet. Vincent and Victor pepper me about India, and I keep answering their questions, but I’m afraid I’m weirdly othering myself as the person who doesn’t fit in.
What am I doing? What is next?
The afternoon isn’t as stressful, but that is because Mr. Duncan becomes my escort again. As for Luke?
“He’s still with Intel,” Mr. Duncan shares happily. “Vistoria got them to extend their meeting, but they want to keep the group limited. Strictly business. I think this may be it, where hands are shaken.”
I should be happy. I am happy.
“I didn’t think it would happen so early,” I say,
Mr. Duncan pours me a glass of orange juice. We are in a main foyer area, sitting at the outermost table set up on the patio. The wind is like a warm tongue, swaying the leaves of trees above us. There are bowls of chilled fruit between us and tiny plates with tiny chocolates. A pre-dining sampler. Joining us is Luke’s assistant, who is monitoring all Abbot Industries’ communication as a precaution to see if the board makes any other moves. They are glued to their tablet, and apparently supposed to be invisible. It feels so weird, but Mr. Duncan and I chat, pretending they aren’t there.
“He might actually pull this off.” Mr. Duncan pops a slice of plum into his mouth.
“I can’t wait for this to be over.”
He lowers his sunglasses. “Over? It’s not ever going to be over, Ms. Singh. If this goes through, Abbot Industries is reborn today. And once Otto’s dementia becomes public—a leak I’m recommending happens soon—the majority of the shares go to Luke. His power cemented.” Mr. Duncan sucks on another plum sliver, grinning. “It’s what the boy was born to do. With Intel on board, they’ll change the industry.”
“I…didn’t realize.”
“You get partial credit, you know. There’s an ease about Luke that he didn’t have before you. It’s appreciated. Keep doing whatever it is you are doing. It will help him long-term.”
Long-term?“We’re not really together,” I remind Mr. Duncan quickly.
