10 Things I Hate About Pinky - Sandhya Menon Page 0,26
sweating on the table. “I have someone I want you all to meet!”
They all looked expectantly at her. Relishing the moment, Pinky smiled and stepped aside, allowing Samir to enter. He walked in, set his suitcase down, and immediately smiled a congenial, I’m-so-polite-I-help-old-ladies-with-groceries-in-my-free-time-and-you-can’t-help-but-immediately-like-me smile. Already he was lapping all her other boyfriends.
“Hello, Uncle, Auntie,” he said, looking at both sets of adults. “And you must be Dolly. I’ve heard so much about all of you.” He held out a hand, and Dolly shook it, looking a little blindsided by his J.Crew good looks. “I’m Samir Jha. I hope it’s not a terrible inconvenience that I’m here, but my internship for the summer fell through and—”
“And his mom’s out of town, so I told him it’d be fine for him to come here,” Pinky put in, looking around at her parents. “Mom, Dad, Samir is my boyfriend.” She couldn’t help but put a little emphasis on the word “boyfriend.” Be cool, Pinky, she thought. She could feel her eyes sparkling in her head. This was so great. Look at their faces! They were completely surprised. She could practically hear the thoughts from the adults, clamoring for space:
Meera Mausi: He’s her boyfriend??
Abe: But how?? And why??
Her mom and dad: Oh my God, she wasn’t lying. She really does have a serious boyfriend who doesn’t look fresh out of prison. Wait. How did she manage to trap such a good kid?
Her mom was the first to break out of her trance and speak. “Of course you can stay here, Samir,” she said, now reaching her hand out to him. “Welcome. I’m Veena, Pinky’s mom.”
The adults went around, shaking his hand, looking at Samir as if he’d appeared from a glade of unicorns, holding a glowing specter. To his credit, Samir seemed completely unfazed. Cool under pressure. Good.
“So what internship was this?” Pinky’s dad asked, gesturing to an empty chair at the table. “The one that fell through?”
“Ah, it was one in DC,” Samir said, going over to the sink and washing his hands. “For the law firm Iyer and Whitman. If you don’t mind, I’d rather help you with lunch. My mom taught me never to sit idly by while others work.”
Ha. Ha ha ha. Pinky saw her dad and Abe exchanging flabbergasted looks. That’s right, she thought. Get ready for a lot more flabbergasting over the summer.
“Iyer and Whitman?” Her mom set her glass of iced tea down, looking like she might keel over. “You were selected for a summer internship there? And you’re a rising senior?”
“He was one of only three people out of hundreds of applicants,” Pinky put in, not even caring how boastful she sounded. “He even beat out some first-year Columbia law students.” She wasn’t sure that was strictly true, and by the withering glare Samir was giving her, she was probably taking things too far. Shutting up, Pinky took the empty seat Samir had relinquished.
“But it fell through?” her mom asked. “What happened?”
“Oh, it was…” Samir looked at her frankly from the kitchen. “There was a last-minute change with one of the partners at the firm, but… I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. It’s another person’s story to tell, not mine.”
Holy crap. He was good. He was really, really good. Pinky’s mom looked like she might just gather him in a hug. “Ethics,” she said instead, nodding approvingly. “Tell me, Samir, where do you hope to go to law school?”
“I’ve had a soft spot for Harvard since I was about nine years old and someone got me a Harvard Law T-shirt,” he said, smiling as he put on a striped apron. “I’d love to do my undergrad and grad school there if it works out like that.”
“That’s my alma mater,” Pinky’s mom said, looking completely bowled over. “It’s the best school you can hope to go to if you want to practice law.”
“Hey, now, there’s nothing wrong with NYU,” Pinky’s dad put in, grinning.
Samir laughed easily. “I’m sure not!” Turning to the men, he added, “So. What can I do?”
“Here’s a knife,” Abe said. “Can you cut those tomatoes?”
“Sure. Diced or julienned?”
Pinky basked in the looks of admiration that Samir earned as if it were all for her.
* * *
After lunch—Samir had made mini quiches for everyone; who even was that guy?—Pinky’s mom smiled at her over her empty plate and the other detritus of a delicious meal. “Why don’t you show Samir to his room? He can have the one next to Dad’s and mine.”