The Boy Toy - Nicola Marsh Page 0,2
and tremulous, her expression stricken.
Samira’s heart skipped a beat, but she feigned indifference and shrugged. “Who cares? Can we please eat? I’m starving.”
But Samira did care, the slash of pain in her chest testament to the overwhelming inadequacy that arose every time she thought of her ex procreating with that woman.
In their short-lived, barren marriage, Avi had never failed to degrade her, to make her feel worthless for not bearing him the child he so desperately wanted. He’d known about her infrequent periods—oligomenorrhea, the docs she’d consulted had labeled it—before they married and the challenges they may face having a child, so impregnating another woman had been the ultimate betrayal.
Acid burned the back of her throat, but she swallowed it down and chased it with several gulps of lassi. She couldn’t show her mom that Avi held the power to affect her after all these years. She’d moved on. Time to start acting like it.
“The sooner you find a nice Indian boy to rid you of the memories of that nightmare of a man, the happier you’ll be,” Kushi announced, with an emphatic nod.
Hearing her mom trot out the old “nice Indian boy” adage she’d heard countless times before sparked a glimmer of an idea. If Samira suffered through the indignity of meeting another one of her mother’s prospective matches for her and likened him to the blacklisted Avi, would Kushi finally back off once and for all?
The idea had merit, and she’d mull it further, but for now, this was her first night back in her childhood home, and she intended on filling her belly with the delicious food and laying foundations for repairing the fractured relationship with her mother.
She’d managed to spoon the tangy okra into her mouth before Kushi said, “Why aren’t you staying here?”
Samira sighed and put down her spoon. They’d had this conversation many times over the last two months, when her cousin Pia first approached her to consult on her new allied health practice.
Samira had given Kushi valid excuses—the Southbank apartment she’d rented would be closer to Pia, she needed to be near the new center, she’d be coming and going at all hours because of her work schedule—but her mom wasn’t a fool. She knew those reasons were vague and nebulous and the real reason stemmed from this: the last time she’d lived in this house had been pre-wedding, and she couldn’t go back.
“You know I would’ve loved to, Mom, but as the primary consultant on Pia’s new practice, I have to be nearby, so living in Southbank is easier right now.”
“Southbank?” Her nose crinkled as she pressed her knuckles to her temples in disgust. “The city is filled with crime these days. You don’t know because you haven’t lived here in a long time. Stabbings every night in Melbourne. Gangs of thugs roaming, looking for trouble. Muggings. Worse!” Her hands rose and fell in the way they always did when she spoke. “Why do you persist in being so independent?”
Samira reached out and laid a hand over her mom’s, when it finally came to rest on the table. “Because I’m thirty-seven and have lived on my own in LA for over a decade.”
Kushi’s expression softened. “You know I worry because you can get hurt—”
“Life’s full of risks, Mom, and even when we don’t take any, bad stuff happens.”
Understanding lit Kushi’s eyes, and they immediately filled with tears. “You need to be careful, jaanu.”
Being called “darling” brought an unexpected lump to her throat. “I am.” She leaned over and draped an arm over her mother’s shoulders, pulling her in for a swift hug. “I love you, Matha.”
“Mother” was one of the few Hindi words she knew, and Kushi loved when she used it.
“You’re a good daughter,” she said, patting her cheek. “Now eat.”
Samira managed to eat several mouthfuls of delicious paneer, the soft cheese flavored with mustard and cumin seeds in a rich spinach gravy, and the amazing okra fried with chili and curry leaves, before Kushi said, “Go live in Southbank, do a good job as consultant for Pia’s fancy-schmancy new practice, but don’t think I’ll forget about introducing you to a nice Indian boy.”
Samira groaned and shot her a filthy look, resulting in a soft chuckle that couldn’t help but warm her heart. According to Pia, Kushi didn’t smile much these days, let alone laugh.
“You will find love again, betee, mark my words.”
Kushi waggled a finger in front of her face, and Samira swatted it away.
She’d let her mom indulge in