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Glossary of Hindi Terms to follow at the end of the chapter

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~*~CHAPTER V : Kismet Curry For Dinner ~*~

A few hundred delicious smells assaulted us the minute we entered the house.

Lucan inhaled deeply and sighed. "Can I live here for forever?"

Evidently Mum had been cooking up a veritable non-stop curry cyclone in the hopes of impressing the Italian right out of her future chap-vitch-in-law.

I hung up my coat and dumped my keys and my handbag onto our little foyer table. "No but feel free to lick the walls."

Lucan poked me in the side, making me jump. "You’re lucky you’re cute, smartass."

I batted my lashes at him obnoxiously. "It’s all I’ve got going for me, my friend."

We toed off our shoes off and I led him into the kitchen, relishing the feel of finally being out of heels. Mum was dressed to impress in a forest green sari with delicate gold edging. Her hair was neatly tied back and she was wearing her good gold nose ring. She flitted about the stove, adding tamarind to a pot of chickpea masala with one hand while stirring a pan of spiced daal with the other. I could see that the oven was filled with Corningware dishes, including a stack of buttered chapattis cocooned in tinfoil. The rice cooker sat steaming on the counter, billowing out curls of fragrance into the air. Next to the rice was a stainless steel tin filled with cumin and black pepper pappadums and jars of mango chutney and pickled chillies and lime.

Resigned, I presented the infamous chap-vitch to my Mummy dearest, who looked like she was about to burst into a sky full of happy Hindu fireworks.

"Call me Auntie," she enthused, giving Lucan a hug, much to his obvious surprise. She barely reached his shoulder but her grip was strong. "Such a tall handsome boy, naa! And with so much the talent; how proud your Mummy must be!"

And so the endless infatuation began.

Mum was practically delirious at Lucan’s thoughtfulness and directed many sly, pointed glances my way as if to proclaim 'See Navleen? Any mans who bring you two type cultural dessert for the suppertimes is a mans worth it to marry.' And then the deal was truly signed, sealed with wax and flung off via carrier pigeon, when Lucan unknowingly bestowed Mum the great honour of asking if there was anything he could do to help her.

"Oh-fo, how even to think such a thing!" Mum trilled, ecstatic. She gave his cheek a little pinch and made that kissy oh-so-schweet noise. "Your Mummy must have trained you very well! To be having one son so the helpful in the kitchen, I tell you she really deserve the credit!"

Lucan scratched at the back of his neck, embarrassed by the sheer deluge of Mum’s ardour for him. "Well she’s a single Mum too so I try to give her a hand when I can."

"You have seat now," Mum ordered, catching Lucan’s elbow and steering him to the kitchen table in that classic bossy-Mummy way. "I have Navleen to give me the help. She very much good. Always bigbig help, even from when she was the little."

I examined the inside of the fridge, snickering at the way Mum was hamming me up. "You want something to drink Lucan? Coke? Orange juice? Milk?"

"Coke I guess."

I poured him a glass and brought it over. "Call me loony tunes but I think she likes you," I whispered, purposely brushing my fingers against his as I handed over the glass.

Lucan winked at me, brushing my fingers back. "What can I say? I’m irresistible."

I sighed as I poured myself a glass of Coke too. That was the problem, summarized right there. Lucan Moretti absolutely was irresistible, much in the same way that my old showerhead had been irresistible when I’d woken up late. I didn’t believe in all this predestined fate crap, especially as predicted by the likes of Kaala Maa but Christ above was Lucan ever making it difficult to keep up that belief. Too bad he wasn’t dumber, or uglier or more of a toady chump. He was damn near perfect.

Unfortunately.

Mum shoved a cucumber at me. "Go get yogurt." Only she pronounced it 'yah-gert' which made me giggle. "Today you make raita, okie-dokie?"

I saluted her with the 'ki-cum-ber' as she called it. "Okie-dokie Chief of the Wigwam."

Mum smacked my arm with her skinny Indian rolling pin. "Cheeky rascal, vachootalking rubbish?"

"Mum." I made wounded doe-eyes at her as I grabbed yogurt and milk out of the fridge. "You don’t hurt the ones you love."

"She may be the cheeky rascal but she still very good girl," Mum hastily informed Lucan, lest he decide that he didn’t want to marry a cheeky rascal. "She has good brain too, touch wood." And she knocked on her rolling pin.

Lucan was trying hard not to laugh. His shoulders were shaking from the effort. "Yeah she does," he managed to get out after a few moments of lip-biting and throat-clearing. "She showed me her design project today and it was very impressive. I think her professors will love it. She’ll make an incredible engineer one day."

Mum’s eyes brightened like a fondue-pot of shining milk chocolate. Her fingers twitched, as though she was about two seconds away from squeezing Lucan. "Yes she shall, isn’t it! From day one, she always the smart. What a schweet thing to say; hear this thing Navleen?"

"Loud and clear, Mum." I dumped all my raita ingredients on the table and plopped down across from Lucan. "Don’t encourage her," I hissed as I began shredding cucumber into a bowl. "She’s like a vagrant seagull, only with the verbal poop. You feed her one compliment about her brood and she’ll be loitering around you forever, pinching your cheeks and demanding to know your star sign."

Lucan bumped my leg under the table, grinning. "She’s adorable, just like her brainy, cheeky rascal of a daughter."

Three-headed, four-armed, blue-faced Hindu Gods above. If he kept up with all this flirty, complimenting business in front of Mum, then no doubt she’d be putting in a phone call to Dr. Vishnu Swaminarayan Chandrashakar, the local Hindu priest, demanding that he perform a traditional Gujarati wedding ceremony stat. And she certainly wouldn’t let a trifling thing like our feelings or any possible misgivings get in the way of having her only daughter wed, that was for damn sure.

"So what are you making exactly?"

"Dahi raita." I added yogurt and a splash of milk to the shredded cucumber. "It’s a yogurt dish made with shredded cucumber and spices. It’s kinda like Indian tzatziki."

"She getting very good at the cooking these days," Mum piped up, never one to miss an opportunity to embellish my pitiful cooking skills. "She make a butter chicken that will get melted in your mouth!"

I snickered before I could help myself. "Actually that’s true; butter chicken is the only thing I can make really well."

"I love butter chicken." Lucan passed me the stainless steel sugar jar. "Especially with naan bread. That’s probably one of my favourite things to eat."

"Jaa Navleen, see what he talk?" Mum shook her daal ladle at me. "You make for him one day. Navleen do cooking for you with not much problem!"

"Seems the Chief’s spoken," I said, sprinkling sugar, salt, paprika and cumin into the yogurt. I lowered my voice. "I owe you dinner anyway."

Lucan watched me lick yogurt off my finger. "And I’ll bring dessert," he replied softly, leaving no doubt in my mind what kind of dessert he was referring to.

I shivered, wanting nothing more than to haul him to my room and give him a taste of raita from my own mouth.

"Navleen go check rice now," Mum ordered as she stirred fried onions into her daal curry. Then she started up with her interrogational tactics. "So chap...ooh Lucan I am meaning, what your Mummy is doing, hehn?"

I ran a fork gently through the rice, biting back a smile. She’d almost called him 'chap-vitch'! Course now she was calling him Luck-an but probably that was easier to explain then 'chap-vitch'.

"She’s the Vice President of Finance at TD bank. She got promoted last year."

"No wonder you smart too, with smart Mummy like that!" Mum was blatantly thrilled as this clearly meant that my smart brains coupled with Lucan’s smart brains would equal our two pair of sons having the smart brains too. Mum was entirely transparent like that. "So how your teaching went today?"

"Pretty well actually. Exams are around the corner so I’ve been tutoring a lot." He smiled at Mum, oozing Italian charm. "I love math and I love teaching and now I’m having dinner with two very pretty girls. I don’t think my day couldn’t get any better."

I rolled my eyes as Mum giggled. Sad part was, if Mum hadn’t been around then I’d be giggling in that same stupid way too.

The doorbell rang then and Mum shooed me off to go get it. As I left the kitchen I heard her demanding, "So when you want to get the marriage done? What kind girl you like?"

I rolled my eyes some more. Mum certainly didn’t believe in testing the waters by dipping a toe in did she? She liked to fling herself into the metaphorical lake with full vigour, nevermind that some stupid kid might’ve shit in the water or that crumpled up pieces of condoms and tampons could be floating by...she came from Gujarat where the water was brown by default. She didn’t give a crap; that was the water’s job.

I supposed this was as good a way to live as any. Not that I was afraid to jump into the water per say, I just preferred to know whether it had been infected by sewage or leeches or abnormal amounts of bacteria that could lead to diarrhoeal diseases. Mum of course had guts of stainless steel and was immune to any type of water contamination.

I opened the front door to find Mr. Khalil and his fourteen year old niece Leena standing on the steps. Mr. Khalil was holding a bottle of non-alcoholic, sparkling raspberry wine that Mum adored. Leena was holding her pink Blackberry and texting with one thumb while listening to her iPod.

"Hello Navleen." Mr. Khalil shook my hand. "Am I coming to visit at a bad time?"

Mr. Khalil has been shaking my hand and asking that very same question for about eight years now. You’d think he might’ve noticed that we never had any bad times where he was concerned.

"Of course not! Mum’s just getting supper ready. Come on in."

I liked Mr. Khalil a lot. We were the same height; five foot seven and we both towered over Mum. Mr. Khalil had dark, wavy hair, an olive complexion and pale green eyes. He wore gold rimmed glasses and had a soft spoken voice. He was a gentle, kind-hearted man who had the compassion of a saint and the soul of a poet. Mum’s sugar-tinged words, after having eaten six pieces of jalebi last Diwali, not mine.

There wasn’t a lot I wouldn’t have done if it meant that Mr. Khalil could marry my Mum. They were perfect for each other.

Mr. Khalil’s niece Leena came over a lot, under the pretence of needed my help with homework. Really she just liked to use my computer to chat with her friends on MSN and Facebook away from the hovering eyes of her parents. I’d seen her chats and they mostly consisted of appalling grammar, lots of smiley faces and endless rants about how this dude was 'ssssssooooooooo uber hawt!!!!111' The dudes changed constantly. The all encompassing emo-love for the dude did not.

Leena was a typical fourteen year old. She had gone punk last summer, much to the horrified dismay of her staunch Lebanese parents. She was sullen and self-obsessed in a way that only a fourteen year old girl could be. Everyone was out to shit on her and no one could understand the unwavering misery that was her life. This misery was displayed to full prominence by the clothing she wore. She was currently decked out in a black ribbed tank top, a long black cardigan that covered her hands, a frilly black skirt, black combat boots, black holey fishnet stockings, and inexplicably, rainbow suspenders.

Because black suspenders would’ve just been overkill.

"You don’t mind if Leena is here Navleen? She is interested in your help with English homework. They are studying 'The Tempest' this term!"

"The more the merrier, I say." I held the door open.

Leena gave me a brief nod, clearly not interesting in anything other than her phone and certainly not 'The Tempest'. "Sup."

"You know where to go," I told her and she made a beeline for the stairs and more importantly, my non-monitored laptop.

"Leena is very much dependent upon all these gadgets and gizmos," Mr. Khalil informed me as he toed off his shoes. "It saddens me that she cannot step away from all this socializing to enjoy the true delights of life. She does not go outside to enjoy nature. She does not care to read the classics. She does not appreciate great works art. She does not even wish to go to the Mosque. My sister does not know what is to do with her."

"She’s at that age," I pronounced wisely, as though I was experienced in raising ungrateful, snotty teenagers. "The Age of Annoyance."

Mr. Khalil laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "Well put Navleen! Of course we mustn’t tell Leena this. She is very quick to anger these days."

"So Mum conned me into inviting the infamous chap-vitch over," I whispered as I took Mr. Khalil’s coat and hung it up. "She’s in there grilling him about marriage as we speak."

"Excellent!" Mr. Khalil, like my mother dearest was a firm believer in fate. "Now we may truly comprehend the nature of this chap-witch. I for one am fully looking forward to meeting your young man at long last."

I looked at Mr. Khalil ruefully. "He really isn’t my young man at all. I haven’t even known him for a whole month yet!"

"You know Navleen, there is a French proverb that I once came across which I feel perfectly befits this situation. 'You often meet fate on the road you take to avoid it.'"

Here we went again with the fate hoopla. "I think there’s a difference between legitimately predicting fate and being hopped up on incense and dung fumes."

"Ahh." Mr. Khalil had to smile. "Spoken with the true cynicism of the West."

"If you saw what that Kaala Maa character looked like, you’d be cynical too." I led Mr. Khalil to the kitchen. "She smelled like the genitalia of a water buffalo."

"I wouldn’t mind having a little daughter who looked like her Mum," Lucan was saying. He had his sleeves rolled up and was chopping a bunch of coriander. How he’d managed to convince my Mum to let him help her was a mystery. "It’s a cliché but it’s true."

Jeeze that Mum was a fast mover. She’d be demanding to know his sperm count by the end of the night.

Mum caught sight of Mr. Khalil and flushed. "Oh I forgotted you were coming to have the suppers with us," she cried, smoothing away non-existent wrinkles from her sari. She scanned the kitchen with dark, desolate eyes. "And how much junking mess my kitchen is!"

"Do not worry Kavita; I do not see any mess." He thrust the bottle of non-alcoholic wine at her. "I have brought you a gift."

Mum perked up, her face glittering as brightly as her nose ring. "Why you always do this kind of thing? You should not!"

"I know. I have wanted to."

They made moon eyes at each other.

'Loooooove' I mouthed to Lucan, drawing a heart shape in the air.

Lucan glanced between my Mum and Mr. Khalil, neither of whom would have noticed if Nanook of the North suddenly materialized in the kitchen amidst a snowstorm. He smiled.

I did some fake coughing. The lovebirds started. Mum quickly turned to put the wine into the fridge, not meeting anyone’s gaze. Mr. Khalil took his glasses off and polished them on his shirt, studying Mum’s chickpea curry with feigned fascination.

"So this is my friend Lucan," I announced, amused. "Lucan, this is our good friend Mr. Khalil. He’s the Vice Principle at the school where Mum teaches."

"Navleen has told me quite a bit about you," Mr. Khalil said, shaking Lucan’s hand. "I have been looking forward to meeting you."

Clearly, Mr. Khalil came from Mum’s school of subtlety.

Since Mum was still looking uncharacteristically flustered and didn't seem to know what to do with the coriander Lucan had chopped, I was forced to take pity on her. "I gotta show you something," I lied, pulling Lucan out of the kitchen and shoving him into the living room.

"So you’ve been talking about me," Lucan drawled out, smirking.

Jeeze that was nothing. If only he had access my smutty fantasies.

"I may have spoken of your antics upon occasion," I declared haughtily. I peeked into the kitchen from around the doorjamb. Mr. Khalil was sprinkling the coriander onto the daal curry and speaking softly to Mum. She was looking up at him with wide eyes and pink cheeks. "Mr. Khalil and my Mum have the hots for each other. Only he’s a Muslim widower and she’s a Hindu widow and never the twain shall meet."

I felt Lucan come up behind me and peer into the kitchen over my head. "Too many cultural differences?"

"More like too many cultural similarities." I imitated Mum. "But what people in the community think, if I marry Muslim man? How I can do such a thing? Hindu woman cannot get the remarriage; I am too old for this thing." I plopped down onto the loveseat and huffed. "Which really sucks because they’re both perfect together and I adore Mr. Khalil. He’s a sweetheart and he’d do anything to make Mum happy."

"People are stupid." Lucan sprawled out in the wingchair across from me. He looked delicious. "We’re all human beings and we all have the same basic needs. Who cares if your religions are different?"

"Apparently that’s too much of an extreme concept for some people," I muttered, thinking of Radha Auntie. If she knew Mum was even considering some Italian rogue to be my blissfully wedded, she’d shit beef fucking vindaloo for a fortnight. "I just don't get why everyone in the community should care if Mum decides to get with Mr. Khalil. It isn’t any of their damn business."

"It’s ‘cause people are gossip bags. My Mum’s got five sisters and when they all get together, it’s gossip central." He made a face and shuddered. "Somehow they all know everyone’s business. You can’t even sneeze without ten different relatives coming around with bowls of chicken soup."

I had to laugh. Seemed to me that being Italian was a lot like being Indian. "Amazing, it’s it? Only in my case it’d be bowls of mulligatawny soup."

"So it’s just Arjit’s Mum that believes in arranged marriage? Not yours?"

"Yeah, I got lucky with Mum. She's not into all that no BMW shit that my Auntie always harps on about. Mum’s pretty awesome; she doesn't give a crap who I marry as long as he makes me happy."

And as long as he had Kaala Maa’s deranged stamp of approval also of course.

"I’m probably going to regret asking this but BMW?"

"Black, Muslim, White. As in who not to marry." I snorted disgustedly. "Some great wit thought of that."

"Jesus Christ," Lucan swore, laughing. Then he hastily crossed himself, his expression sheepish. "My Mum doesn’t like it when I take the Lord’s name in vain."

Jesus Christ indeed. Lucan was only the most adorable guy ever. "You’re such a sweet little mamma’s boy," I teased, refraining from reaching over to pinch his cheeks. He’d get enough of that from Mum, no doubt.

"Shut up Navleen."

Leena chose to storm into the living room then. She flung herself onto the sofa next to me, crossed her arms across her chest and slouched. "No one good’s online," she grumped sullenly.

Oh the insurmountable anguish. How could she possibly carry on, surviving through this bleak existence? She’d be writing angsty bullshit on her forearm with a black Sharpie in no time.

Lucan’s lips twitched at this theatrical display. "Don’t you hate when that happens?"

Leena’s heavily lined eyes turned massive as she took in Lucan and his tattoo sleeves. Apparently she liked that kind of thing, judging by the way she promptly turned the colour of paprika. She made a noise that sounded exactly like when you sucked the marrow out of the bones in goat curry before somehow managing to fall of the sofa in the acute embarrassment of being in the presence of a punk rock god who was 'ssssssooooooooo uber hawt!!!!111'

I rolled my eyes. Had I ever been such a bumbling dumbass? Surely I had never embarrassed myself in such a stupid way, had I? I turned my head to hide a snigger only to catch sight of a picture sitting on the end table next to me. I was fifteen in the picture. My hair was the shape of a large, hairy pyramid and I had the beginnings of a rather luxurious moustache. I was wearing a white turtleneck under an oversized red Northern Reflections sweatshirt that had a picture of two Canadian loons on it. There was a pimple in my moustache.

I looked back at Leena who was mumbling something to Lucan, her face flaming and sighed.

Karma could be such a bimbo sometimes.

Lucan made some small talk, asking Leena about school and what classes she liked. She replied with her gaze firmly on her knees, only glancing up to steal peeks at Lucan from under her lashes or to shoot me envious looks. I knew that a massive interrogation worthy of my mother would be soon coming from that front.

"Okay childrens, time to have the suppers!" Mum called from the kitchen. "Navleen, Leena come help!"

Mum wouldn’t hear tell of Lucan or Mr. Khalil doing any work and was quick to chivvy them into the dining room with much flapping of her hands and jingling of her gold bangles.

"Why do we have to serve the men all the time?" Leena demanded as Mum shoved a platter of cashew saffron rice into her hands. "That’s so sexist!"

"Oi! Your Mummy know you use the filthy word like this hehn?"

Huffing with indignation, Leena made tracks to the dining room. I just hoped she didn’t drop the rice platter when she caught sight of Lucan. His badass attractiveness might’ve been too much for her developing brain to handle without further episodes of klutziness.

Mum took out a dish of baby eggplants from the oven. She’d stuffed them with onion, tomato, ginger and coconut sautéed in spices and they smelled delicious. "I am loving this Lucan character very much," she enthused, carefully arranging the eggplants onto a fancy plate. "I will have this one for my son-in-law and only this one! He the most charming chap I ever seen, I tell you. And the way he look to you and whisper to you, is as though you are the mango in his mango Lassie drink; is very much Hindi film, no? You must marry him Navleen; this can only be the kismet!"

Funny how kismet seemed to be interchangeable with sheer lunacy.

We delivered all the dishes to the dining room table without any incident and by that time, I was practically drooling. Over the food or over Lucan, it was hard to say.

Mum took her place at the head of the table and since Lucan was the guest of honour, she began thrusting dishes at him while firing off rapid, half-coherent explanations. "Okay okay okay, you start with rice. I make rice with the saffrons and cashews and cinnamons. Has very much flavour this way, very much easy to make. Oh-fo take more, take more, what you on the diet? Now you try my daal curry. You like it, is spicy lentils but not too much spicy. You eat the hummas, hehn? Well take my chickpeas curry, is like the hummas only very much different. Have eggplant too, you like the eggplants? Here I will do for you." And she loaded four stuffed eggplants onto his plate quicker than he could blink an eye, which he seemed to be doing a lot of. "Now we cannot forget my lamb saag, is my speciality! I tell you, everyone is liking my lamb saag. Oh-fo, don’t be shy have more, have more, there is plenty to have! Now take vegetable curry, is just dry curry, we all need to eat the veggies naa?"

Lucan was left with a mountain of food on his plate and a bewildered expression on his face.

I giggled into my glass of Coke as Mum took to bombarding him with the raitha and mango chutney. Leena nudged me and showed me her cell where she’d typed me a little message.

Ur Ma iz nutz!!!

I didn’t think very highly of the grammatical aspect of this statement but the sentiment behind it certainly rang true.

Mum soon turned to nagging Leena, who only had rice and raitha on her plate. Finally she took some lamb to shut Mum up.

Gee, been there, done that. How many times had I taken a few miserable pieces of slimy goat curry just to get Mum to stop nagging me, only to chuck said miserable pieces behind the fridge?

Mum went on to supervise what Mr. Khalil and I put on our plates before she was finally satisfied.

I met Lucan’s gaze and silently toasted him, grinning. He was goggling at his plate, as though uncertain as to how all that food had appeared on it.

"This is the best lamb I have ever tasted," Mr. Khalil uttered, beaming at Mum. This was something he maintained every time Mum cooked lamb. And since lamb saag was one of his favourite dishes, Mum made it a lot. "Kavita, it would seem this time you have really outdone yourself."

And Mum, like she always did, flushed and grew modest. "Is nothing much you know. Lamb, I was always good at making such a thing."

"This lamb is to die for," Lucan piped up, his eyes wide. "I’ve never had lamb this tender before. Mrs. Solanki, you’re as good a cook as my Mum!"

I groaned into my plate, tempted give Lucan a good, swift kick under the table. Was he challenged? Did he not understand the veritable dangers of declaring to a delusional Hindu housewife that her cooking was as good as his own mother’s? Did he want to be shackled to my sorry arse for the rest of his days?

"This eggplant is out of this world," Lucan went on, savouring his food. I was starting to get a keener glimpse into what he might look and sound like when he had an orgasm and this knowledge was causing me to squirm in my chair. "Mrs. Solanki, will you marry me?"

Mum bust out laughing, a dramatic mix of delighted and feigned horrified. "What scallywag you is!"

Leena now looked like she wanted to get some cooking tips from Mum. Lucan’s impassioned words had led her to fork a piece of lamb and gingerly lick it. Mr. Khalil was watching Mum indulgently; probably he was entertaining fantasies of proposing to her himself. Lucan went on to wax poetic about the flavours in the rice, Leena quickly joining in. Mum kept shooting me overjoyed, smug glances that were about as obvious as Arjit’s boners every time we caught a Rihanna video on MuchMusic.

Resigned, I made a point to have my last name changed to Moretti tomorrow. May as well eliminate the middle man, I figured. Because judging by Mum’s overall demeanour, she was going to be calling up her closest five hundred Indian friends with the news that I was soon to be married.

So we stuffed our faces. Lucan furthered himself into Mum’s good graces by scooping up his food with pieces of rolti. He ate with his hands like pro, much to Mum’s endless delight. She was quick to inform Lucan that I was nearly as good a cook as she was. Which of course was as blatant a lie as your boyfriend telling you that no, he doesn’t watch porn but do you mind shaving everything off down there and wear only stripper heels to bed? Unfortunately for Mum, Lucan didn’t propose marriage to me at this fraudulent insight. Thought judging by the determined look on her face, only the power of my butter chicken would be able to accomplish this feat and I knew that I’d be cooking it for Lucan very soon else risk being nagged into an abdominal aortic aneurysm.

"So tell us Navleen," Mr. Khalil prompted me after a few minutes of endless silence marred only by heavy chewing and the animalistic sounds found in orgies. "How is your future husband doing?"

Mum’s eyes widened. She hastily shook her head at Mr. Khalil while shooting Lucan worried looks under her lashes. "What rubbish this is?"

"You got a future husband?" Leena squealed, forgetting her embarrassment in the wake of this earth-shattering news. "Shiii-aaattt biznitch!"

Mr. Khalil pressed the bridge of his nose, pained at this nonsensical jargon. He didn’t have a high tolerance, if any, for stupid slang.

"He not any future husband of Navleen," Mum interjected sharply, scowling at the bowl of dry vegetable curry in front of her. "Navleen’s Auntie want Navleen to marry this Patel fellow. Is rubbish story. She big girl, she can make her own choosing of husband. Why she need to have this match-making business done, hehn?"

Yes why indeed when a crazed old bat living in a shit-hut had already done the 'match-making business' for me.

"Because Radha Auntie’s loony tunes?" I offered, licking mango chutney off my fingers. Lucan dropped a piece of eggplant as I did this, watching me with dark blue eyes so I added a bit of sucking motion just to get him all stirred up. You know, ‘cause I was brazen tart like that.

Mum slapped me upside the head, bringing a jarring halt to my sluttish antics. "How you can speak of your own Auntie this way, bad girl!"

"Gandhi once said that truth by nature is self-evident," I preached piously. "And as far as I’m concerned, it’s self-evident that Radha Auntie is a first class crackhead."

Leena burst into giggles. She didn’t like Radha Auntie because she constantly pestered Leena to 'plait her hair nicely'. Leena, who liked to wear her long, dark hair hanging in her face so as to convey to the world the depth of her angst, wasn’t receptive to the idea of plaiting, French or otherwise.

Mr. Khalil toasted me with his water glass. "Well spoken Navleen! Err, the former part that is."

"You’re just a fountain of knowledge aren’t you?" Lucan nudged my leg under the table and smiled.

"The Dead Sea is the saltiest sea in the world," Leena blurted out before promptly blushing.

"I was never much at Geography," Lucan confessed, helping himself to more lamb.

Mum’s anger at my disparaging comments towards Radha Auntie dissolved. Evidently Lucan couldn’t be too offended by my shameless Western ways if he was still eating. "I pack doggie baggie for you," she decided, unable to resist reaching over and giving Lucan’s cheek a little squeeze. "Such a good boy, naa!"

"Aww shucks," Lucan muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. "You don’t have to go through any trouble for me."

Mum, Leena and I all sighed. What else could we do? We adored him, especially when he was all sweetly embarrassed.

"So my hubby’s doing pretty decent," I answered Mr. Khalil, pouring more daal onto my rice. "He’s out with his girlfriend watching a hockey game. They had poutine for supper. I gotta pick them up around nine and put in an appearance with his parents. You know how it goes."

"You are such a weirdo," Leena declared, scrunching up her nose at me.

I pointedly directed my gaze at her rainbow suspenders and she shut up.

"There is no such thing as any weirdo-beardo business," Mum lectured in her assertive teacher’s voice. She shook a piece of rotli at Leena. "What is weirdo, hehn? Who is weirdo? Why you say weirdo? Maybe we all the weirdo and when you call one person the weirdo, it is really you that is the truest weirdo. What for you be using this kind of bad words, hehn?"

Across from me, Lucan was trying to hide his laughter into his glass of Coke.

"The great philosophical weirdo debate rages on," I murmured, snagging another pappadum.

"Those elder to you must be revered not slandered." Mr. Khalil’s glasses slid down his nose as he peered at Leena sternly. "You must give to Navleen one thousand apologies."

"Sorry," Leena mumbled, rolling her eyes when no one was looking.

"It’s okay." I patted her hand with my unused spoon. "There’ll be lots of time later on for you to revere the hell out of me."

"So how are you gonna get out of marrying this guy?" Lucan wanted to know.

"You could always tell him you’re a lesbian," Leena advised, giggling. "If he’s a real FOB than he won’t even be interested at all!"

Mum dropped the chickpea curry serving spoon against the bowl with a loud clatter. All the CorningWare dishes on the table rattled. The lamb grew tough and the dry vegetable curry wilted. "My daughter is not of the lesbian!" She cast worried eyes in Lucan’s direction. "She not of the lesbian," she reiterated.

I snorted with laughter, unable to help myself.

"I know she’s not," Lucan quickly assured her.

There was a pregnant silence as the implication of this set it.

Mum’s eyes narrowed and grew chilled.

She may have wanted Lucan to marry me but she definitely didn’t want him touching me in any sort of perverse way. In her Bollywood-glazed eyes a couple only dared touch each other once married. And kissing, well you barely even did that when you were married. Which was an epic hoot for the ages. Yeah Mum, sure thing. I’ll absolutely wait until Lucan and I were married to kiss his face off.

Yet another reason I’d never let on to her that I’d lost my virginity at the age of twenty and hadn’t been able to find it since. Some things were just non-negotiable.

Mr. Khalil’s eyes narrowed also. "How you know this?" he demanded on Mum’s behalf.

I swallowed a mouthful of lamb and came to Lucan’s rescue. "Because I told him about Spencer. Which would imply, of course, that I’m not of the lesbianism."

Lucan breathed a huge sigh of relief. Much to my amusement, I noticed that beads of sweat were dotting his forehead. I didn’t think they were from Mum’s pickled green chillies.

"Penser," Mum spat scornfully. She’d never quite mastered the proper pronunciation of my ex-boyfriend’s name and as a result, his name came out sounding like something you’d name a pet crustacean. "Bah! Why you talk his name? He break your heart into twenty-one pieces, that rubbish ullu ka patha."

Probably it wasn’t a good time to remind Mum that I still had a lot of unresolved feelings for the ‘Pence. "Don’t give him that much credit Ma; it was really only like ten pieces."

"I ever see that devil Penser again I will pluck from his pigeon-like chest all the hairs he is having! Then I will make a ladoo from the hairs from which when he will eat it, he will have such a phoof so that his bumsee will itch him for the eternity with madness!"

I had no idea what kind of threat that was but I erupted into giggles all the same, Leena following suit. Lucan’s brows knitted in apprehension. I nudged Leena, nodded to Lucan and we both chortled harder.

"And then I will cut his head off," Mr. Khalil added, taking a sip of water.

I struggled to contain myself but it wasn’t easy. Mr. Khalil was wearing a shirt the colour of a raspberry and a sea-foam green paisley tie. He didn’t look like he ever cut the cheese let alone was actually capable of decapitate the likes of Spencer Augustus Charles Beauregard the IV.

Mr. Khalil, clearly in cahoots with Mum, turned to make conversation with Lucan. "So do you have anyone special in your life Lucan?"

Leena, I noticed, perked up and was all ears.

"Not at the moment, no."

Mum kicked me under the table. I knew it was her because I could hear the tinkle of the silver anklet she always wore. She gave me an excited thumbs up behind her empty glass and waggled her eyebrows. I rolled my eyes. Her glass was, as the name stated, made of glass and any monkey could see her thumb waving behind it. Covert, she was not.

"The last girl I liked didn’t exactly pan out," Lucan explained, wiping his fingers on his napkin. I thought it was a shame that he didn’t lick them. "She’s dating my brother instead."

Mum clucked her tongue. "Mysterious the ways of the heart is," she proclaimed wisely. Then she ruined the entire façade of Zen serenity by smirking at me. "Maybe you find even better girl, no?"

Gee, who on Earth she could possibly have in mind?

Lucan smiled at her before his eyes found mine. They were soft. "Anything’s possible."

I hastily chugged some Coke. The dining room seemed to be sweltering all of a sudden.

Beside me, Leena’s brown eyes had transformed into throbbing hearts. "What a loser," she mooned adoringly.

Lucan’s mouth twitched. "Well she makes my brother deliriously happy so I can’t really complain, can I?"

"Family loyalty is a very important aspect to one’s overall mental health," Mr. Khalil announced, pushing up his glasses with one finger. "As John Bowring once stated, 'a happy family is but an earlier heaven.'"

"Well spoken!" Mum patted my hand. Her fingers were dusted with Golden Temple flour from the chapattis. "Is very much truth, I think."

"I bet this John dude never had a little brother," Leena muttered scowling. "There’s nothing heavenly about Ahmed."

That much was true; her nine year old brother made a strong case for hysterectomies. Last I’d heard he’d stuffed his hamburger into the DVD player during a fit of rage.

"He is still your brother-" Mr. Khalil began, frowning.

Leena was having none of it. "He threw a whole bowl of Kraft Dinner at my Twilight poster!" she cried in outrage. "And then he used my best pair of fishnets to chuck rocks at a Jehovah’s Witness! I swear, he’s only like the biggest brat ever!"

"So how was the school today Leena?" Mum quickly asked, eyeing Mr. Khalil. He didn’t look too pleased at Leena calling her brother names, nevermind that they were true. Mr. Khalil was big on family and even bigger on mutual respect for all.

"Yeah so what’s new?" I added.

"School was awesome today," Leena replied, her annoyed expression dissolving. "It was like the best day of the whole year."

Mr. Khalil’s face brightened. "At long last Leena! I knew you would enjoy school if you only put some modicum of effort into it!"

"Someone called in with a bomb threat and we got to leave at ten," Leena explained, beaming. "It totally rocked! Me and Trisha and Katie and Brianna went and hung out at the skate park all day, watching all the hot boarders. There was this one guy wearing an AFI t-shirt and omigod he was smokin’! I like died he was so fine!"

Mum and Mr. Khalil exchanged pained looks.

I started to laugh. "I remember the bomb threats; they were great! I’d always pray that someone would call in with a threat every time we had exams."

Lucan was laughing too. "Man those were the good days, eh? Obviously I was a lot more proactive then you Cookie ‘cause I was one of those little punks who actually would call the school with threats. Especially during exams."

"You badass," I told him, chuckling in what I knew was a supremely stupid way. Unfortunately, I didn’t seem able to stop myself.

Leena sighed. She must have been about to die ‘cause Lucan was so fine.

Mum set her water glass down with a sharp thud. "Might I ask," she began frostily, her dark eyes trained on Lucan. "why you is referring to my daughter as some kind of biscuit? She is not to be eaten for snacking!"

There was a crashing silence.

Lucan froze. Panic was welling onto his face.

A highly inappropriate giggle escaped from my mouth before I could quash it down. The absurdity of this situation was beyond. My nutty mother dearest had no qualms about thrusting me into marriage with some tattooed Italian stranger on the advice of a stoned voodoo yokel who lived half-way across the world. She had no problems with whipping up a massive feast and then grilling Lucan endlessly about his views on marriage and family and love. But to hear him referring to me as a delicious after school treat, well that was just crossing bloody lines!

"It’s only fair Mum," I interjected as I wiped pappadom crumbs from my lap. "Since I call him...uh cannoli."

Leena slid down in her seat and thrust out her lower lip. "Wish I hadda hot guy to call cannoli," she mumbled glumly.

Mum’s sharp gaze flit between us before settling on Lucan. "My daughter is delicate lotus. You do the looking but you do not do the touching."

Gee Ma, too late for that!

Leena snickered loudly. "Delicate," she scoffed under her breath, rolling her eyes. "My a-hole."

"Navleen is very dear to us," Mr. Khalil explained, calm in the face of Mum’s protective instincts. "It is only natural for us to be concerned for her."

"Okay so I think it’s time for some Italian desserts!" I shoved my plate aside and stood up. "Lucan you wanna help me serve them up?" Mum was gearing up to protest so I leaned over and patted her cheek noisily. "Don’t you worry your head off about me my little cham-cham!"

Mum couldn’t stay mad at me when I hammed it up. She shoved my face away, giggling. "Naughty bad girl!"

Laughing, I disappearing into the kitchen, Lucan hot on my heels. I dug into the freezer and pulled out the tartufo. "Are you okay my delicious cannoli?"

Lucan was leaning against the counter, his face pale. "I feel faint. I think I’m going to cry. I don’t want dessert anymore."

"Mum’s just protective of me." I handed him a tissue, smirking. "I’ll make it up to you darling, I promise."

Turns out, he didn’t want a tissue. "You heard what she wants to do to your ex. I don’t even know what she meant but Christ it sounded real shitty!" And then he crossed himself.

I pulled out the orgasmisu from the fridge and hunted out plates and bowls and spoons. "Mum actually thinks you’re adorable. Don’t worry, she likes you a lot. She’s just not used to the nicknames stuff, especially coming from a boy. She probably thinks that once the cutesy names start, well the fornicating can’t be far behind."

Lucan laughed at the fobby way I pronounced fornicating, as I’d intended. "I’m afraid to go back there," he confessed in a whisper.

"I won’t let her hurt you," I promised, biting back a laugh. I leaned in close to him, oozing up against his side and whispered all breathy into his ear, "You just watch me eat that orgasmic tiramisu and know that I’m thinking about you. And thinking about, you know..." My lips touched the shell of his ear as I slid my fingers down his bicep. "fornicating."

So that was a pretty gutsy thing to say but given the way his pupils got huge and then ducked down to check out my cleavage I’d say he’d forgotten about Mum’s foolishness, for a few minutes anyway.

"We got four kinds of Italian ice cream and a mint chocolate tiramisu," I declared as I stalked into the dining room. I smiled at my Cookie-calling chap-vitch. "Lucan picked out the desserts."

"I’m really sorry Mrs. Solanki," he blurted out, setting the orgasmisu in front of Mum. A dull red flush was creeping up his neck. "I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that uh...Navleen is such a sweet girl, kinda like a cookie I guess and well…I’d never do anything disrespectful to her."

"I am Mummy, I always do the worrying." Mum studied him for a few moments. "You thinking my daughter is schweet?"

"Crisis averted," I murmured to Leena, feeling all warm and squishy inside.

"I wouldn’t mind if he called me Cookie," she whispered back, passing out bowls and spoons.

We both giggled.

Lucan glanced at me, his voice softening. "She’s very sweet actually."

"Very well spoken Lucan!" Mr. Khalil cheered, pleased. "Our Navleen is the sweetest baklava in the box!"

"Oh you childrens, stop it, really I tell you," I trilled in my finest Indian accent. I gave Leena’s smooth cheek a pinch, much to her chagrin. Huffing, she slapped my hand away. "And what of this little one, hehn?"

Mum’s expression was fond. "She is our most schweet Timbit!"

I laughed myself sick.

Dessert was truly an orgasmic affair. The tartufo was to die for, especially the passionfruit variety. I made it a point to tell Lucan how much I loved the passionfruit - this I said with a lot of lip and spoon licking, plus some subtle emphasis on key words. Course I had to be sneaky; I did this while Mr. Khalil and Mum were discussing the exorbitant prices of raspberries or rapsberries as Mum pronounced it. Mum may have been clueless but even she wasn’t that clueless.

Then I tried the tiramisu and Lucan's cousin Adel was right; it was orgasmic. Well it would never beat the actual thing - in my mind nothing ever could - but it came pretty damn close. And if I moaned and sighed and carried on and ended up playing footsies under the table with Lucan, well such antics could only be contributed to the power of the orgasmisu really. Who was I to resist the power of a cosmic Italian dessert? Lords knows I certainly couldn’t resist the power of an Italian man, let alone dessert.

Mum, who'd never eaten a tiramisu before made a noise around her spoon that had Mr. Khalil turning the colour of his shirt. Stifling the urge to fawn and gush, I nudged Leena and nodded to her Uncle. She bit her lip but her shoulders started to shake, which made me silently giggle. Lucan glanced between Mr. Khalil, who was now staring firmly at a bowl of melted tartufo, the colour in his face steadily deepening, and Mum, who was still moaning and waxing on half in English and half in Gujarati and not making sense in either language.

Lucan winked at me. He wasn't eating any of the orgasmisu, claiming he'd never cared for it but Gods, wasn't he missing out. Still, I liked the way his eyes caught mine when he licked chocolate tartufo off his spoon. It gave me lots of interesting ideas about being naked with him and his bowl of tartufo.

Leena bent her head next to mine and showed me her cell again. She'd written 'They shuld jus DO IT'.

"You got that right kiddo," I murmured on a sigh.

Lucan moved his leg so that it was resting firmly against mine, the worn material of his cords brushing tantalizing against my bare leg. Between Lucan being so friggin' hot and that goddamn orgasmisu, my ass was horny. I wondered how long I could "show him my room" for before Mum came hunting us down. Then I got to contemplating how much room Lucan's truck had in it and whether we could have some fun in it. I liked to be on top, surely there was enough room for that shit right?

Mr. Khalil, in an attempt to regain some control, asked Lucan about what working in a tattoo parlour was like.

"You're a tattoo artist?" Leena gasped, her dark eyes massive. She dropped her spoon. "Ohmigod, I only wanted to get a tattoo since forever!"

This amused me greatly since Leena was only born like yesterday.

"You cannot get a tattoo," Mr. Khalil interjected in the practiced tones of one who'd voiced this opinion many times. "You are much too young."

"No I'm not!" Leena contradicted hotly. "I'm fourteen, it's not like I'm a baby!"

"Actually our policy is that you have to be sixteen or older," Lucan told her apologetically.

Leena shoved some mango tartufo into her mouth and sulked.

"What would you even get?" I asked her. "I heart Twilight on your foot? The main vampire guy’s face on your arse?"

She gave me the finger under the table.

Mum finally finished her tiramisu, much to Mr. Khalil's obvious relief and probably some regret. "Your grandmummy was having the tattoo," she told me. "She had the Laxshmi Ma on her arm to have lots of the wealth and moneys."

Clearly this hadn't worked as my grandmother had lived in a one roomed hut with her husband and seven children and had died of leprosy at the age of fifty-one.

"I actually just did a tattoo of the goddess Laxshmi," Lucan said to Mum. "It turned out cool."

Mum was excited. "Was a Indian fellow? Maybe I know them!"

"No, it was for some vegan hippy dude. He smelled a little funny."

"Like of the ganja?" I had to ask.

"Yeah and he had sandals made out of rope. You couldn’t tell the difference between his sandals and his blond dreads."

Lucan and I both laughed at that.

"So tell me about this tattoo on your neck," Mr. Khalil said. "What is the significance of it?"

Lucan explained how that tattoo represented his name in Italian and went on to describe some of his other tattoos.

Mum dragged me into the kitchen to make chai for everyone when the conversation turned to Lucan describing some of the more hilarious reactions people have had while he tattooed them. "You love him," she proclaimed with great satisfaction as she took out her chai pot. "I see the love-love way you look at him."

It was more like lust-lust but I didn't feel that explaining this to her would be beneficial at this point in time. "Of course I don't love him Mum, I just met him." I refilled the milk jug with a new bag of milk. "If anything I still care about Spencer."

"Penser? Still?!" Thoroughly disgusted, Mum slapped me upside the head for this lack of judgement. "Always talking the rubbish!"

"I went out with Spencer for two years," I reminded her. "Neither of us wanted to break up; of course I still have feelings for him."

"This is disaster number one," Mum lamented, adding water to her chai pot. "Why you tell me this now? He did the breaking of your dil! What good to love him now, eh? He the worst thing!"

I rolled my eyes at these dramatics. "He’s not the worst thing, Mum. I knew he wanted to get into Harvard from the moment I met him. I knew he’d leave if he got the chance. It's not like I wanted to go with him."

Mum sighed. Spencer had asked and then pleaded that I move to Boston with him but I had been unable to leave Mum at that time. Spencer hadn’t been able to understand that since his relationship with his parents was mostly tolerated affection. "You my most precious daughter, Navleen. I only want to see you happy. I know what sacrificing you did for me."

"Don't be so foolish Ma." I got out four teacups since I only drank chai when I had a cold and arranged them onto a tray. "I just didn’t want to have to cook for myself."

"Forget about that dirty rogue Penser. I am thinking that the chap-vitch love you." Mum shredded ginger into the chai, her eyes sly. "He was watching you like you the tatafo."

I chortled. "Tartufo Mum. What the hell is tatafo?"

"Tatafo, tata-sumo, what thing all thing is, hehn? Point being, he like you. He was watching you with the bigbig blue eyes when you not looking. He smile when you smile."

I snorted even though I was secretly pleased. "Does his bladder fill with pee when mine fills? Does he have to trim his nose hairs when I have to trim mine?"

"Vah re vah, make all the fun-time joke you want. What you care if Mummy heart get broken, hehn?"

And there went on the guilt, thicker than an Italian orgasmisu.

"I'm surprised you didn't freak out when you caught him watching me with his 'bigbig blue eyes'." I gave her a pointed look. "The poor guy was half terrified that you were going to curse him or something!"

Mum was aghast. "How I can curse him? I am not the vitch! I only just do not want him to do any kinds of hanky-panky business to you! You can be to him his biscuit only after he does the marriage with you!"

Seemed Mum didn't believe in testing out the merchandise, as it were. Well no matter. I'd be more than willing to do any type of biscuit-related touching. I liked to be in charge afterall.

"He’s just being nice Mum. Probably he calls lots of girls Cookie. You know, while he’s tattooing their naked bodies." And I stuck my face into Mum's personal space and waggled my eyebrows just to irritate her.

Frowning deeply, Mum added cardamom, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg to the chai. "Well you will have to tell him to keep his hand to himself then, naa? No good to have the hubby who does touching to other womans!"

I snorted with as much vim and vigour as I could manage. "He’s not my husband and he never will be."

"Always so stubborn." Mum sighed loudly. "From where I got you from, I wonder?"

I poked Mum in her tummy, making her squeal. "It's a real mystery, isn't it?"

We all lingered at the dining room table with our steaming cups of chai and remnants of half-eaten, melted dessert. Mr. Khalil and Lucan were discussing the upcoming provincial election when Mum and I arrived with the chai, which led to an in depth dissection on the Premier hopefuls. Lucan was knowledgeable and articulate. He was a big hit with the olds, even if he had made the severe mistake of referring to me as a piece of dessert. Even Leena, who never stuck around for after-dinner conversations, sat there with her face cupped in her hands, watching Lucan with huge eyes and sighing at random intervals. She agreed with everything he proposed, though I knew for a fact that she didn’t give one foggy coiled up turd about the upcoming election. Course I wasn’t too keen on politics myself but I read the paper enough to know the basics so that when I too sighed at random intervals over Lucan’s intelligence, at least I had some fodder to back it up with.

By the time the great Canadian political scrutiny turned to the disrespectful, spoiled nature of children today, as it always did, what with the lovebirds working together in an elementary school, I was squirming restlessly in my seat. I felt a great kinship to all the middle-aged, menopausal women who’d been gripped by hot flashes then. My imagination had taken a very juicy turn somewhere during talks of health care cuts and I knew that my face was flushed with a touch of a doughnut-glazed expression to top things off. My fingertips were itching to yank Lucan out of the dining room and into the nearest closet, consequences be damned.

What was a girl to do? That damned orgasmisu had wreaked havoc upon the tenuous grip I had on my libido.

I wanted Lucan Moretti, more then I’d ever wanted anyone before. Including Shah Rukh Khan and George Stroumboulopoulos, for fuck sakes.

After the obligatory ranting about lack of parental discipline and how most kids today could benefit from a healthy beating, Mum insisted on showing Lucan our temple, which was her pride and joy. I was barely able to refrain from groaning. No doubt a raucous round of bhajans would follow once the tour was completed. Our temple was located upstairs, next to Mum’s room for easy prayer access. It was dominated by a gleaming cherry wood shrine adored with blinking Christmas lights and loops of gold Christmas garlands entwined with metallic ropes of beads and silk flowers.

Okay so Mum's tastes ran to the tacky side of things but it made her happy so who was I to complain? I liked to wear red eye shadow contoured with shades of purple for God sakes.

The shrine featured a large statue of Lord Krishna playing his flute and smaller statues of Saraswati, the goddess of music and my good friend Ganesh, remover of obstacles. The rest of the room was decorated with framed photos of various Hindu Gods and Goddesses and a couple pictures of Jesus too. You know, 'cause Mum liked to represent Canada like that. In the back corner of our temple sat Mum's sewing machine and her massive hot dog-shaped CD player. She liked to sew and sing in the presence of God, as it were.

Of course this tour led to Lucan asking all kinds of pertinent, thoughtful questions, much to Mum's endless delight. Mr. Khalil took the opportunity to show off his knowledge of Hindu deities and a symposium on religion ensued. I spent most of this time rolling my eyes at Leena while trying to wrap things up. I was in dire need of some uninterrupted, unadulterated make-out time with a hot dude.

Eventually Mum got a clue, recognizing my impatience and packed Lucan a doggie bag that resembled nothing more than a sleeping bag used for survival training. Then we had to stand in the foyer for about two years, saying our good-byes. Mum dropped hints the size of Saskatchewan on how Lucan must come again for supper ‘by all the means necessary’.

"Navleen like you very much," she enthused, giving Lucan’s chin a little squeeze. "Next time she make the butter chicken just for you!"

Lucan arched an eyebrow at me, a smile tugging at his lips.

I shrugged and made a production of buffing my nails on my shirt. "Well it would be a lot of trouble. You know, considering I hardly even like you."

He laughed softly. He knew better, of course. "Liar." He winked at Mum. "She certainly is a cheeky one."

Completely charmed, Mum shoved at my cheek. "What I to do with her, hehn? She always the rogue of the home!"

Mr. Khalil shook Lucan’s hand. "We will surely see you again, Lucan. You are a very clever and interesting lad. An excellent match for Navleen."

I huffed, pained. It was a good thing that 'rogues of the home' didn’t embarrass easily, especially in front of the hunky dudes, because between Mum’s enthusiastic yammering and Mr. Khalil’s more refined hinting, well there was a lot of potential for humiliation.

Leena was lurking against the doorjamb, her hair hanging in her face. "Bye Lucan," she mumbled, sounding slightly breathless. "The minute I turn sixteen I’m coming to you for a tattoo!"

Lucan grinned. "That’s a deal," he promised her.

I hastily chivvied him out the door before we were subjected to another lecture on the evils of tattoos with regards to sixteen year old girls. We waved our good-byes as we got into the car; Mum and Mr. Khalil watching us from the front door, beaming like a pair of proud parents.

"See what I mean?" I demanded as I reversed a strip out of the driveway. "Mr. Khalil’s practically my Dad already. They may as well get married and make it official."

Lucan smiled. "It's obvious they both love you."

"Yeah that’s the problem." I glanced over at him. "I hope they didn’t embarrass you too much. Or you know, scare you off. Mum can be a little overbearing at times."

His voice dropped in that sexy way. "It’ll take a lot more than your Mum threatening me to scare me off."

A surge of heat slid straight down into my undies, causing me to squirm around in my seat. "Yeah yeah, sure. You're all talk now that Mum's not around, eh?"

"Pretty much."

We listened to cheesy Bollywood Hindi songs on the way downtown with me translating all the corny lyrics and Lucan snorting with laughter. I found a parking spot in front of a Le Chateau and walked Lucan to his pick-up truck since I still had to hang around until Dikshit and Dolly were finished their great cultural Canadian date.

"Thanks for coming over for tonight," I said as we strolled along the boardwalk towards the parking lot. "You totally made my Mum's night. She loves cooking for people. And she was singing your praises when we were making chai, even if you were so bold as to refer to me as a baked good."

"Your Mum's a sweetheart. I had a great time tonight." Lucan's hand purposely brushed against mine. "How about you Navleen? Did I make your night?"

"Of course. Seeing you sweat it out when Mum threatened you was pretty fantastic." I sniggered. "My darling little cannoli."

We reached his truck and Lucan slowly crowded me up against the passenger door. "There's nothing little about my cannoli," he drawled out, sliding into my personal space without touching me. His eyes were dark and seemed to flash in the dying sunlight.

In my yellow heels I was only a couple of inches shorter than him. Well actually, I was at the perfect height for his mouth. "That's what they all say," I murmured, my gaze trained firmly on his lips.

Lucan slipped his hands around my waist and pulled me up against his hard chest in a move that left me a little bit winded and a lot hot. "I think you're gonna need a demonstration, Cookie."

Fucking finally.

I looped my arms around his neck, savouring the delicious feel of my breasts pressing against him. There was something about being in a guy's arms, especially when said guy was as lean and buff as Lucan Moretti, that left me feeling all dainty and girly. I wasn’t exactly a dainty kind of girl – I was an engineer for fuck sakes – but Christ didn’t it felt luscious to have his toned, tattooed body wrapped so tightly around me. My own body was rapidly responding to his; to the heavy width of his shoulders and the corded muscles of his biceps to the ripped lines of his stomach. He made me feel like such a girl. He made me so aware of how my body was made to fit his.

"Just remember that I'm 'not a snack for the eating'," I whispered, stroking that fiery tattoo of his. I wanted to give him a hickey there; mark him as mine for the night.

A pained expression slid onto his face at that reminder.

I laughed against his mouth, savouring the bristling feel of his goatee. "Just kidding. I love being eaten."

And I kissed the astonishment right off of his face.

It was nothing like our last kiss, which had been sweet and short. That kiss had been a thank-you and a promise of things to come; that kiss had been a mouthful of melted mango tartufo. This kiss was the whole fucking orgasmisu, filled with the scathing lure of unfettered, heady passion. My lips wrenched apart and my tongue was writhing against his the instant our mouths touched. I couldn’t wait; coils of lust were twisting in my very veins, disabling my thoughts and halting any finesse I might’ve had. I didn’t give a shit at how desperate I might’ve come across...I only wanted. I had wanted to be in his arms like this, kissing the hell outta him like this, since the minute I’d caught sight of him shirtless and sweaty at the Golden Banana.

Oh God yes.

I lapped at the inside of Lucan’s mouth, roughly sucking at his tongue, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He kissed me back just as furiously, thrusting into my mouth in a savage mimicry of what I knew he wanted to do to me. I could feel the way he lusted after me in the sizzling lines of his ripped body, in the wild slant of his full lips, in the heat of those talented hands. The knowledge that he wanted me just as badly as I wanted him made the throbbing wetness in my box ache uncontrollably.

I shoved myself against him shamelessly, moaning as I felt his hands skim down my waist to grab my ass. He shifted his hips in a languid, thrilling motion that left my head spinning and my heart racing. His mouth was an orgasm with my name on it and he tasted like chocolate chai. He licked at me hungrily, desperately, like I was his last meal and there was nothing else in his world but me.

"I don't even like tattoos," I panted, my body heaving upon his. We were twisted around each other like a handful of vines, writhing and gasping in sheer pleasure. I couldn’t get over how one kiss could get me so fucking wet. "But yours drive me fucking crazy."

He groaned my name as his big, artistic hands roamed up and over my ass. I could feel how hard he was and I hadn’t realized that I could want him even more but oh did I ever. My lust for him was exponential, with no signs of diminishing. And he hadn’t been lying either...there was nothing small about that cannoli, much to my obvious delight. "You have no idea what I wanna do to you," he growled, tracing patterns upon my moist lips as intoxicating as his artwork.

"I think I have some idea," I gasped, lightly nipping at his wandering tongue. My hands had somehow snuck up under his sweater and I was stroking the well defined muscles of his stomach. I wanted to see his tattoos again, so badly. "Wanna make-out inside your truck?"

He kissed me in reply like he couldn’t bear take his mouth from me and managed to open the passenger door while still feeling me up. I was impressed; clearly he was an ambidextrous sort. That bode well for me later. I just hoped that my predictions to Shalini would come true and that he’d be able to find my g-spot. I’d heard a lot of hype about these g-spot orgasms afterall.

We slid into his truck, not bothering to take our mouths or our hands off each other. Lucan slammed the door shut behind us and pressed me up against the driver’s door, my left knee resting against the steering wheel, splayed out for him like an Indian buffet.

"Fuck you’re hot," he muttered, staring down at me. My short skirt was rucked up good and high, my bare, brown legs encased his hips and my breasts were practically transparent behind my flimsy, low-cut shirt. Lucan got to work unbuttoning my shirt; obviously I wasn’t transparent enough. "You’re nothing like the girls I usually date. Never thought I’d go for the corporate type."

I was pulling ineffectually at his sweater. "Believe me pal, I know the feeling," I mumbled, moaning as he brushed against my nipples. Christ above his every touch was like fucking magic.

He let of me to yank off his sweater. I shoved my arms out of my shirt and wriggled around so that it was around my waist. I was too impatient to bother with the rest of the buttons; unfastening them was an unnecessary effort at this point. Lucan followed suit, unbuttoning just a few buttons before pulling off his green shirt. His hair stuck up and that, coupled with his bright eyes and flushed cheeks, made him look adorably boyish.

I grabbed him and jerked him down to me, his intricately beautiful tattoos burning behind my eyelids. Our mouths were open and crushed together before I could even skim my fingers down his chest to linger over those mathematical lines marking his skin. His hands found my breasts as he ground down into me. His tongue swept through my mouth, insistent and rough. His body was lean and hard and enveloped me thoroughly.

"Your Mum’s gonna fucking kill me," he grunted, giving my nipples the kind of attention that really made them perk right up.

"Wasn’t planning on telling her," I grunted back, twisting up to rake my teeth down the scarlet flames that inked his neck. I smirked at the way he groaned and did it again. "She’s a firm believer that no one wants to make a garland from the flower that has already been plucked."

Lucan paused in the act of trying to get off my bra and burst out laughing. His hands tangled in mine and he laughed against my neck, his quivering lips sending me into a giggling, ticklish frenzy.

"God Navleen," he gasped, squeezing my fingers. He licked at my throat, still chuckling. "And has your flower already been plucked, sweetheart?"

I squirmed, the moist pressure in my undies absolutely unbearable. Even the way he laughed turned me on for Christ sakes! "Why, you interested?"

He leered down at me. "I’ve got you half-naked and dry-humping me in my truck. What do you think?"

I guffawed and was unable to resist leaning up to press a quick kiss to the tip of his lightly freckled nose. Humping, dry or otherwise, was a highly funny word to me. "It was that tiramisu. I mean, it’s not like I find you attractive or anything."

"You’re full of shit sweetheart." Smirking and full of himself, he slowly slid his warm palms up my thighs and towards the Golden Stairway. "You’re so hot for me."

Well considering that the windows had completely fogged up and that my underwear was probably see-through by now, I supposed there was something in what he said.

Incoherent nonsense warbled out past my swollen lips, followed up a loud moan as Lucan stroked my inner thighs teasingly. He kissed me softly, his mouth smug and oh-so-good.

And of course, just as he touched the aching dampness of my twitching box, at long fucking last, my bloody phone rang. "Oh Gods no," I cried, arching against that delicious pressure. "I'm gonna kill that fucking Dikshit!"

Groaning, Lucan fished under the glove compartment and found my purse. He shoved my cell into my limp fingers, muttering furiously in Italian under his breath.

Ditto pal, ditto.

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Glossary:

Daal - lentils

Saag - spinach

Chapatti – thin flatbread, similar to pita bread

Pappadum – a plate-sized crunchy, spicy chip-like snack

Rotli – Gujarati word for chapatti

Jalebi – a coiled dessert soaked in syrup

Ullu ka Patha – an insult; literally translated to 'son of an owl’...basically a stupid idiot

Ladoo – sweetened dessert balls

Cham-cham – a sweet pink and white milk dessert

Timbit – little doughnuts from Tim Hortons

Chai – spiced tea

Dil - heart

Bhajans – religious songs

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Author’s Notes:

Hey guys!

I know this chapter has been a long time in coming; originally I had anticipated that I’d been done in a week or so but between work and getting ready to move to Toronto and taking a vacation, I haven’t been writing as much as I would’ve liked. Not to mention that all this plagiarism has left me feeling bummed. So far I’ve not been plagiarized and I don’t know whether I’ll still be posting on FP if I ever am plagiarized but for now I’ll continue posting here.

That being said, I work my arse off as a nurse and I make really good $$$...so if any of you decide to steal my stories and take credit for them, I WILL take legal action and I WILL make you pay. I pour my entire heart into my writing and I’m NOT about to let anyone take credit for MY work. Understand bitches? Good.

Also be sure to check out my profile. krabbypatties had made 'Vitch' a banner and it’s absolutely precious. I adore it!

anamika – Thanks for the review! Navleen’s family back home in India are very poor; her perceptions are based on mine. My relatives live in a small village in Gujarat and so I’m writing about the India I know about. Also no, of course not all Aunties in Canada talk like Navleen’s Mum...she’s one character that I made up, she’s not a reflection of every Indian woman in Canada!

dani-sgga – Thanks for reviewing! Being Canadian, I always set my stories in Canada, especially since you hardly ever see stories set here! Actually, I spelt 'diarrhoea' the British way, which does indeed have an ‘o’ in it.