Benjamin
Benjamin would do anything for his family. Not the family members he was related to, even though he’d sacrificed quite a bit for them over the years, but his two best friends, Prem Verma and Deepak Datta. When they asked him for something, he always said yes because they showed up for him when he needed them, too. Like when he cut his hand with a paring knife and Prem came in the middle of the night to stitch him back up. Or when Deepak helped him develop a business plan for his first restaurant. He texted them daily, confided all his ambitions, and knew all their secrets.
But right at this moment, he was rethinking that policy and his relationships. Specifically with Prem. Had the man really convinced him to use his day off to attend a Bollywood-themed house party in suburban New Jersey?
When Prem asked Benjamin to act as a decoy so he could spend time with a woman named Kareena Mann, Benjamin figured he would merely eat free food, drink the booze, and answer a few questions from aunties.
He did not expect to meet Bobbi Kaur.
For months he’d used careful maneuvering tactics to avoid the notorious wedding planner. She, like many before her, had been trying to convince him to turn one of his restaurants into a catering venue. He’d finally been caught in her line of sight at this New Jersey Desi house party. Because apparently, Bobbi Kaur was Kareena’s best friend.
Benjamin stood, arms crossed, listening to her ramble on about the cost-benefit of working together. Prem was going to seriously owe him after this.
“I’m not interested,” he said, cutting her off. “I’m a chef, a restaurateur. Not a caterer for thousand-person Indian weddings in New Jersey. I don’t do buffet lines offering butter chicken and naan.”
Her jaw dropped, but she recovered quickly. Straightening her shoulders, she said, “I understand your hesitation, but I really think—”
“No, thanks.”
Her professional façade began to chip away. “Chef, you said I get five minutes, and it hasn’t even been two yet. If you weren’t going to listen to me, we should’ve just stayed downstairs.” She motioned to the guest bedroom in Kareena Mann’s house. It was small, with six-inch-tall statues of gods and goddesses sitting on a tiny platform in the corner. On the other side of the room, opposite the home mandir setup, was a narrow daybed with a printed bedsheet that reminded Benjamin of his grandmother’s house in Amritsar. The mustard-yellow paisley design mocked him now.
“There is nothing you can say that’s going to change my mind,” he said. “I only agreed to come up here because it looked like Prem and your friend Kareena needed a minute. I’m sure you can find someone else easily enough.”
“Not someone with your traditional aesthetic,” she said. “That’s why I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for weeks. You’re truly talented, and so many of my clients dream of having your food to celebrate their important day. This particular client wants to organize their entire wedding around your availability.”
She looked so earnest, so determined, with her thick black lashes framing deep brown eyes. Her plump red lips set in a line.
He hated the hard sell. That was part of the reason why he didn’t want to work for his father’s company. People were so damn pushy when food should be about pleasure and enjoyment. But Bobbi didn’t seem to get that.
There was no question that this woman was an irritation. From her words, to the traditional Patiala salwar she wore. She had big eyes, big lips, big hair, and a big, beautiful shape. The shrewd look made her even more stunning.
And more irritating.
“Still a no,” he added.
This time professionalism faded like mist melting in sunlight. “Do you have a problem with me?” Bobbi snapped. She planted her hands on her hips.
“I have a problem with someone thinking they know what’s best for my business.”
“Oh, so it’s an ego thing.”
“What? No, I’m saying you’re pushy,” he said.
She fisted her hands now. “God, this is the reason I can’t stand working with Punjabi—”
“—with Punjabi men like me?”
His irritation began to boil. How could she be mad at him when she was the one who approached him? And for her to be prejudiced against all Punjabi men? Well . . . fair. But that just made him even angrier that she was probably right. He may not be her ideal person, but she definitely wasn’t his, either. He had no intention of pairing up with someone, especially not a career-obsessed woman like Bobbi.
She rushed on, her indignation climbing with each octave. “I hate when people like you are so dismissive, disrespectful, and arrogant.”
He shifted toward the exit. “Find a different chef, Kaur.”
“Don’t patronize me.” She threw herself in front of the door, arms spread wide. There was a look of panic in her eyes. “These clients only want your food at their events. I told them that I would do my best to secure a meeting. I didn’t expect you to be at my friend’s party today, and I would prefer if we had a conversation in different circumstances about their wish list, but it’s important. If you could just listen to what they’re offering for their three-day, midsize affair—”
“I’m going to get myself a drink,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “I still have two minutes left of my time.”
“Move. Otherwise, I will move you.”
“Yeah, I doubt that . . . oh my god!”
He gripped her hips and lifted her clean off the ground so he could set her aside. She let out a breathy squeak that had him smirking. So, Bobbi
liked to be tossed around.
Benjamin grabbed the handle, but she’d squeezed between him and the door again. Their chests brushed and he froze. She looked up at him, lips parted. Her deep brown eyes darkened.
Well, wasn’t this an interesting development?
He placed his hands on either side of her head and shifted his feet to bracket hers until she was surrounded.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said softly.
“Wh-what do you mean?” Her lashes fluttered again, and she looked down at his mouth then met his eyes. He was close enough to see the soft wetness on her plump bottom lip.
She smelled of gardenias. The sweet scent was intoxicating, and he wanted a taste so badly. “I mean that if this doesn’t stop, we both might do something that we’ll regret,” he said.
Her hands rested on his pecs, and the touch sizzled his skin. He let out a ragged breath. What the hell?
He expected her to shove him, but her fingers brushed the gold chain at his neck and curled in the fabric of his kurtha top. Her manicured nails tangled in his chest hair.
His blood began to hum as she slowly consumed his senses. The sound of that slight hitch in her breathing had him shifting closer. All he wanted was a taste now. He leaned forward to smell more of the perfume she must’ve dabbed at her throat. His lips coursed over the shell of her ear.
“Your heart is pounding,” she whispered against his shoulder.
He rested his large palm at the center of her chest, feeling the soft curve of her breasts against his fingers. The steady rhythm was as fast as his own. “So is yours,” he said.
He leaned closer, and Bobbi’s head fell back against the door. The sound that came out of her mouth had his toes curling. They were now chest to chest, noses brushing against each other, lips centimeters apart.
Then when their eyes met, her bold stare seared him like a hot iron. Benjamin knew that this was all a mistake. Good god, he was in the temple room in a house full of strangers! If anyone caught them together like that . . .
Jumping back, he blurted out, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That was uncalled for. That was, uh. My bad.”
She looked confused and straightened her salwar. “I—I don’t get it. We were both . . . What happened?”
Tell her.
Tell her you think she’s sharp, and you appreciate her determination even though you don’t think working together would help your business.
Tell her that you googled her, and you respect her as a businesswoman, but that she looks like the marrying type, the kind that would make your parents happy and make you undoubtedly unhappy.
Tell her that you intend to die a bachelor.
Tell her if anything happened between you two, then things would get very, very complicated.
“You’re not my type,” he blurted out.
Bobbi froze, then she recoiled, pressing back against the door.
He watched realization dawn on her face as she looked down at her clothes, and back up at him. Her hands smoothed over her wide hips, and her shock morphed into hurt.
Why would she . . . Oh.
Oh shit. I fucked that up.
“No,” he said, stuttering over the word. “No, no, that’s not what I meant.”
All the warmth in her face frosted over. “I think I know exactly what you meant,” Bobbi said. “But this account is important enough to work with someone like you.”
“I’m not like that!” he said, hands up in surrender. “I’m not like the—”
“Like what?” she said, feigning innocence. “Like every other Punjabi man who has come into my life looking for someone skinny and sweet, with fair skin and pedigree?”
“What? God no, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”
Tell her. Tell her that the exact opposite is true.
“This has nothing to do with you, Bobbi. I don’t want to mass-produce food to a group of people who probably have no taste.”
“What, now I’m tasteless?” she balked.
“No, I never said you were tasteless. But your job isn’t exactly the best—”
“I fucking love my job,” she snapped. “I live for my job.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly the problem!”
He winced again. It was as if he couldn’t stop saying the wrong thing to her.
This time her hands balled into fists. “You know what? I can ignore your prejudices and how you don’t find someone like me attractive. There are plenty of men who do, and who respect, admire, and adore me.”
“Holy shit, Bobbi, I never said that I don’t find you attractive!”
“But I would never stoop so low that I would ever consider someone insulting my job, too. Get fucked, Chef. Thankfully it won’t be with me.”
She turned, twisted the handle, and stormed out of the room. He heard the bedroom door down the hall slam shut.
“I am such an idiot,” he said.
The sound of a soft metal chime clattered behind him, and he swung around to face the temple platform. The bell that was used as part of ceremony chanting had fallen over on its own. The murtis, statues lined up in a row, all stared at him as if condemning him for his idiocy.
“Yeah, I’m done here.” He bolted out of the room, down the stairs, and through the front door. He just needed a minute. A second to figure out his thoughts.
And to beat himself up over hurting someone who he knew didn’t deserve it.
Damn, he was so embarrassed about how badly he handled that; he didn't even think he’d have the guts to talk to his best friends about it. Some secrets family didn’t need to know about.
Indians Abroad News
Relationship column
It’s best to pretend that you do not know your children have been alone with their potential partner. We must be honest with ourselves: we snuck around behind our parents’ backs, too.
Mrs. W. S. Gupta
Avon, New Jersey
Bobbi
Note left on Bobbi Kaur’s kathi roll:
Paranthas are universal, but also uniquely Punjabi. Sweet paranthas? Salty? Deconstructed?
Bobbi Kaur was convinced that men—heterosexual Punjabi men—ruined everything.
They were chaos creatures who turned leisurely Sunday brunches into wedding work. Okay, if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t mind the wedding work too much. Ever since her best friend got engaged, she’d been dying to start planning Kareena’s special day. It was just that in her expert opinion, weddings were a lot more fun without men.
“I’m really happy renovations for your mom’s house are coming along,” Bobbi said. “But we’ve always had Sunday Bellinis at my apartment. Besides, I have the whiteboard for brainstorming.” Not to mention, a fully functional kitchen. She clutched her tablet to her chest before lifting one foot then the other. Her sandals were probably not the best footwear for exposed plywood flooring.
Kareena Mann removed a coffee cup from a carrier that she’d set on a folding table and handed it to Bobbi. “Prem and I thought it might be more convenient for everyone if you and Veera came to the house to talk about the wedding. Then we can start ripping up the carpet. We’re going to do hardwood throughout the first floor, and we need to finish before the cabinets come in.”
Bobbi took the coffee and inhaled deeply.
After one tentative sip, then another, she looked over at the living room that was now visible from the kitchen space. The wall that had separated the two rooms came down the week before. Sad beige carpet remained with divots where furniture used to be.
Change was good, Bobbie thought. Seeing her friend take her childhood home in Edison, New Jersey, and move into the next phase of her life felt special. Bobbi was still adjusting to Dr. Prem Verma, though. The former TV doctor from the South Asian Dr. Dil Show had been the best thing to happen to Kareena. Which meant that despite being a cis-het Punjabi man, Bobbi would love him, too.
“Why don’t we get started while we wait for Prem?” Bobbi asked. “We can pretend this is a formal client meeting and I can talk about how my uncle opened an elite Indian wedding planning business twenty years ago, then met my aunt, who is a retired florist, and how they raised me within the business and blah-blah-blah, I’m here today.”
Kareena held up her palm to stop her speech. “A business that hopefully you’ll be running one day.”
“I doubt that,” Bobbi said. Even though she’d desperately wished for creative control. But ever since she lost the big wedding account almost a year ago thanks to one unruly chef who refused the biggest paycheck she’d ever negotiated, Bobbi’s uncle had seemingly lost faith in her ability to host spectacular weddings. Now that her younger cousin was also in the business, it was hard to ignore the fact that they were most likely training her to take over.
Bobbi held up her tablet like she was modeling it. “I’ve made a ton of mood boards for a small, intimate wedding that you and Prem can afford. Just like you always talked about when you were drunk at those slam poetry nights you dragged me to in college. Don’t you want to see?”
“As tempting as that sounds, both you and Veera need to be here before we get
started so we can fill you in on a few updates,” Kareena said. “And I want to remind you that you were just as drunk during slam poetry.”
“I had to be whenever Denise Franco got up there to sob for five minutes about her high school boyfriend.”
“Denise Franco,” Kareena said dreamily. “I wonder what she’s up to now. Did she ever get over her high school break up? She never accepted my LinkedIn request, you know.”
“Probably for the best.” Bobbi looked at her smartwatch. “I guess we can wait, but I’m surprised Veera isn’t here yet. Our best friend is usually fifteen minutes early. Should we text to see where she’s at?”
“I got a message that she’s on her way.” Kareena began tapping her toe and looked at her phone. She set it down, then seconds later, picked it up again.
Alarm bells began to ring in Bobbi’s head. “Oh god, what is it?”
“What? Oh, it’s nothing.”
“Kareena!”
“I’m serious,” Kareena said. She twisted her fingers together. Her classic solitaire diamond ring glinted in the overhead light. “After my sister and Loken settled in Princeton, we received a bit of news. We want to tell you all together. It’s going to affect the wedding planning.”
“Wait, this has to do with Bindu?”
If there was one person who could get Bobbi’s blood boiling, it was Kareena’s spoiled younger sister. Bindu always seemed to get everything she wanted while older sis Kareena was stuck with scraps. Kareena was so forgiving because she viewed her sister like her child. But Bobbi knew that Bindu was just a user. No matter what happened, Bobbi would not let that snotty brat ruin the wedding. Kareena gave so much of herself to everyone that she deserved a special day that was all about her.
“I’ll take care of your sister for you.”
“It’s not like that,” Kareena said with a shake of her head.
“Then is it your grandmother?”
“No,” Kareena said. “It’s not my grandmother. She’s relatively content now that she’s spending half her time in India and half of it in Florida with Dad where it’s warmer. She hasn’t said much yet, but I’m sure that will change once we get into the planning details.”
“Not if I can help it,” Bobbi murmured. That was someone else who Bobbi had beef with. There was an underlying level of toxicity that existed in so many South Asian family relationships, but Kareena’s grandmother was next level. And Kareena, forged in the fires of grief and love, gave that woman too much of herself.
“When everyone shows up, I promise it’ll make sense,” Kareena continued. “I wanted to tell you and Veera about it a week ago, but it’s been hard to coordinate schedules.”
“Time is moving so much faster than it used to,” Bobbi said quietly.
Kareena hummed in agreement. “Did you ever think that we’d be here planning
weddings and coordinating calendar invites when we were first in that dorm room all those years ago?”
“No,” Bobbi said, smiling at the memory of a less complicated, less lonely time. “Everything changed. And it’s going to continue to change.” Because one of them had a man.
The sound of the garage door rumbling open had Bobbi standing to attention. It had to be Prem. Finally.
Kareena’s face brightened. She ran a hand over her button-down shirt and dark wash jeans.
She looked happy. Relaxed.
The mudroom door opened from the hallway off the kitchen, and Prem walked in with a bottle of champagne in one hand and what looked like a brand-new tool bag in the other.
Okay, she understood why her friend was smitten. Prem was gorgeous, with wide shoulders, a sharp jawline covered in light scruff, and black hair styled back in a neat cut. He also looked like the sun and the moon set with Kareena.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said. He went to his fiancée first and dropped a kiss on her upturned mouth. “I wanted to check the renovation site for the community center before I left, and the contractor stopped me for some questions. Hey, Bobbi.”
“Hey, Prem,” she said, smiling. “How does it feel to renovate your health center and your home at the same time? That’s a lot of construction.”
He grinned. “It feels fucking fantastic.” He dropped the tool bag at his feet and put the bottle of champagne down on the folding table. “For Bellinis,” he added. “As you requested.”
“Any problems at the site?” Kareena asked.
He began listing all the concerns and his plans to address them. His vision for creating a holistic health clinic for members of the South Asian community had been the reason why he started as a host on a medical talk show, apparently. And now that he’d secured enough investors, he was a year away from his dream becoming a reality.
“As much as I hate to interrupt your work,” Bobbi said, “I really think we should get started. We’ve got a lot of decisions to make, starting with date and location.” She was buzzing with ideas now that she could see both of them together, imagining their lehenga and sherwani.
A knock echoed through the empty house from the front door. “Oh, that should be Veera and the guys now,” Prem said. “I’ll get it.”
Bobbi felt her heart seize in her chest. Nope. No way. She whirled toward Kareena. “The guys?” she hissed. All happy thoughts shriveled up in a nanosecond.
“Now, Bobbi—”
“Don’t you ‘Now, Bobbi’ me,” she said, leaning closer. “You knew that douche nozzle was going to be here? Why didn’t you
tell me?”
She had the decency to look sheepish. “Because I wanted you to come, and you wouldn’t have if you knew Benjamin was coming.”
There was laughter and conversation coming from the front foyer, trickling down the hallway now.
“I can handle a lot of things, ranging from beach weddings during a hurricane siren to a five-year-old who gets his tongue stuck to the butt crack of a swan ice statue. But Benjamin Padda is the worst. I do not want to be in the same room as him.”
“He’s one of Prem’s best friends,” Kareena replied patiently. “Like you and Veera are to me. Come on, can you please play nice? I don’t know what he did to you—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Bobbi said. She was so embarrassed about the whole scene that she’d never told her friends what happened in that pooja room upstairs all those months ago.
“It matters to Prem. He’s a good friend, Bobbi.”
“Remember after you and Prem announced your engagement,” Bobbi whispered as she leaned farther across the makeshift table, “we went out to dinner as one big group? Bunty and I fought all night, then he got pissy and walked out and everyone blamed me.”
Kareena raised a brow. “That’s because you told everyone at the bar that Benjamin was the son of the Naan King, heir to a frozen naan empire, and he was buying everyone shots called Naan-er Naan-er. You know he’s sensitive about his family’s frozen food company.”
The conversation was now distinguishable from down the hallway.
Then Bobbi’s breath caught in her throat, threatening to choke her. Benjamin “Bunty” Padda came into view in all his glory. Like so many Sikh Punjabi men she knew, he towered over everyone. He had a thick beard, his jet-black hair styled, and his T-shirt fit across a wide, rippling chest. A silver kada bracelet glinted on one wrist with a twenty-five-thousand-dollar Rolex on the other. A gold chain with a pendant rested at the base of his throat, matching the gold ring he wore on his right hand. He carried a large paper bag in his arms.
She had a flash of memory, of those arms picking her up and putting her aside. She looked away, hating that her cheeks warmed.
She focused on Deepak, who stood next to him. Why couldn’t she think of Deepak in the same way? Prem’s other bestie looked classically handsome in contrast. He was a poster child for a finance exec who preferred wearing polos in his downtime.
Behind him, Veera’s expression brightened, and she waved in greeting. Veera, their sweet, nerdy bestie, was the most relaxed out of
the trio, with her braid already coming undone.
“—I mean, the chilis were picked yesterday,” Benjamin said to Prem. “The chutney that I made is world-class. I just wish you had appliances so I could’ve made this fresh for you.”
He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and the corner of his mouth curved. His eyes locked squarely on Bobbi. “It’s the most gorgeous woman in the room.” He tilted to the side and winked at Kareena. “No wonder Prem couldn’t stop staring when he saw you for the first time.”
“You’re going to get murdered, brother,” Deepak mumbled in the back.
“Bunty,” Bobbi said, her chin angling upward. She felt a spark of evil joy when Benjamin’s eye twitched at the sound of his nickname. “I don’t know why you’re still talking when literally no one cares about . . . what was it? Chilis? A little cliché, don’t you think?”
“Bobbi.” His voice turned saccharine sweet. “Your high-strung attitude hasn’t killed you yet? ...
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