Surprisingly well

I give Riya an hour or so to work on her own before making my way quietly back to see how she's doing. Even before I make it half-way down the stairs, I can smell the curry filling the air like a fine Indian restaurant. Not only does the food seem to be almost ready, but Riya has set the table complete with a tablecloth my good china and silverware and tall glasses filled with ice water.

“Wow!” I was expecting a total fuck-up and instead I get close to perfect.

“Do you like it, Mr. Patterson?” Riya is grinning at me with undisguised pride. “I thought tonight deserved something extra special.”

“This is pretty amazing, Riya,” A quick glance into the kitchen reveals that she cleaned up after herself as she cooked. I try to do that myself, but not at this level. The kitchen is as spotless now as it was an hour ago, but I can see a big serving bowl of chicken biryani with a perfect yellow sauce dripping from the chicken onto the white rice below. “Where did you learn to cook like that, your mother I guess?”

“Nah, Mum's rubbish in the kitchen but Avni, our cook, was always willing to have me sit in her kitchen, and then help as I got older.” Her voice changes to a barely comprehensible thick Indian accent. “Missy Riya, you never find a husband with all those books. A real man only care about what's in his belly - and what he put in yours.” I have to laugh, both at the quality of Riya's acting and the earthy sensibility of this family cook of theirs.

“She sounds like quite a woman.”

“Avni was as ignorant as you can get in India, she came up from the South when she was only sixteen. Can't read or write a word and still thinks that you can cure a cold by chewing on raw garlic, but she has as much wisdom as the pujari at our local temple, and enough love in her heart to fill the city of Mumbai.”

As we eat, I learn a little more about Riya's family. Her younger brother Tish who still thinks he's going to be a footballer; her mother Disha. who at almost fifty is active in all kinds of local charities and art groups and her father, Rishi Kandari just a year or two older than his wife who is the root of her current problems.

“I love my dad, Mr. Patterson, but lately ... I don't know ...” Riya's tone becomes guarded, and I get the feeling she doesn't want to talk about her dad anymore. From what Ja'mal told me in our first meeting, I figure she's upset about his questionable business practices, but there is something else. Something more personal. It's too early to press her on this, so I let the matter drop and reach across the table to squeeze Riya's hand in mine.

“This dinner was amazing. I think you deserve a reward.” I climb stiffly from my seat and rub my hands together. “What does a beautiful woman like you want most, chocolates, wine, maybe a back rub?”

I certainly know what I'm hoping for, but honestly if she wants a glass of wine and chocolates, that's fine with me too.