It's a disaster

I give Riya an hour or so to work on her own. I leave the neck brace off but take the time to put my inflatable cast back on before making my way quietly back to see how she's doing. Even from the top of the stairs I can smell something burned so I'm not surprised when I actually see the disaster.

My once tidy kitchen looks like a bomb has gone off in it and my initial impression of her lack of cooking skills is confirmed and then some. It is hard to tell for sure exactly what's happened in complete detail, but just from the kitchen doorway I can see that the rice has boiled over and lost a good part of its water, and the chicken went straight from the freezer to a pan of hot oil leaving it both burned and undercooked at the same time and it looks like the cover to the food processor wasn't on right and the sauce she was trying to make is all over the counter and Riya too for that matter.

By now, it is clear to Riya that her plan to impress me with a perfect meal has turned into a complete and utter disaster. When she looks up from the recipe on her tablet and sees me watching from the doorway, her eyes fill with tears, and she covers her face with turmeric coated hands.

This time I do take the opportunity to hold her and when she feels my arm wrap around her, she bursts into full-on waterworks, sobbing unabashedly in my arms. Riya's slender body fits perfectly against mine and she doesn't seem to mind how firmly I pull her soft body against me. I've always liked the smell of curry and coming from this Indian's skin and hair it seems even more tantalizingly exotic.

“I'm so sorry, Sir.” Riya choaks out when her soft body finally stops shaking, “I thought I could do this.” She pulls away from my arms suddenly aware of how she must look in her soaked tee shirt splattered with what might be yogurt sauce. “Avni can throw together a biryani in forty minutes while she does the laundry and watches her Bollywood soaps, all at the same time.” I gather that this Avni is either her family's cook or a friend, and it quickly becomes clear she's no friend. “That hairy dalit can't even read or write; how hard could it be?”

“Hey, slow down.” I reach out to wipe a splotch of yogurt from her cheek, “What's a dalit?” Riya's hand comes up to cover her mouth in shock.

“I shouldn't have said that Mr. Patterson. I'm sorry.” When she realizes that I am still completely in the dark she tries again. “In the old caste system, dalits are the untouchables. Avni not really a dalit, but she is everything that India is trying to move away from; that ignorant farmgirl doesn't even know the Earth is a sphere or that chewing on garlic doesn't cure a cold.”

“I see, but at least she knows how to cook, huh?” Riya's head drops, “It looks like you exaggerated about some of your skills, Miss Kapadia.” I let my voice take on a much more somber tone. “Is that right?” The panic in Riya's teary eyes tells me I have her just where I want.

“Please, Mr. Patterson, I can't go back to that filthy motel. I just can't!”

“Well, you clean up in here, and I'm going to order us some real chicken biryani. OK?”

“Yes, Sir.”

It takes about an hour for the food from India Palace to arrive and in that time, Riya has pretty much put the kitchen back into shape. She may not be able to cook, but that girl sure can clean. We sit down at the dining room table eating right out of the cardboard boxes like regular college kids.

“Be honest with me this time, Miss Kapadia,” I ask once we've made a dent in the food. “What chores can you do around the house.”

“I can keep your house nice and clean ... and if you show me what to do, I can do the laundry ... and.” Riya pauses for a second and sucks in her lips before continuing in a rush, “I can help you wash up; I promise.”

“Well, that's a pretty good start, and I don't mind teaching you how to cook.” I take another forkful thoughtfully, “This biryani is alright, but mine is better.”

“Really?” I'm used to women being surprised that I'm a pretty good cook and that I like it too, but I'm guessing that back where Riya is from, men hardly ever cook, so I'm a bit of an oddity.

“Really.” I turn my attention back to the matter at hand. “I am however, very concerned about you lying to me.” Riya's face is suddenly somber. “I feel like there should be some kind of consequence, don't you?”