It gets even better! (Riya's POV)

Two hours after agreeing to move in, I'm unpacking my large suitcase in my new bedroom. Though the room is small, and the bed is only a single, I feel relieved that I don't have to live in a hostel. Also, I must confess Mr. P seems to genuinely care for me. In fact, he won’t leave me alone. As I unpack, he stands in the doorway telling me about himself and his late wife. But also asking about my culture - which I love.

As I take out one of my sari’s Mr. P sounds intrigued, “Wow, look at that. What is it?”

“It’s a saree. Do you like it?”

“Look at all that lovely red silk and expensive gold lace. It’s very beautiful.” He laughs. “Shame American women don't wear them.”

“The man in the pawnshop only offered me twenty dollars for it.”

“I hate pawnshops.” Mr. P lets out a deep and rueful sigh. “They're like cockroaches that feed on the misfortune of others. I'm glad you had the sense not to take his offer.”

I hang the saree in the closet and reach for another one, this one a mixture of coral and pinks that brings out the caramel colour of my skin. My favourite which I bought for my cousin’s wedding. “I did a little better with my jewellery, Mr. P. Gold is gold after all.”

“Wait!” He shouts, “You sold your gold?”

I cower like a scorned child. “Well, I pawned it, but if I can't make my first payment next week, it will be gone.”

“Get your coat.”

“What?”

“We’re going to get your gold back.”

~

About one hour we were in the pawn shop, and I watch Mr. Patterson pay the $620 needed to redeem my collection without a moment of hesitation. In hindsight, pawning the jewelry had been a huge mistake. I know the jewelry's true worth ten times the amount, in addition to the gold there are all sorts of gems stones. I could have done much better selling it to an actual store, but then it would be gone for good, and I really thought everything would be sorted out in a day or two. As we drove back from Hartford, I fingered the bracelets, necklaces and earrings, each one a gift from someone I loved. Each one had special significance.

I look across the car and gush. “Thank-you, Mr. Patterson.”

“No problem.” He doesn't seem to realize what a big deal this is to me. Placing my hand on Mr. Patterson's much bigger hand resting on the gear stick, I try again.

“Really, I’m forever grateful.”

“You live under my house, Riya. Under my protection, that's the way it is.” That's something I can easily picture my Baba saying exactly that. “All I ask for in return is honesty and respect.” My hands come together under my chin in a silent prayer to the gods to witness my promise as I express my gratitude more formally.

“I promise to be the best helper in the world, Mr. Patterson.” I mean it too. “I’ll do everything I can to make you happy. Just like you have made me.” For the first time in days, I feel I have someone I could rely on. “And I’ll always be honest with you.”

“That’s good to hear.” After pulling the car onto the driveway. Mr. P turns off the engine then stretches his arms out. “Wow, I'm beat.” He climbs out of the SUV, “Do you think you can get some dinner together while I take a nap?”

“Yes, Sir. Of course.” I followed Mr. P into the house. “What do you want?”

“Surprise me with something nice… something Indian.”

“I’ll make you my mummy’s favorite dish. It’s called biryani.”

Mr. P shows me into the kitchen and makes a few pointers. “The rice is in the pantry, the onions and garlic are here, and you should find some ginger in the crisper.” He points to the top of the refrigerator, “There's chicken in the freezer; if you want to use that.”

Biryani is my favourite dish that mummy used to make, although in truth it was usually our live in cook, Avni that did the cooking. I open my laptop and find a recipe on-line that feels just like the one we used to eat. I did my best to follow the steps while listening to Indian pop music from my smartphone.

I dance around the kitchen while I cook. Life feels good. And I feel at home.