Karthik Delivers: Chapters 30–40

I see him in the bathroom, shaving solemnly, which seems unnecessary before going to a bank.

They’re both acting weird, frankly.

I watch as she dips a basket of chickpea-battered vegetables into a vat of frying oil.

She lifts the basket out and empties the chickpea fritters into a tray.

“Why so touchy? Did you steal this?”
“No! I just don’t want you to damage it.”

She’s wearing Nike tennis shoes and a sundress. A combination of practicality and failed fashion sense.

“Yes,” Mrs. Rodrigues says, nodding vigorously.

I would ask Nitya except that she’s cloistered herself with her SAT books.

He comes out with a stainless steel tumbler of iced tea and a plate of Parle-G biscuits.

“After years of being out of the industry, I found a way back in. When everybody else is getting laid off, I’m getting hired.”

“It’s Pavan Uncle’s company.”
“You mean he just gave Daddy a job?” Nitya crosses her arms. “Isn’t that nepotism?”

Before I can say more, Nitya returns, perhaps to give my parents a second round of admonishment.

“Mom,” she asks incredulously, “wants to go to med school?”

By now, he’s sitting on the couch, and in his hand he has the crossword, something he never does, but he’s looking at it intently, trying to fill in the blank spaces.

She and Dad are furiously packing and selling and getting customers to buy everything in the store. It’s amazing how much gusto Mom has.

“Now I’ll have to shop in Brookline,” she says reproachfully to my dad. “And everyone knows there’s no parking there. This store is just a short walk from my building.”

Mrs. Rodrigues is indignant. “Everyone knows that there is no such thing as a reduced-price mango,” she says when I step into her apartment.

Yeah, about an hour from here. He says he can work normal hours, and my mom can start working in a year. First he thought he’d commute, but Mom wants all of us together now that Spencer’s going away to college. They think it’s better to move before I start high school.

I’m trying to digest this news, even though Miles had basically warned me already.

I want to check out a few things at the registrar’s office.

Meanwhile, Mom has already pieced together everything—the Fanta and chips delivery, the library book, and West Side Story, which we so casually watched together. I can see it all in her eyes. But what do they add up to in her mind? A waste of time? Lying and scheming? High treason?

“Paying me? Are you kidding me? You have no idea what you’re talking about!”
“I know enough,” Mom retorts.

When Mom looked defeated, Nitya bolstered her up. “Don’t worry. When you take chem this fall, you’ll learn all of that. I’ll help you.”

He isn’t even acting like his loud, boisterous self. He looks somber and pensive.

He isn’t even acting like his loud, boisterous self. He looks somber and pensive.

“He’s the one who never listens to anybody,” Juhi says, glowering.

We’re about halfway back to the store from Carmine’s when we first start to smell it—a thick, acrid smell like the bonfire I went to at the end of sixth grade.

There’s a plume of smoke ahead of us.

One summer, our neighbors had a party on our roof and the grill made lots of smoke from charred patties and corn on the cob.

We lean forward, as if to buffer him from the terrible news he’s about to share.

He looks anguished. Someone is treating his face for burns, and his arm is already bandaged.

When we get there, it’s a snarl of traffic and honking and congested parking.

Then the smoke damaged the rest of the restaurant. It was an unmitigated disaster, but one in which no one lost their lives.

I stare, transfixed.

They don’t even buy ice cream; they just saunter off through the door and down the street.