The Wrong Woman

37. Dhruv

Rani was fine with the idea of visiting my parents.

I still couldn't get that out of my head, not when I was at work the next day or when I had come back home and not even in the shower. I blew out a deep slow breath and made my way down the stairs, absently looking for Rani before heading toward my little alcove under it.

Before I could grab a random book to flip through for a few moments, I heard tiny patters of footsteps. Not exactly tiny, because that would indicate Kippie but tiny enough that it resembled someone tip-toeing behind me.

Hiding my smile, I picked up a book and leaned against the bookshelf, pretending to read. "Trying to scare me?"

She clicked her tongue. "How did you know?" she whined.

I half-turned. "Like I said last night, you're messing with the wrong person." I chuckled at her expression and walked past her to the living. "Hungry?"

"What are you making this time?"

Right, I'd nearly forgotten that it was my turn to make dinner. I'd gotten so used to eating her food, which was too good to even admit in case she grew a bigger ego than she needed to, that I'd forgotten I could even cook. I placed the book on the coffee table and faced her. "What are you in the mood for?" While she thought, I got out some generic utensils.

"You can choose," she said finally.

"You took all that time to tell me to choose?" She stuck her tongue out at me. "What about your favourite?" Her expression lit up but it wavered, just a bit, when I continued, "Lasagna?"

"Mhm, sounds perfect!"

"Does it?" I eyed her, a pinch of worry hitting me in the gut at the reluctance in her voice. "Is there something else you'd rather eat?"

"No, no, lasagna sounds amazing. Can I see how you make it?"

"I was going to get you to help me anyway."

"What if I say no?"

I shrugged. "Hey, you're the one that wanted to watch."

"Watch not help!"

"All right, all right. I'm more than happy for you to just watch. I don't get why you're even asking."

I got the spare lasagna sheets that I'd kept in the pantry, knowing that I'd need it—even when we weren't on the best of terms, I knew that she would eat if it was her favourite meals. I tried to make sure she was eating at least in that way. I began to chop the onions and she let out a noise that made me stop. She was eyeing the knife and the onion in my hand.

"You cut so fast!"

I let my shoulders drop. "You scared me, Rani," I deadpanned.

"I'm sorry, it's...wow. I can only cook some things but you are a professional!" When I didn't say anything, she continued—and I knew where this was headed so I kept quiet—saying, "you could beat a chef in his job."

There it was. But delivered differently than I imagined. "I was a chef before we got married," I said, bristling.

"Oh..." The sounds of me chopping onions, the knife hitting the board rang in the air on repeat. "Why don't you want to be a chef anymore?"

I knew she had forgotten but I didn't think we would get into every single detail like I was dealing with a whole new relationship. The knife on the onion slipped, slicing into my finger.

"Fuck," I muttered, dropping the knife on the board and inspecting the cut. It wasn't deep, just a small incision. Rani came forward in an instant, like a doting mother to her child and grabbed my finger. She moved the finger from side to side, surveying it from every angle. I stared at her. The wrinkle between her eyebrows stayed glued in that position, and her pursed lips moved to form silent words.

"Run it under cold water," she said, bringing me over to the sink. I followed, not saying a word, like a puppy. She stood in front of me, blocking my view of my hand. I let her do whatever. I was more than happy to watch her tend to me, something she hadn't done for what felt like years. "Oh, maybe we should put some honey on it? Mo—" she cut herself off and grabbed a tissue to dry the cut that was barely recognisable.

"I think a bandaid would be good enough for this," I said, trying not to let the ghost of the smile take over at how serious she looked for such a minor thing. Something tickled deep within my chest. I was more than aware of how close she was and I stepped away, not wanting to freak her out in case she happened to notice it, too.

Honestly, I still didn't even know if acting like things were fine again was a good idea. What if this behaviour of hers was just temporary? I didn't know. I was glad through this whole ordeal that we had dropped the cooking topic.

Or so I had thought.

"You didn't answer my question," she said.

I shrugged. "I like being an animal assistant. It's like playing with little kids."

When I thought she was going to push it further, to my relief, she responded with, "Kids with four legs."

I laughed. "Exactly."

"Can I at least visit your parents? Did you speak to your mom yesterday?"

I hadn't, actually. The thought slipped my mind—I was taken aback by the fact that Rani had been fine with seeing them that it didn't feel like she was being serious. Was she serious? She was completely okay with seeing them?

"I feel like I need to remind you," I said, scooping up the onions and putting them in a bowl. I headed over to the fridge to grab untouched mince, a carrot and some tomato paste. "You and my parents don't get along."

"I know. Do you not think we have to get over this animosity sooner or later?" Those words seemed to go beyond just my parents and her. I looked at her as I shut the fridge with the toe of my foot, balancing the items against my chest.

"I just don't think it's a good idea."

"Please?" She moved to my side, grabbing some of the stuff that nearly toppled onto the floor.

"I thought you weren't going to help."

"Dhruv, do not change the subject."

"Look," I sighed. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it's not that simple."

"I want to do this for us. You have always made sure that I'm happy by doing things that I want to do and eating the things I want to eat. Can't you let me do this for you?"

They were simple words. Simple and utterly selfless and so unlike Rani—even the kind Rani that I knew before all this went down—that all I could do was stand there like a stone statue, gaping at her.