He noticed she didn’t say theater. She’d demonstrated no interest in the art, and he wasn’t about to push her into it. There had been enough unnecessary pushing in this family.
A third finger. “Currently, I have no friends except you and Adil Uncle. I am thirteen years old and require more friends my own age in close contact. Studies show this is when our brains develop to learn how to have relationships.”
That, he couldn’t argue with. He forever felt guilty that Luna wasn’t around kids her own age. It was the reason she was even allowed to have social media, so she could keep in contact with her friends.
“What if we leave here in six months?” he asked. Hollywood was fickle.
“I don’t care. I want to go to a real school.” She swiped her hand at a curl over her eye. “I know how to work Uber or whatever other service they have here. I can take a car to school and back. You wouldn’t have to come to any events. It wouldn’t take any more of your time.”
He raised his hand to stop the flood of words that mildly broke his heart. “I am not too busy to drive you to school,” he said gruffly. “My concern is that you’ve never gone to school before.”
She lifted one shoulder. “Only because Baba said tutors were easier for him.”
Rohan.
“I know you think an American school will be like 90210, but it’s not that glamorous,” he warned.
She gave him a blank look. “What’s that?”
“It’s not like the TV shows, I mean.”
“I don’t want to go because we’re in America. I’ve wanted to go forever.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I needed time to think of reasons to give to you for me to go.”
“You are a great debater,” he conceded.
“Aji said I could play a great lawyer.”
“Or you could be a lawyer.” He might not pressure her, but their elder relative was a different story. “Why don’t we discuss this in the morning.”
Her shoulders slumped. “That means no.”
“It means yes. However, it’s too late to determine which school you should attend.”
Her eyes brightened. “Really?”
He smiled, relieved that the dark clouds in her eyes had vanished. “Really.”
“I don’t want it to be a fancy school.”
“If you’re going to school, it will be the best school.”
“I’ve heard the best private schools are quite the party places. Rich kids.”
He narrowed his eyes. His schools had been decidedly middle class until sixteen, and he could concede she was right. “You will go to the second-best school.”
“I’d like to go to a public school.”
He reared back. “Luna, that is too much.”
“Don’t be classist. A public school will allow me to meet different kinds of people.”
“I’m not . . . fine.” He gritted his teeth. He supposed his instant dislike of a public school for his niece was classist. Besides, it wasn’t like he had the money to justify this particular ism right now. “We will investigate both options.”
A smile spread across her face. “Thank you, Kaka.”
He wanted to hug her, but he kept the space between them. Physical affection had never been something he craved, but he’d never before been faced with a young curly-haired orphan with his brother’s chin and a polite smile and haunted eyes. “You will study at home independently, though. I want you ahead of your class, so you won’t face any trouble if we return to India and you’re back in a more rigorous curriculum.”
“I’m okay with that. School doesn’t take me much time.”
She always had been a quick student, and Dev had told her tutors to advance her where necessary. “Perhaps they’ll let you skip a grade—”
“No. The goal here is to be around people who are my age.”
He tugged on a curl. “Very well.”
“Can I call Aji to tell her?”
“Certainly. Tomorrow.” He was perpetually surprised by how close Luna and his grandmother were. Lord knew, Shweta Dixit, Legend of the Silver Screen, hadn’t done much but toss cash at her grandchildren, especially the two she hadn’t met until their teenage years.
Dev might harbor some rejection and resentment over that, but he took those emotions and dealt with them the way he dealt with all emotions: bundled them up into a ball and stuffed them deep deep down. Like all healthy people did.
“How was the party?”
It glowed for a few minutes. “Fine. Like any other party,” he said, with a twist to his mouth Luna probably wouldn’t catch.
“Did you meet anyone?”
Those fierce eyes popped into his mind. Yes. “No.”
“Oh.”
“Why do you ask?”
Luna crossed her arms over her chest. She wore an old Coca-Cola T-shirt of his. Vintage, she’d called it, when she’d politely asked if she could take it from his donation pile during the move. “Adil Uncle said you needed to find a woman, or you’d lose all your money, and since all you do is work, these parties are your only chance.”
Adil. Why. “He said that to you?”
“No. I heard him on the phone.”
“He’s incorrect.” No, he’s not. “I’m quite content as I am.” No, you’re not.
Luna nodded slowly. “If you say so, Kaka.”
“I do.” He busied himself pulling her blanket up higher so she wouldn’t see the frown on his face. Her mother had never been in the picture, and the therapist he’d obtained for Luna had stressed the need for consistency and calm since her father had died. His brother had been neither consistent nor calm, so Dev figured it was extra important he give her a stable home, and a stable home didn’t include talk of shaky finances or an asshole of a grandfather essentially cutting his grandson and great-granddaughter out of his will. “Time for bed now. You have lessons early tomorrow. No more phone for the night.”
Luna groaned, and it was music to his ears. He’d much rather she play the role of a conventional teen as opposed to the withdrawn, too-mature child he’d taken custody of. “Fine.”
He took her phone and placed it in the dock on her nightstand. “Good night.”
“Night.”
He quickly undressed once he was in his room, and neatly hung his suit up, next to about a dozen suits like it. Every year or so, he had his stylist replenish his closet with clothes he could easily put together. He was hardly the fashion plate his cousin was. Dressing in neutral clothes didn’t speak to his soul, but it ensured he didn’t embarrass himself.
When he took his watch off, something glinted in the light coming from the bathroom. He brought the watch closer to his face. The thread was tiny, an itty-bitty souvenir from the night stuck between the links. He pulled it out and blew at it gently. It fluttered to the floor.
His version of a face routine consisted of removing his contacts, a quick wash with a cleanser, and a pat down. He eyed his shower but decided to tackle that in the morning.
He opened the bedroom windows and listened. Santa Monica wasn’t Mumbai. It was a different ocean and different sand, but if he closed his eyes he could imagine the clock had turned back. That his brother hadn’t gotten drunk on a boat and died, leaving Luna and his astronomical debts to Dev. That he hadn’t had to uproot his whole life because he couldn’t stand to remain in the same country of his loss. That the fate of his small family wasn’t resting on his shoulders, in a place where he couldn’t simply glide on his family name.