Page 112 of Cakes for the Grump

“He does. In Harvard?—”

“Oh my, there’s that name drop again.”

“Admit it, you like how much of a snob I am.”

“Never. I’m blocking you out.”

“Hear me speak, woman.”

“If I must. Go on, continue the Harvard story.”

“Theo got in by a scholarship. When we got put together as roommates, I thought he’d hate me for my last name or try to win me over.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t do either of those things?”

“He filled a fridge with cheap beer, and said if my grubby little hands wanted one, I’d have to replace what I took.” The side of Luke’s mouth slopes up. “Before then, I’d never been called grubby before. I didn’t like that. My first impression of him was deep-seated suspicion. What was his angle? What’s the cheap beer got to do with it? What did he want from me?”

I laugh. “Theo is a troll.”

“The biggest prat. One who’s never brought up my family, or any of the scandals that hit the news about Abbot Industries. The only time he’s ever really been pissed at me is when I found out he wanted to be an author. I told him I have a connection to an agent who will publish his work.” Luke shakes his head. “Didn’t talk to me for a week after that. I had to hound him and keep apologizing, although back then I didn’t know what for until he told me. He said, I want my roommate, Luke. I’m not interested in Luke Abbot.”

“He didn’t want your connections.”

“He didn’t. And as punishment for assuming, he made me read out the first version of his work.” Luke shudders. “Slimy sea cucumber wooing a scratchy little starfish. Had to read that horror out loud to him, that cruel bastard.”

“Aw.” I elbow him a bit. “He’s your best friend.”

“I’ll deny it.”

“Worry not. Your heart is safe with me.”

Luke’s hand clenches on the fabric of the couch. Is the food too spicyfor him? I distract myself with another samosa. Theo comes around later and takes my plate away. “Let’s dance!”

There is a migration towards the center of the living room, as Theo does not let anyone get away. He puts on a robust Punjabi song, and then attempts bhangra dance moves that lack all elegance, but make up for that with enthusiasm. Even Adam sways subtly on his feet, keeping an eye on Sistine, who is putting her adolescent ballet skills on display by pirouetting. On their end, Noor and Kiren form a circle of giddha, showcasing a popular folk dance that involves a lot of clapping.

And so the night goes on until my friends have to sign off. Theo is similarly knackered, having spent the whole day putting this party together. He kisses everyone goodnight before heading off to his room. Absently, I pick up a few plates until Luke takes them away from me. “Don’t bother.”

“Okay.” I glance around. “Do you know where Sistine is? This dress is complicated, and there is no way I can get out of it myself.”

“I’ll look for her.”

Fifteen minutes later, Luke comes back. He’s not impressed. “She’s gone out somewhere with Adam.”

“Crap.” I molest the laces behind me. Maybe the mirror in my bathroom will be of assistance.

Luke watches me flail about. “I could help you?”

This dress—while beautiful—would be a nightmare to sleep in. Already my arm is getting sore from bending this way. “Sure—could you?”

TWENTY-NINE

We goto his bathroom since it has more mirrors. Loads of them, actually. Standing in front of the main one, Luke adjusts the angle of the adjacent ones that hang above the vanity so our bodies replicate into infinity. Multiple Lukes standing behind me. Multiple Ritas watching him over her shoulder. His hands hover above the crisscrossing layers of straps at my back that do the good work of hoisting my breasts up and nipping my waist.

I feel like I belong on a chaise, garlanded in flowers, my womanhood blossoming in the middle of sprawling golden Renaissance fields. South Asian Ophelia.

“You must love to look at yourself,” I joke. “Vain, much?”

“These mirrors have many benefits. Should I demonstrate?”