Page 44 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

“My Deepa used to play,” her mother confirmed proudly, and Deepa nodded along.

One of her only memories of her father — one of the only good memories, anyway — was kicking a football around with him on the rare occasion he had time to spare away from work or his constant philandering. But her mother disliked hearing anymention of the man, which Deepa supposed was fair enough, so she brushed aside Roz’s curiosity without elaborating.

“I was a little girl,” she said. “It was good fun, but I never played properly, and I wouldn’t know where to start now.”

“I could show you,” Roz offered.

“Anyone can kick a ball around,” Cherie cut in around a mouthful of almond crumbs. Standing, she went to poke hungrily at the food warming on the stovetop. “You should teach her to box, instead. That sounds much better fun.”

“Cherie!” Deepa hissed, casting a mortified look at her mother.

“What? Are you telling me you wouldn’t want to?”

Deepa absolutely wanted to. The thought of getting Roz alone in her boxing gear and putting their hands all over each other was more than enticing, and something she absolutely did not need to be imagining in her mother's company.

“You would teach my daughter to box?” Deepa’s mother asked, regarding Roz intently.

“If she wants me too, yeah, sure, of course. I mean, if it's alright with you, Mrs. Patel.”

Deepa’s mother wore a shrewd expression. “Deepa, my love? Is that what you want? To learn boxing from this woman?”

Deepa was keenly aware that boxing may have turned into a metaphor for something else entirely. Swallowing an undignifiedmeep, she shot Cherie a pleading look, requesting backup. Seeing as she was the one who got Deepa into it in the first place, Cherie took pity and instigated a distraction.

“Mrs. Patel! Sorry to interrupt, but you've got to tell me what spices you use in this.”

On the stove, the chana masala simmered in its pot, creamy orange and yellow sauce bubbling around the chickpeas and chunky vegetables. In the pan on the other burner, the rotiswere browning nicely, puffing up in the middle as they warmed through.

“I’ve made it for you before,” Deepa’s mother said, getting up to join Cherie by the stove.

“You have, and it's brilliant, but I don't know the first thing about seasonings. And all this talk about marriage, it's got my head spinning, and I just think that when I do get myself a husband, I want to be able to cook for him at least half as well as you cook for us.”

Deepa’s mother clucked disapprovingly, bustling Cherie out of the way in order to stir the pot. “Cooking for your husband is well and good, but you must find a man who is not afraid of the kitchen. If he cannot or will not cook for you at least once in a while, he is no good. That is a warning sign of greater trouble on the horizon, and you should throw the whole man out right away.”

“Mama Patel!” Cherie said with a gasp, delightedly scandalised.

“Rosaline?” Deepa’s mother asked, with a pointed look. “Do you cook?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Roz replied, struggling to hide her grin. “I know my way around the kitchen. I’ve got my mother’s pot pie recipe for Sunday dinners and my da’s roast for special occasions. Nothing fancy, especially compared to yours, I’m sure — smells amazing — but I can put on a decent spread when I need to.”

“And vegetarian meals?”

“There, I’ve less experience, but I expect with some practice I could figure it out.”

Deepa’s mother gave an approving hum and returned her attention to the stove.

Leaning sideways towards Deepa on the loveseat, Roz asked in an undertone, obviously amused, “Is your mother trying to set us up?”

“All she's ever wanted is to see me married off to someone good,” Deepa replied with an exasperated huff. “Apparently, she's accepted that all the men in my circle are useless, so she’s broadening her parameters.”

“She's a nice lady. I like her.”

“The feeling seems mutual.”

“Should I ask for her blessing?” Roz teased.

“Don't you dare. She’d give it to you, at this point. That's how badly she wants to see me settle down.”

“Well, I know how you feel about a traditional marriage. What about an untraditional one?”

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