Page 148 of Carnal Games

“You do that, rainbow.”

Giggling, she steps back. “Come on, my mom’s waiting.”

The older version of Iris is in the kitchen. She turns around, hearing our footsteps. “Just in time,” she says warmly. “Sit.”

I see the wide spread laid out on the island. Toast, butter, boiled eggs, fresh juice, and curd. Near the stove, a bowl of spicy mashed potatoes for aloo paratha.

Iris moves to help but her mom points to the stool next to me. “You sit too.”

“Fine.”

Passing her a plate, I lean closer and whisper, “I see where you get your bossiness in the kitchen from.”

“I am not bossy,” she argues.

I stare pointedly.

“Only because you can’t be trusted in the kitchen.” Smirking, she jibes, “I don’t think we can survive alone on tea.”

“I’ve survived for years before you came along, you know.”

“Yeah, with takeout food. It’s a miracle how you’re in such great shape.”

“Noticed, did you?”

A mysterious look passes through her eyes before she whispers, “I notice everything about you.”

A throat clearing pulls us apart.

I conceal my expressions before glancing at Iris’s mother regarding us carefully. She’s soft-spoken and sweet, but no less intelligent and observant.

“Thank you,” I say, as she slides a piping hot paratha onto my plate. I cut it in half, passing one piece to Iris. “Want curd?”

“Yes, please.”

I serve us both before diving in and taking a bite. “It’s delicious.”

Iris’s cooking is still my favorite, though.

“What’s it like working with my baby girl?” asks Iris’s mom over her shoulder. “Did you know she was the top of her classes in school? In college, she’s head of the editorial club.”

“Ma!” Iris yells, embarrassed.

Unable to resist, I act surprised. “No, she never told me.”

A cute glare comes my way.

“Why, Iris? You should have shared these things in the interview.”

“It wasn’t exactly a traditional interview,” I drawl, having too much fun seeing my rainbow all riled up and unable to do anything. “Wouldn’t you say, Iris?”

I anticipate her move before she even lifts her hand. A twist of my wrist and I capture her small palm under the counter, stopping her from pinching my thigh.

So predictable… I mouth.

I am going to kill you… she mouths back.

Smothering my laughter, I let her hand go just as her mom faces us. “Did you at least tell him your major is investigative journalism?”

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