Page 9 of Rani Deshpande Takes the Wheel
“Hm,” I muse. “Maybe I’ll let it grow.” Mostly done with the tel malish, Ajoba turns his focus to detangling, and I angle my head back to allow him easier access. “Did you exercise today?” I ask. At his last medical appointment, the doctor had emphasized the necessity for movement in Ajoba’s daily routine. My grandfather prefers to spend his time playing chess with himself andrereading his favorite Marathi poetry books, so this has proven to be quite a challenge.
He tsks. “You sound like your aai,” he says. “I went to her class today,” he adds.
“And?” I say.
“I think I’ll stick to my walks,” he says. “Your mother is a bit too overinvolved.”
“That sounds like Aai,” I say. During many of my classes with her, she comes around to adjust my every pose. I always try to pick a spot in the very back for that reason.
“How are you feeling about your first driving lesson?” Ajoba asks me.
My lips purse. During dessert, Kush and I agreed on Tuesday afternoon for our first session. The current plan is to practice for an hour or so every other day, starting in the fairgrounds parking lot and working our way up in skills until I’m comfortable enough to hit the main road. It’s a solid, intensive agenda, and I feel good about taking the test in two months. But unease still twists in my belly at the thought of learning from Kush.
It’s Ajoba, so I know I can be honest. “Not so great,” I admit.
“Why, my maharani?”
Ajoba’s just finished tying my hair into a loose braid, so I pull it over one shoulder and turn in my seat to face him.
“I wish I had a different instructor,” I say.
A knowing glint sparks in my grandfather’s eyes. “Kush will prepare you well for the exam,” he says.
“I’m sure,” I say. I pick at the strands of my braid. The next words blurt out before I can rethink them: “At the cost of spending time with him.”
Ajoba gives me a dry glance. “You’ll manage,” he says, and my shoulders deflate because even I can hear the drama and whine in my voice. I’m making this a bigger deal than it needs to be, and getting a license will be worth it, no matter what instructor I have to suffer through. “Besides,” Ajoba says with a sigh. “It’s all my fault, really.”
My brows merge. “What do you mean?”
“I should be the one teaching you,” he says. His tone turns wry and teasing. “I’m sorry that my stroke has been such an inconvenience for you.”
“Ajoba!” I exclaim. “Youknowthat’s not what I meant.”
He shrugs, like he doesn’t really know. I roll my eyes but sink down into my seat, successfully shut up.
There was a period when spending time with Kush would have been the whole point. My reason to go to the family function, in case I managed to snag a seat beside him at the kids’ table during dinner. To walk the twins to summer day care, because Kush and his friends sometimes played pickup on the basketball courts next door. By sixth grade, I’d memorized the cut of the scratches on Kush’s scooter so I could do a quick scan of the library bike racks and assess whether it was worth going inside.
I was in a bad way, to put it mildly. My journal entries from the era were filled with musings and analysis on every particular of every minor interaction. I admired his serious, thoughtful nature. Where most boys my age were loud and rowdy, constantly talking over me and each other, Kush was contemplative, attentive, rare.He entertained my ramblings. Each time I made him laugh, it felt like a victory.
Heartbreak came the summer before seventh grade: The Khannas were moving away, across the country to New Jersey for Suresh Uncle’s promotion. It was a two-year placement, after which a return to Seattle was likely. But my head spun at the thought of so long an intermission. I didn’t know a life without Kush’s presence. How would I endure?
At their going-away party, I snuck out onto the back porch swing for a moment alone. Shilpa Aunty and Sonal Aunty were competing for the most sentimental goodbye toast, and amidst their antics, no one would miss me. I blinked stray tears onto the ground. My Popsicle dripped in tandem, a sticky puddle before me.
Movement on the swing alerted me to Kush’s arrival. He didn’t remark on my obvious distress, instead falling silent for several long moments as I composed myself.
“We can stay in touch,” he said at last. His voice was confident, like the plan was guaranteed.
My eyes snapped to his, mouth still downturned. “How?” I asked stupidly. Though Kush had a phone, Aai Baba were tech-averse, and I wasn’t allowed a phone or social media until high school.
“We can email,” he suggested. I considered, then nodded, a smile slowly starting on my lips.
The Khannas moved the following weekend. I sent off my first email, then waited for weeks, constantly refreshing my inbox, but a reply never came. At first, concern crept over me, and I eavesdropped on Aai’s phone calls with Noori Aunty, wonderingif Kush was settling in okay. But nothing grave reached my ears, and I was forced to accept a harsher truth: Kush had simply forgotten about me.
My hurt subsided by the time the Khannas returned to Gilmore. By then, his hair was buzzed short, and his demeanor was also altered, still polite but far more cool, considerably less like the Kush who had left.
Chapter Five
Tuesday afternoon, I meet Kush in the driveway, as discussed at Sunday dinner. We’re practicing in Ajoba’s car, since that’s what I’ll test in, and Ajoba never drives now, so it’s all mine for the summer. Kush parked his own car farther down the road, and I rise from the porch steps when I see him walk over. We halt in front of each other.
