For all you gals who loved Kit in Dr. Jack’s Christmas (ALL ABOUT JACK) by Ruby Mohan (Dec 20, 2012) and could not read enough of him, here’s Kit’s story. A laconic, cynical, disillusioned man who can get any woman’s heart thundering is not born overnight. Kit’s love story is as unusual as the man himself.
“How was your day?” Her mother was at the door.
Great she thought sarcastic but her mother was looking at Kit.
The chap was monosyllabic with her. He had no such reservations talking to her mother, sitting at the dining table, eating Indian food.
Food was her mother’s forte. Not calorie counters but nutritional benefits of having a varied and balanced diet and the health benefits of each vegetable or spice used.
“The chicken sandwich you gave me for lunch was very tasty.”
“Not very hard to make either,” her mother shared. “In this country people throw their leftovers. I freeze them and use them the next day to make my sandwiches. The trick is to slice the chicken real fine…”
The migrant Indian had no idea their economic practices were incomprehensible to the average American taught to consume and discard from when they were in diapers. In elementary school if Tara had found out they were throwing all the food the children did not eat in dustbins she would have ordered Angara to take a doggy bag to school every day and bring her leftovers home.
Biji, whose command of English was shaky at best, was the only one member of the household who had not warmed to Kit. She eyed him with suspicion.
“He was not trying to flirt with you, was he?”
Tara’s eyes flew concerned to Kit.
“No,” Angara found it rather embarrassing, third degree in the public glare. Only insensitive Punjabi parents with no exposure to modern parenting techniques or workshops could take their child to task with that degree of aplomb.
“Teenage boys with hormones in overdrive are after one thing and one thing only.” Biji scowled at Kit, the picture of protective Indian motherhood. “Your grandfather…”
“Mother,” Tara called standing up all red and inflamed as if the ball had hit her and not Angara.
They conferred in low voices and Angara started.
“What’s the matter? What is your grandmother saying?” Kit broke his vow of silence.
‘That you have a tight butt like my grandfather’s.’ She could have translated but that would be being nice.
“She’s wondering if you are a kleptomaniac.” There, that sounded better.
His eyes were a really peculiar blue. She could see every black line that radiated like the spokes of a wheel.
“I put the spoon in the sink this morning,” he clarified.
“Next time when you do so show her,” Angara advised.
It was incredible how she started feeling better right that instant.
“I will wash my dishes now,” he announced.
“Angara,” Tara glared at her errant daughter whose daily chore was to load the dishwasher.
“Let him, mom,” Angara replied in Hindi. “He will feel more comfortable if we treat him like a family member and not a guest.”
She watched him carefully place his plate and spoon on the drying rack.
He gave Biji a tentative smile.
Biji started as if her worst suspicions were confirmed.
“I am right, you know. Your mother is very innocent. She even lets Kul hire a female secretary. When they are being so nice they want in your pants, girl. You just remember that.”
© Ruby Mohan
© Kênia Castro | Dreamstime Stock Photos