A dinner of spices and secrets

Aditi finished folding her insulated delivery bags just as Mike came downstairs.

“The famous Aditi,” he said, reaching out his hand. “I’m……”

“The skinny neighbor,” she teased, shaking it. “Please take care of my sweet friend tonight. Feed her, make her hydrate, and make sure she not only goes to bed but gets some sleep. I’ll take over in the morning.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mike replied. “It’s clear we both care deeply about Deppgrl. I’ll make sure she’s in better shape when you come in the morning.”

“Please do, young man.” Aditi turned to me. “I’m glad you’re home, my dear friend. Fill me in tomorrow. Shall I use my key?”

“Always,” I said, hugging her. “I’ll tell you everything but within reason. Some things you don’t want to hear. And yes, you’re always welcome to use your key.”

We ended our hug. She gathered her bags and stepped out, locking the door behind her.

I organized the takeout containers on the counter and began opening them, letting the spices fill the kitchen.

Mike leaned forward. “Okay, now you’ve got to walk me through this. There’s so much food.”

I lifted the first lid. “Paneer butter masala. Mild, creamy, very friendly.”

“Friendly food,” he said. “My comfort zone.”

Next came chana masala. “Medium heat. Enough to get your attention.”

“Ah, the gateway spice,” he murmured.

I snorted and opened the next container. “Butter chicken. Mild to medium — sweeter, richer, crowd favorite.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “I’ve actually heard of that one. I feel accomplished.”

I pushed another box toward him. “Aloo gobi — potatoes and cauliflower, medium spice.”

He peeked inside. “Smells harmless.”

“It isn’t,” I warned. “It sneaks up on you.”

The next container was heavier. “Chicken vindaloo.”

Mike leaned back. “Ah. The danger dish.”

“Correct. Approach with humility.”

I reached for the appetizers.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “There’s more?”

“Of course.” I lined them up like a sampler tray. “Vegetable samosas — mild. Potato and peas.”

He lifted one. “Smells amazing.”

“Those are the gentle ones,” I said. “These,” I pointed to another box, “chicken samosas. Medium heat.”

“Still safe?” he asked hopefully.

“Safer than your life choices,” I said as I chuckled.

Mike laughed. “Great.”

“These,” I said, opening the next box, “beef samosas. Spicier. Not vindaloo-level, but they make a point.”

He pushed them an inch away. “Understood.”

“And these,” I added, opening the last appetizer box, “paneer tikka bites. Not samosas, but absolutely essential.”

He inhaled deeply. “If these taste half as good as they smell, I’m going to cry.”

I opened two more entrées while I was at it. “Dal makhani — black lentils, rich and buttery, very mild. And saag chicken — spinach gravy, medium spice.”

He blinked at the full spread. “This is a full on meal for fifteen people.”

“It is. Last two things — garlic naan and plain naan. Your lifelines when you attempt poor life choices.”

He slowly reached for a plate as he laughed. “Thank you for believing I might attempt poor life choices. Again.”

“Your confidence concerns me. Start with the butter chicken,” I said.

Mike nudged the safe dishes closer. “Sounds good. Please remind me which dish is spicy. There are so many I won’t remember.”

“Eh, it was an easy lesson to follow,” I said. “I just might enjoy watching you eat spicy food.”

We ate in silence for ten minutes. When we’d settled, Mike leaned back, placing his utensils on his plate.

“Why was your trip cut short?” he asked, grabbing more food. “And man, Aditi and her food are amazing. No wonder you say so much about her.”

I paused, fork hovering over the butter chicken. “A few things, actually. Scott and I - he’s head coach of the All Blacks - aren’t continuing our friendship due to numerous things. I had implemented changes and suspended him without pay because he wasn’t following what I said and implemented. He’s a good man but estranged from his wife….it’s very toxic. Vic dropped by unexpectedly – he and I worked for my brother at his restaurant restaurant, and we’ve had an on-and-off situationship. Though I greatly appreciated the visit, it was the end of what we had. Then there’s Ronan, an old college friend. We dated briefly, but it didn’t work out. He comes from old money — his parents wanted him to date and marry someone from their circle. He did get engaged from their circle, but as the wedding date came closer, she realized he was in love with me. She ended the relationship and married someone else about five years later. Before I left to come home, he admitted that he’s been in love with me since college but never said anything…we dated others through the years. We’ve barely kept in touch over the years though we know what’s going on in each other’s lives.”

Mike frowned. “And the person from your past you mentioned?”

I met his gaze evenly, curt. “A former stalker. Not an issue anymore.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he muttered.

We finished eating in silence. As I got up to put my plate in the sink, Mike said he’d grab the clothes he was wearing earlier and head home, returning the sweatpants I lent him in a few days. I nodded and asked if he wanted any food for himself or the kids. He declined.

“I didn’t kill him,” I said as Mike was opening the door.

“What?” Mike asked.

“My former stalker,” I said. “Your uncle, Patrick. He killed himself in a secure psych wing of the prison after his arrest.”

“We weren’t told that,” Mike said quietly. “We all knew he wasn’t well.”

“Of course your family wasn’t told,” I said coldly. “I’ve done my best to avoid him for fifteen years. The second I admit I had a stalker, you knew it was him and shut down. You then began to act as if I killed him.”

“He was my uncle,” Mike sighed.

“I don’t care if he was the pope,” I said, grabbing my phone. “What he did was wrong, and you know it. By the time you get home, you’ll have the CCTV footage showing he killed himself. Good night, Mike. Keep the sweats.”

Mike left, closing the door behind him. Seconds later, I found the CCTV video on my phone and sent it to him.

What I didn’t tell Mike was that I knew that someone inside that psych ward of the prison had gotten inside Patrick’s head, pushing him to kill himself. I was informed of this hours after being informed of his death and this person was never identified. I wasn’t aware of any mental health issues that Patrick may or may not have had the time though I knew he was rather fragile and me declining his invitations to go to dinner and to be in a relationship with him got to the best of him. I still wish his soul well.