"To be crystal-clear," Pavel asked, brandishing another bunch of carnations in the air, while they waited for the elevator in her parent's apartment building. "You don't need me to present as your adoring boyfriend? I make a positive impression on the older ladies."

"Nope," Daya said. "Nothing like that. I need you to be you. A friend, a coworker, a like-minded artist, no embellishments."

The elevator dinged, and Pavel stepped in behind her. "But if all you want is to ask your brother to make our costumes, why do you need me to meet your parents?"

"Because," Daya said, sliding her finger down the double column of buttons, looking for the correct floor. "You're there to guarantee that my mom doesn't do away with her two disappointing children. Let's just say Nihal's change of heart about his major wasn't popular. Me, showing appreciation for it..."

Pavel beamed. "Got it! A variation on the Project Convince Everyone Figure Skating Is Not a Waste of Time. Happens every New Year with my extended family."

"Pavel!"

The elevator's door opened up, and they spilled into the hallway. 

"Pavel, please, just..."

He gave her his signature grin. "Leave it to the professionals."

With a growing sense of dread, Daya grabbed his sleeve, but her time had run out. Her mother peeked out of the condo, probably wondering why it was taking them so long to get from the lobby to the fifteenth floor.

"Mrs. Dhawan!" Pavel exclaimed, surging down the hall, the flowers momentarily obscuring Daya's line of sight to her mother's face. "I could smell the dinner from the lobby. I had never been hungrier in my life. You must tell me what this is, it's absolutely not the bland fare a guy gets in Moscow."

Her chest full of cold snakes, Daya muttered, "I thought you were from St. Petersburg..." to his jean-clad back. 

He winked at her with one shoulder blade. Or at least she thought he meant it as a wink. If only your hands were that expressive...

Shanti made alarmed eyes from behind her mother's back, but the expression changed to dreamy once Pavel backed off from depositing the flowers for the gracious hostess into their mother's arms.

I hope nobody dies tonight.

At first, nobody did.

On the pretense of having to learn about the fine art of Indian cooking, Pavel took the spot next to the eldest Dhawan, and Daya found herself squeezed between her siblings just like in their childhood. Back when they lived in the family house, the kids' bench ran one side of the table in the breakfast nook. There was a lot of elbowing and kicking going on under the tablecloth.

In her parents' new condo, they sat on separate chairs, but Daya gave Shanti's shins a little kick to revive the fond memories.

"Stop staring at him, please?" she hissed, once Shanti slanted her eyes her way.

"Gorgeous..." her sister mouthed, tripling the o in the first syllable.

Daya rolled her eyes and piled Pavel's plate higher with the curried chickpeas. Technically, it was not his fault, but she didn't want to suffer alone.

"Thank you," Pavel roared enthusiastically, putting the food away like he hadn't seen a good meal in ages. Maybe he hadn't, but it was by choice, so not a single twinge of mercy stirred in her soul. Besides, he should put on some upper body weight.

Mike would have savored every bite. Her mother wouldn't have watched him eat with one cheek propped on her fist and a happy smile, like she did Pavel. But he would have been able to recite back the name of every morsel and spice half a year later if she woke him in the middle of the night. She'd like Pavel do that after five minutes!

She half-emptied her water glass in one gulp. It wasn't Pavel's fault that she couldn't bring Mike home for Sunday night dinner. It wasn't Mike's fault either. While her fingers itched for her phone, deposited on the curved-legged table by the door on her mother's orders, she missed the opening line Pavel used to bring up their Great Matter.

Her only cue was that Nihal lifted his eyes and fixed them on Pavel. Now almost twenty, her brother was yet to outgrow the psychological effects of his childhood illness. He looked inward more than most young men and blended into background despite his gangly frame.

Until Pavel dropped the magic word. Costumes.

Nihal stretched his neck and leaned forward with his elbows on the table.

Her mother frowned.

"Cinderella? Disney's Cinderella?" Nihal asked.

"Prokofiev's!" she exclaimed helpfully before Pavel opened his mouth. It made her feel like a teacher's pet.

Nihal knitted his brow. "So, a darker shade of blue then? With black?"

"Perfect," Pavel said, raising a brow at Daya, as in yes?

She nodded, watching her parents out of the corner of her eye. Her dad kept eating, but the frown still creased her mother's forehead.

"It sounds good," she said cautiously.

Pavel didn't follow suit. He nodded vigorously, channeling so much excitement Daya expected it to ooze out of his pores and shine around him in a nimbus. "And anything but purple for Romeo and Juliet. Everyone goes purple for it, and it ages me ten years."

Nihal nodded thoughtfully. "It would with your alabaster complexion. Not all shades, but no matter; if you don't want purple.... How about scarlet red with black? That would flatter both you and Daya. Unless you want more black on you? Would be a pity, but it'll work."

There was nothing lopsided about Pavel's smile any more. He was showing a full-on glam version that he probably kept on the back-burner for the days of triumph.

"Red is fantastic. Nothing is more Russian than a red shirt with a collar torn open." He jumped up from his chair in theatrical agitation and jerked opened the collar of his demure white shirt. And, growing more jubilant, he paced... moved out of range of his newly full plate... The weasel!

"Gold, you can put gold on me too, if you see fit. Nothing wrong with barbaric luxury, the conservative tastes be damned! We're going to shine! What do you think, Daya? A pair of shining golden pants?" He slapped his thigh for emphasis, not in a vulgar way, but enough to bring attention to what his fitted jeans were fitting to.

Good thing you don't touch a drop, Daya thought and giggled. "I'm sure they'll charge extra if you're dressed like a Byzantine Emperor, but let's stick with black pants. It shows off the lines."

Pavel sighed dramatically. "All right, you win. Can you do this, Nihal? Can you make us shine?" His face flushed pink, and green eyes glistened with merriment. The energy radiated in waves, hitting the furthest corners of the room.

Her dad dropped his fork, examining the gathering with a bemused squint.

Nihal lit up, infected by Pavel's enthusiasm. Her brother hadn't read the invisible messages on the floor once since Pavel started speaking, Daya realized.

"Fear not," Nihal said lightly, "I'll make you so pretty, they won't want to look away. Skating bit is up to you."

Daya glanced triumphantly at her mom and dad, relating a telepathic message. Do you see what I see?

They did, or at least her mom did, and her cup overflowed. "Darvesh... Darvesh, are you going to say something?"

Oi. Her mother's voice sounded sharp.

"Say something?" Darvesh Dhawan dabbed his mustache and beard with a napkin and tossed it on the table. "I advised Shanti not to rush into marriage, then not to rush out of it. I advised Daya to pick a major in science. I extolled the virtues of jobs in the electrical engineering field to Nihal for nearly a decade. And what did it get me? No, Amrita, I'm done filtering air with my mouth until I'm asked for advice. The world's changing. Kids are happy, I'm happy."

"Daddy..." Shanti murmured, and cradled a sweating glass of water between her hands.

"Well..." Amrita bit her lip.

"Well, Pavel, won't you sit down? Really, you two..." Daya and Nihal earned a stern gaze from Amrita. "You shouldn't have started the whole thing about the costumes and skating before our guest had finished his meal. He's frightfully thin already."

Her mom wasn't defeated in her quest to set them all up with decent jobs, Daya decided, just regrouping. Under the table she squeezed Nihal's narrow palm, and he squeezed hers back. It felt almost as good as if their mother wrapped them in a hug.

Meanwhile, Pavel alighted on his chair, beaming with gratitude that he had finally found the only woman in the universe who would not yank food out of his mouth. It was the right thing to do, but she wanted to strangle him anyway. 

Mike would have—she drifted off to the fantasy world where Mike was with her at her family's table. It was a pleasant dream... but only a dream. 

Here, on Earth, Pavel pontificated around a mouthful of curry. "Daya is brilliant, Mrs. Dhawan. "We will break into Nationals this year, that's a fact. And..." 

Daya noticed that he didn't just swallow the food, but rolled his tongue over his teeth before bringing on another smile. "And there's always a demand for specialized athletic wear, like the skating outfits."

Daya shot him a warning look, but he had already stirred the conversation away, asking the difference between green and black cardamom, and how long the spices needed to be toasted to bring the flavour up like that, absolutely divine, no off the shelf paste could ever come close—

***

When Daya had finally extracted Pavel from Dhawan stronghold, she expected him to sprint for the elevator. Instead, he leaned against the wall by the elevator with a pained expression. "A moment... digestion vs gravity situation here."

"That's what you get for being such a people-pleaser. Pavel, really, it was too much."

He straightened up, puffing out air. "From where I'm sitting... or lying in a food coma communing with the whales... it worked. Everyone walked away from the family dinner table alive. The only thing screaming will be my bathroom scales tomorrow morning."

"Well, yes..."

"So it's not about me. Whatever eats you, let go of it, Daya, or you'll have ugly wrinkles."

She shook her head, and pushed the escape button, otherwise known as the elevator button. "No, it's about you. If you don't stop putting on fireworks displays and smoke screens, you'll end up in messed-up relationships."

"Hey, thanks for the concern and all that, but rest easy. I got the relationships covered. I fall for the wrong girls... the kind who are into a man's penthouses and fancy cars, not the finer workings of his soul."

And here I left the guy with a condo and a car like a fool. Granted, Mike's humble possessions wouldn't have made an impression on the fortune huntresses, but she felt like a fool anyhow. She shook the thoughts away, turning her attention back to Pavel who was in an expository mood.

"Even if they wanted a pauper artist for a secret diversion, they are after guys who entertain at parties all night long, rather than have to be in bed by ten, and normally sweat over dietary restrictions." He threw his arms up in the air in a mock surrender. "See, I have it covered."

Daya got into the elevator. "Fine, fine... You lead a tragic life of self-sacrifice in the name of art. Just... if you meet someone who is into you for you, don't pull a cloth over their eyes."

Her captive audience stepped inside, then glanced nervously at the elevator's progress bar. "I'll worry about relationships when I'm old, like thirty or something. Until then, I'm one hundred percent committed to you."

"Right. Because you weren't flirting with my baby brother and my sister at all, Mr. Golden Pants."

Pavel dashed through the sliding elevator's door into the lobby. "You can't stop the sun from shining, partner. Look at me."

He rotated on one spot, giving her the 360 view of his beautiful frame.

"I'm a tall, blond man who sunk his years in refining a useless skill set. If I cried my eyes out every time I needed or wanted something, do you think they would feel pity for me and give me things? I don't think so. So, I replace tears with smiles. The more I want stuff from someone, the wider I smile at them."

She punched him playfully on the shoulder. "I'll remember that, you devious manipulator."

"Meh," he said, "you're already doing everything I want from you, and more. That's why we're a team, and why we'll be in the Nationals."

She looked at him closely, and saw nothing except for the fervent conviction. "Thanks for having faith in me."

"Any time." He popped a stick of gum in his mouth, a citrus-flavored one this time, and winced at whatever feedback he was getting from his guts. "Hold on to that feeling when I breathe out on you tomorrow. The practice is going to be rough."