“Take more, bheta.” Layla holds a spoonful of biryani over Ashif’s plate.

“No, Mummy.” Ashif bars his plate with his hands. “I already have so much.”

“Eh-hey, don’t force him,” Mansoor says to her. “He’s not a child.”

“Okay. A little more.” Ashif lays his hand back on his lap. He’s told her so many times that he doesn’t eat fried foods. She should bake the cassava or substitute olive oil for the ghee. It’s much healthier. But he doesn’t want to make a fuss and he knows it will only offend her.

Layla piles a scoopful of chicken biryani onto his plate. “Eat, bheta. Before it gets cold,” she says joyfully. She throws another potato-champ and three more pieces of cassava onto his plate.

“Everything’s delicious, Mummy.” Ashif rakes his fork over the rice. “As usual.”

The bouquet of roses sits on the deep freezer. The heart-shaped balloon sways from side to side like a hand waving to get someone’s attention.

“Then I am happy.” She pulls her son’s head to her with the base of her palm and kisses him.

Her hands feel rough against Ashif’s skin. Her skin is dry and cracked, her fingernails chewed to the base. He’s even more pleased about the spa certificate he’d chosen for her. She’ll be able to relax and enjoy herself, for a day, at least. “Me, too, Mummy. I’m happy.”

Layla kisses him again. Watching Ashif eat gives her a deep sense of satisfaction.

Mansoor taps the jug of empty water. “Can you bring ice?” He removes a neatly folded embossed handkerchief from his pants pocket and dabs his forehead and chin.

Layla picks up the jug and disappears back into the kitchen.

“Do you need a backup plan at the company?” Mansoor asks. “Just in case?”

“No, of course not,” Ashif says, irritated by the question. “My job is safe.”

“Never a good idea to be so confident.” Mansoor taps his hand on his plate, but several grains of rice stick stubbornly to his fingers. “You always need a plan B.” Mansoor notices his son’s clothing. Is he or isn’t he going to an important business meeting? No tie, no jacket? A pair of sunglasses on his head? Sure, Mansoor knows about casual Fridays. A perk of the job, one of his customers explained. But it wasn’t Friday today. Besides, what kind of perk is that, anyway? Don’t they know slack dress can only lead to slack work habits? And then how do you tell the difference between a businessman and those who work in the lower classes? His son looks like he is on vacation. What kind of impression is he going to make with his superiors?

“I’m on solid ground, trust me,” Ashif says.

“You never know when the wolf will be at your door.” Mansoor snaps the tip off a green chili with his front teeth. “What will you do when they lay you off?”

Ashif laughs. Lay him off? He wishes. Yet he’s also offended by his father’s assumption. In one quick rush, like a tightly shut valve suddenly opened, he tells his father about the executive track and all the perks that come with it: the salary, the benefits, the stock options. He tells him about Rick’s words of confidence, too: One day, he might be running the company. He feels an immediate sense of relief and regret.