Pinky’s teasing grin tugged my wandering attention back to her. “Who are you trying to kid?” she challenged. “Admit it; you’re wearing a classy outfit to impress him.”

“Absolutely not,” I retorted. “I went shopping the other day, and the new line of clothes looked fabulous. I tried on a few things and . . . you know the rest.”

“I know it well. Your credit card suddenly grew legs.”

I laughed at her apt portrayal of my shopping habits. “Am I that predictable?”

“Spoiled brat is what you are. Your mom and dad give you too much money and way too much freedom.”

“Not anymore,” I countered. “I’ve been paying for my own credit card bills and my auto insurance and gas since I started working six years ago.” I pointed to my outfit. “Strictly department store. And very often deep-discount stores if my savings account starts looking anemic.”

“You don’t say!” mocked Pinky.

“I love discount stores. They have some really cool stuff.”

“Humph.”

“You don’t like them?” I threw her a wide-eyed look.

“I adore them. Besides, they’re the only shops I can afford.” One thin, scornful eyebrow shot up as Pinky turned back to her computer. “I wasn’t talking about the stores you shop at, silly; I meant the things your parents do for you. How soon we forget the free room and board.”

I headed quietly back to my desk because I had no rebuttal. She was right. I was still living with my parents, Ramdas and Kaveri Shenoy, along with my younger brother, twenty-eight-year-old Mahesh, who was a medical resident at one of the nearby hospitals. He and I were the fledglings who’d left home for a few years to acquire an education and then returned to the nest as adults.

Mom loved having us around nonetheless. She’d been quite despondent when my brothers and I were at college. “So quiet and lonely without the kids,” she used to moan. “Your dad and I walk around like ghosts in this house.”

However, now that two out of three were back, Mom complained that Mahesh and I were sloppy, that our ever-ringing cell phones and late nights disturbed her sleep, and that our erratic eating, bathing, and sleeping habits left the kitchen and bathrooms in disarray.

Maneel, my older brother, was a successful stockbroker at thirty-three, and had his own condo a few miles from our home in Princeton. But most of the time Maneel hung around our house, so he ate with us almost every night. His state-of-the-art refrigerator held nothing but beer, soda, and a fat jar of salsa. Despite having a shiny new washer and dryer in his condo, he ended up doing his laundry at our parents’ place. He saved on groceries and laundry just like Mahesh and I, but had the nerve to label the two of us “cheapskates.”

It’s not as if I hadn’t thought about moving out of my parents’ home, but rents were so obscenely high in New Jersey. And it wasn’t for nothing that people denigrated New Jersey for having the highest auto insurance rates and income and property taxes in the nation. How did ordinary people manage to make a living in our state? I often wondered.

Besides, Dad and Mom lived in a big, comfortable house with a finished basement. It wasn’t posh, but it was a secure home in an upscale neighborhood, and Mom was a superb cook. Mahesh and I were no fools.