Three - Superman

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Jaimee got home to find his mother and grandma in the kitchen. He wasn't one for gender roles but this was how he always found them and it was a comforting sight. His mother, Anita, had been brought up in England but her mother, Priyanka, had been brought up in Mumbai. They were raised in culture and in their culture the women always cooked. Of course when Jaimee was growing up, he had begun to challenge that, asking why his dad, John, couldn't cook too? John simply laughed and said that he had tried and been run out of the kitchen every single time. So Jaimee asked Anita to teach him, because there was a girl at school that he liked and he wanted to be able to cook for her when they got married.

The one thing he could always rely on was the safe, familiarity of home. No matter what time he came home, there was food in the oven, in the fridge, on the cooker. Priyanka's home baked Indian sweets and cookies ready to eat. And always, the sweet scent of his mother's incense. Even when she was working all day and didn't get home until late, there were a few sticks burning.

He could smell it now as he hung up his jacket in the hallway and padded down to the kitchen in his socks. When Priyanka caught sight of him, she beamed, her face lifting out of what seemed like a hundred wrinkles. She had been very youthful even in her 70s but since the death of her husband she had aged almost overnight.

"You're wearing them!"

He wiggled his toes in their penguin socks. "Of course I am, Dadi." He bent to kiss her on the cheek, then Anita.

"You're home early," his mother said, covered in flour up to her elbows.

He peered at the mound of dough she was pounding. It looked odd. "Yes, Ricardo let me go because he left early. Urm, what is that?"

"Its pastry. We're making beef and ale pie," Anita smiled up at him. "For Livvy."

Suddenly Jaimee remembered that Livvy was coming to dinner and that he had completely forgot. He groaned and shook his head. "Mum. Why on earth would you choose that?"

She looked affronted. Priyanka answered, her bangles jingling as she gestured at him. "We looked it up! English people love beef and ale pie."

"Just because she's white..." He shook his head again and trailed off. There was no point arguing with them once they had an idea in their heads. They were partners in crime, causing mischief wherever they went, though they couldn't have been more different if they tried. Anita was wearing baggy boyfriend jeans, her manicured feet poking out of the dragging hem, and one of John's 'holiday' shirts. The pineapples stood out from the ropes of dark hair that swayed around her waist. Beside her, Priyanka was actually taller - though stooped - in a bright teal shalwar kameez with matching bangles. Her hennaed hair was wound atop her head in a braid that was secured with an abundance of pins. And then, peeking out from under her scarf, was an incongruous pair of black trainers.

He was about to ask his grandmother why the trainers looked suspiciously like his - he had always had small feet - when she leaned forward and pinched his cheek. 'Your girlfriend is waiting for you in your room."

He rolled his eyes. Here it comes.

"When I was your age, the only male I could be alone with was my father. Even when I met your grandfather, we were already married! You kids have got it so easy, too easy, if you ask me."

Jaimee and Anita swapped a cheeky sideways glance. They had always been close as a trio, but there were some things he could never share with Priyanka that meant he was actually closer with Anita. Like losing his virginity at the age of 16 to Livvy. After that, Anita hadn't seen much point in telling him that he couldn't be alone with her anymore. He was pretty sure that his grandmother thought he was a 28 year old virgin.

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