Incense and Sensibility

by Sonali Dev

  “Yash.” She reached out to touch him but withdrew her hand. Her gaze was the gentlest touch, a calming caress. “You don’t have gangrene. You just need to talk to someone about how you’re feeling. Just in case there’s something you need help with. What you experienced was traumatic. You’re human. It is possible to heal yourself, but there’s nothing wrong with getting help.”

  “I don’t have time.” He should be out there right now campaigning. “Other than talking to someone, is there anything else I can do to help myself heal correctly? Quickly?”

  That she smiled at. An indulgent smile. The kind you’d give a tantrumy child. “I don’t know if I’d use the word correctly, but those two might be at odds. If you wanted to do this by yourself, I’d give myself some time to collect myself. I wouldn’t force myself to go out on a stage before I’d let what happened sink in. If you keep falling on a wound because you’re in a hurry, it will take longer to heal. You have the public’s sympathy right now. They will understand if you need a moment. You’re not broken but you are hurt, and you need time to heal until you can stand back up again. Focus on healing first, not on getting back out. You’re good at focusing on things.”

  He pulled his hand away from his hair and found it shaking as he shoved it into his pocket. “Thanks,” he said, unable to come up with another response.

  It was good advice. Focus. That he could do better than anyone. He could focus so hard he could force himself to heal. It wouldn’t be the first time either. He’d done it with his body, surely he could do it with his mind too.

  Chapter Ten

  India had fallen off a horse once. It was nothing as glamorous as being thrown by a horse. She’d just been trying to get on it and she slid right off the other side. India was not used to being clumsy. Falling off a horse while trying to climb it was a few levels past clumsy on a scale of incompetence. Need she add she did not enjoy incompetence? Now, competence? That she found incredibly hot.

  No.

  She was not going to think about Yash Raje in terms of competence being hot. More importantly, she was not going to equate how she was feeling about him with falling off a horse.

  Good lord, though, the man took competence to a whole different level. He had slipped into the zone like that, then boom, boom, boom. That breakthrough had taken minutes. Anyone else would have taken a year to come around to it. Her insides did a god-awful melty thing at the thought.

  Stop. It.

  He’d only been here because he needed help. The man had been shot. He was terrified. There was obviously too much going on inside him that he needed to navigate. The second he’d left last evening, she knew what she’d seen in his face that she hadn’t been able to put her finger on. His guilt was haunting him.

  She wished she could visit Abdul, know how his family was coping. How brave did you have to be to risk your life for someone else’s? Lighting a bunch of incense sticks, she stuck them into the holder in front of the Ganesha statue in her office. Then she joined her hands and said a prayer for Abdul’s family and made her way up to the second floor.

  As she entered the living room, giggles and heated moans greeted her. China and Song were entwined and kissing. Loudly.

  Mom is at home! India wanted to whisper-hiss, her inner ten-year-old jumping to the surface. But she wasn’t ten, so instead of clutching her dress-up pearls she cleared her throat and said hi.

  Making a smitten sound that could only be called tittering, they pulled apart, their lips mimicking suction cups in overdrive.

  “Hey, India,” they both singsonged, bouncy as kittens—fine, adorable kittens—high on catnip.

  “What’s new in the yoga guru business?” Song asked with a sparkling smile that transformed her beauty into something true and lovely. No wonder China walked around looking like someone had sledgehammered the back of her head. When India had first met Song, her energy had been a dusty faded rose, tinged with underlying sadness and a determination to not let it shine through. Now her aura glowed pink and joyful. There was no reason for that to scare India, but it did.

  “Oh, the usual. Breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out,” India said.

  Song laughed like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard.

  “How are things in the superstardom business?”

  Song dropped a kiss on China’s lips. They locked gazes like Lady and Tramp over a bowl of spaghetti. Then Song twisted around and settled into China, who wrapped arms and legs around her. “What superstardom? Everything I need is right here.”

  China dropped kisses behind her ear, eliciting another giggle.

  Her sister had never looked so happy. That shouldn’t scare India either. This isn’t the nineteenth century. Every relationship does not have to end in marriage. India reminded herself of her sister’s words. China was an adult. She knew what she was doing. Song was in this as much as China. She had to be.

  After finding out about Mom being sick, they had started to hang out here rather than at Song’s hotel. They’d been snuggled into various corners of this couch constantly, except for long disappearances into China’s room.

  But it was 11:00 A.M., on a Monday.

  “Can I get you something? Tea? A snack?” India asked. Also, China, why aren’t you at work?

  Holding that last part in wasn’t easy, but she needed to figure out how to work it into the conversation without putting China on the defensive.

  “I’d love some tea. That Indian spices thingy from Ashna that you made yesterday was lovely. I need to get myself some of that.”

  “Sure. Anything for you, Cee?” India went to the kitchen and filled the kettle. “What’s the plan for today?”

  China, who was usually fabulous at picking up the nuances in India’s voice, made nmnmn sounds as she dropped another string of kisses behind Song’s ear, and completely ignored India’s question. “Oh, could you put extra honey in Song’s tea? I think it was a little less sweet for her yesterday. She’s too polite to say anything. You should tell people what you want, baby.”

  “Your sister shouldn’t have to wait on me, baby,” Song said. “We should get up and help her.” To her credit she did try to stand up, but China pulled her back.

  “India loves to take care of people. Seriously, we’re actually helping her. She’s been terribly grumpy these past few days. I wonder what’s wrong.” China said casually, but India felt her cheeks warm. She refused to let her mind wander to the restlessness that had wrapped around her recently.

  “Thanks, Song. It’s just tea.” India poured water from the whistling kettle onto a tea ball with Ashna’s Deepest Breath blend that Ashna had made especially for India. She added a goodly amount of honey to it. Then another spoonful for good measure. Everyone deserved as much sweetness in their life as they wanted.

  She handed Song the tea and threw her sister a pointed look. “Is today a vacation day?”

  “No, Song wanted to binge The Witcher. That Indian actress . . .” Song filled in the name “Anya Chalotra.” “She’s smoking hot. And deliciously ruthless.” They went off into a discussion about this show they wanted to binge. A show her work-obsessed sister had missed work for.

  “Don’t look so disapproving,” China said, gazing at her girlfriend with so much adoration that India almost relented and rethought her concern. “We’re only prepping for next season. Shooting won’t start again for two months.” India had never heard China sound so offhanded about Cooking with the Stars, her show.

  “But didn’t you say that today was the big meeting where you’re finalizing the lists so the network can start putting together the pairings?” The show paired chefs with celebrities and last season China had talked of nothing else for months.

  “Shit.” China sat up, Song still pressed into her. “Shit, shit, shit!”

  Song turned to her. “Kitten, take a breath.” She cupped China’s face. “They’re lucky to have you. That show would not exist without you.” Song had been a contestant on the first seas
on, but she had no way of knowing who the show could and could not exist without. “You are allowed to take time for yourself. You work so hard. You’ll totally make up for it tomorrow when you go in.”

  “Tomorrow?” India said. “Don’t you want to call in and make sure everything is all right? Song is right, this is the show you worked your butt off to build.”

  China looked at her watch. She did look stricken. It was not like her to forget about her work. India was much more used to worrying about her sister working too hard and being too focused on her job, to the detriment of everything else. “At least call in and make sure everything is okay. I’m sure they’ll understand that you needed a break.”

  China smacked herself on the head. “I was supposed to call in sick and I forgot.”

  Are you on drugs? India wanted to yell, but watching China and Song stroking each other’s faces, India knew that she was. Love was definitely a drug. Anyone who fancied themselves in it certainly seemed to display all the restraint and common sense of an addict.

  China extracted herself from behind Song and got off the couch and India felt like the worst kind of killjoy. All cuddled up with someone and entirely focused on them did seem like the perfect way to spend a day.

  “I’m sorry, puppy, I’ll just call my boss and make up an excuse.” China started searching for her phone, another alarming thing.

  “Fun! What will you say?” Song said excitedly. “Can you tell them your girlfriend was dying of love and you had to take care of her?”

  “I’m supposed to be making up an excuse, not telling them the truth,” China said with all the glee of someone who believed there was no better life on earth than the one she was living right now.

  Song jumped on her and they kissed some more. Despite herself, India smiled. Their joy was palpable and India had to stop trying to control everything just because she was afraid. It was time to acknowledge her worry for her sister, then leave the rest to China and the universe.

  “I’m going to check up on Mom,” she said.

  The only response she got was more kissing sounds.

  Mom had not left her room all day and India entered as silently as she could.

  Instead of finding her mother in bed, she found her sitting cross-legged on the floor, going through a trunk of old sweaters India’s grandmother had knitted for them. India dropped down across from her, and Chutney rolled up to her and climbed onto her lap.

  “Hey, there, beautiful girl. You been keeping your mommy company, yes, you have?”

  “She’s been helping me decide which sweaters to start with.”

  “Start with? Were you going to donate these?” These sweaters were their childhood. Grandmona was an artist, no matter what the rest of the kids in school had said about their sweaters.

  “Don’t look so sad. I would never donate them. I’m going to take them apart.”

  “Wow. That’s so much better.”

  “Hah. My funny girl. I’m not destroying them.” She picked up a marsh-green turtleneck that Sid had worn in middle school. “Well, I am destroying them, but only temporarily. I’m going to unravel one sweater each for the three of you, one each of Mom’s and mine, then I’m going to use the yarn to knit squares to make a quilt.”

  India picked up a rusty red cardigan she had worn on her first day of high school. The wool was soft and fine and it had worn away at the elbows. She’d loved that cardigan, with its too-long sleeves that gathered at her wrist.

  A project. Not surprising at all. Tara was constantly coming up with projects. All the walls in their home and studio used to be hand-painted with murals. They’d lost them all to the renovation. But instead of being sad, Tara had been excited to get to paint new murals. Already the studio had a giant Buddha across one wall. The living room had the beginnings of a forest that Tara had been working on for the past year.

  The mosaic backsplash in the kitchen. Beaded borders on all the lamps. Even the mandala rug in India’s room was hand-hooked by her mom. Never had India seen her mother sit still. Not even these past few days when her movements had gotten just a tad slower.

  “I was lying down and I realized that having a blanket with all of us woven into it is exactly what I need.”

  “It’s a great idea.” India ran a hand over the sweaters scattered across the floor between them.

  “You’re worried about something,” Tara said. A statement, not a question.

  “How can I not be?” She reached out and touched her mother’s forehead. No fever, but her batik caftan hung on her and the whites of her eyes were far too yellow. “How are you feeling?”

  “You know, I’d rather feel a little bit stronger and have a little more energy. But I’ve been breathing and you’ve been giving me Reiki, so I’m going to be okay.”

  “And Dr. Kumar will have the results today and we’re going to figure out a treatment and everything can go back to normal,” India said.

  Her mother patted her face and smiled. “Is China’s lady love still here? Doesn’t a fancy star have her own home?” She held up China’s ocher-yellow poncho and India nodded in approval. “Is it mean to say that?”

  “Yes, a little bit. She’s here because she wants to spend time with China, and I’m sure she feels welcome.” India hoped she hadn’t made Song feel unwelcome. She was hanging out here so much only because China felt guilty about leaving Mom.

  “You’re always such a good girl. Always so kind. I should have named you Empathy.”

  “Emotions instead of countries? What a novel idea!” India reached across the sweaters on the floor and took her mother’s hand. “Guess I wasn’t feeling all that empathetic just now when I basically scolded China about blowing off work.”

  “China missed work?”

  “And forgot to call in to let them know.”

  Their mother looked sufficiently horrified, and India felt a little less terrible about being a killjoy. “I thought she was home because it was some sort of holiday.”

  “She was supposed to take the day off. She just forgot to inform anyone that she was taking it.”

  “China? Our China? Are you sure? That does not sound one bit like her.” The worry in their mother’s eyes was exactly the worry in India’s heart. The kind of worry you felt when something beautiful happened to a loved one but you knew it was tenuous and the fact that it was so beautiful was what made it so much scarier.

  China had no experience with emotional disaster and heartbreak. For someone who took herself and everything she desired so seriously, she’d never taken a relationship seriously. Her obsession had always been her work.

  Plus, Mom dodging the topic of her diagnosis and treatment did not bode well at all.

  “Stop worrying about everyone else,” Tara said quickly, as if sensing the direction of India’s thoughts. “Look at you. You don’t wear stress well.”

  “I’m not stressed. Concern for loved ones and stress aren’t the same thing. Are you ready to go to the hospital? They’ll have the results and we can finally have an action plan.”

  “Oh, the appointment is canceled.” Tara started packing up the earthy rainbow of sweaters that hadn’t made the cut for the quilt.

  “Mom? What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I’m starting to feel much better and I made an appointment with the Chinese herbalist Tomas’s aunt recommended.”

  “You canceled the appointment? Why? Why would you do that?”

  “You know how Western medicine is. I’m not sure it’s for me.”

  “Since when? You never missed a single well appointment or vaccination for us with Dr. Sarkar. We use holistic remedies for wellness and symptoms, not for infections and illness. Since when do you not believe in Western medicine? What’s going on?”

  “Since when are you such a suspicious person? You don’t wear it well. It’s not part of your true nature.” Tara patted India’s cheeks with both hands.

  “And avoiding the truth is not part of your true nature. It’s n
atural that you’re scared. It’s terrifying to know that you might have something that will take months, maybe years of treatment. But you’re the most courageous person I know. You’re going to fight this. Dr. Kumar will fit us back in.” She pulled out her phone to call his office.

  “Stop. I don’t want to go.” Tara took the phone out of India’s hand.

  Not leaving people to do things at their own pace was not India’s way.

  I don’t have time. What do I have to do to speed things up?

  The purpose on Yash’s face had been so unhesitating. She’d always envied people who knew exactly what they wanted and put it before everything else.

  The sense that time was important here had been nagging at India. Taking the phone back, she scrolled to the doctor’s number.

  Tara snatched the phone back. “India! I said I don’t want to go. What has gotten into you? This is not like you at all.”

  Playing tug-of-war with a phone was not like Mom either, and yet here they were. “Not going is not a choice. We have to find out what it is and treat it. Look at the life you’ve lived. Everything you’ve ever put in your mouth is healthy. You’ve practiced yoga and meditation since before you could walk. Whatever this is, your body is primed to overcome it, reverse it. Your body knows what to do.” These were things Tara had taught her, things she’d woven into their core. Without these beliefs, India didn’t even know who she was.

  Tara stared at the phone they were both gripping like a baton they couldn’t pass. “That’s not how it always works.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying that.”

  Tara let the phone go, and hurriedly—angrily?—started pressing the sweaters into the wooden trunk and slammed it shut. Then she stood and carried it back into the closet, but when she tried to lift it up to the shelf, it wasn’t as effortless as she wanted it to look.

  India gave her a hand. “Are you really angry with me for wanting you to go to the doctor when you’re this sick?”

  When Tara turned to India there were tears in her eyes, and something else that India had never seen there before.