by Sonali Dev
Mom was so ashamed about having canceled her insurance that she didn’t want China or Sid to know, so asking them for help wasn’t an option. India knew her siblings didn’t have the money to help and she didn’t want them weighed down with guilt. The check from the retreat would cover part of Mom’s first payment. India would figure out the rest.
Not having to count on others simplified life, and India valued simplicity over most things. Sure, it was lonely, but she knew that her sudden loneliness had little to do with not being able to share her financial troubles with her siblings.
This same loneliness had devastated her ten years ago. It had taught her that waiting on someone else for happiness was the surest way to never be happy. Forgetting that lesson was a path to heartbreak, a path lined with the gravel of unforgivable recklessness.
When China stormed into her office, interrupting India’s thoughts, she was beyond grateful for the distraction.
“Why are you upset with me?” China dropped into a chair as though she owned the room. The sisters had spent hours in the office “plotting world domination,” as China called it. Starting from China’s college projects and presentations to every job she’d gone after, India had played many a tough interviewer, many a disapproving panelist for China.
“I’m not. What are you talking about?”
“You know you can’t lie.” Getting straight to what was bothering her was China’s way. Even though this recent lovestruck avatar had mellowed her manifold. “It’s probably the one thing you’re awful at.”
“I’m awful at a great many things,” India said.
“Yeah? Like what?”
India looked off into the distance as though thinking really hard. It made China laugh, so it was worth it.
“I’m an average cook at best.”
“Come on. Who else can put cocoa in avocados, call it cookies, and not make you gag? Who else can make wheat-germ muffins taste like actual food instead of cardboard?”
That made India laugh. “That’s me, skilled at making food that doesn’t make you gag and doesn’t taste like cardboard.”
“See, you’ve got nothing.”
China was wearing a well-fitted jacket over jeans and her hair as always was perfectly styled into a pony tail. To say nothing of the gorgeous hot pink lipstick.
“I’m horrible at dressing up,” India said.
“That’s because you rock yoga wear to a point where it looks like high fashion. You know, I don’t know how an active wear brand hasn’t asked you to model for them yet.”
“No one has asked me to model because they’re usually actually interested in selling stuff.”
“Oh, India, India, India,” China said in her dealing-with-a-lost-cause tone. “Then let’s just say you’re amazing at anything you happen to have an interest in.”
“Everyone is good at things when they’re focused on them. No one as much as you, though,” India tried not to make it sound like a reprimand. She wasn’t upset with her sister, but she was worried sick. “You’re the best television producer in the business. There is nobody on earth as good as you.” China had said those words herself so many times.
India had always pushed China to think about work-life balance, but China had been far too obsessed with the work half of it. India couldn’t remember the last time China had talked about her work.
“I know. I know. Stop looking so worried. I still love my job. But I’ve never felt this way in my life. My whole self feels awake. You know how you and Mom are always going on about life force? Even the insides of my cells, the very nuclei inside my cells”—she made little pinching actions with her fingers—“even those feel lit up. I feel all the things we spend a lifetime wanting to feel, like the life force inside me is an inferno. I feel . . . consequential when I’m around Song. Being removed from her presence feels violent. I know you’ve never felt that, but how can I not be true to that?”
Every word sliced through India like a hot blade, cutting far closer than it should. She was happy for China. She focused on that.
“That’s beautiful, Cee.” China had a right to these feelings no matter how much it hurt afterward. India had no right to assume hurt was coming for her too. “I’m really happy for you.”
“Are you? Because I need you to be. I can’t contain all this happiness by myself. I need you to not be ashamed of me.”
India reached across her desk and cupped her sister’s cheek. “Listen to me. There is nothing on earth you could ever do that would change how incredibly proud I am of you. But please, you’ve given so much to this job. Don’t give them an excuse to take all that hard work away from you.”
“Cynicism? From you, India? What’s wrong?”
The need to talk to her sister, really talk, about their mother, about everything, rose, but it had been a while since China had been interested in talking about anything but Song. Also, India couldn’t break her word to Mom.
“It’s not cynicism, it’s pragmatism. Just because I don’t always buy into the way the world works, doesn’t mean I deny it or its impact on us. You have the gift of passion for your work. I just want you to protect yourself.”
China groaned and stared moodily at the windows. “I wish I was more like you. How do you do that? How do you live inside your armor and turn off your feelings?”
Before India could respond, China’s phone buzzed just as the ding that announced someone had come through the back door went off.
“Speaking of the world, Song’s here,” China said with a moony smile, and then shouted, “We’re in here, baby.”
Within seconds the door flew open and Song flew in and China flew into Song’s arms. They had left each other a few hours ago.
“I missed you, puppy.”
“I missed you more, kitten.”
Once they had convinced each other that they had missed each other at least an equal amount, they pulled apart and turned to India.
“You look well, India,” Song said.
“As do you. How was your day?”
“Heaven!” Song beamed. “Had the best training session with Boadie—you know Boadie, right? Boadie of Boadie Sculpting?”
As a matter of fact, India did not, but she appreciated a bad pun as much as the next person.
China gasped. “The trainer you’ve been trying to get to take you on? Why? Why would you want to torture yourself? I’ve heard the man is a sadist. Didn’t Priyanka Chopra tweet that she couldn’t walk for a week after her session?”
Song’s smile was appropriately smug, given how impressed China looked. “But she was ripped after just a month with him.”
“Ripped? Why would you want to be ripped? Your body is perfect.” Eyes locked with Song’s, China ran a hand up and down her arm. India decided this was a good moment to examine her bonsais for new growth.
“Thanks, puppy,” Song said. “Boadie usually works out of L.A. He’s been spending just one day a week in San Francisco. Jiggy Mehta, the tech billionaire, roped him in because he’s on a health kick.” Song dropped down on India’s couch with a moan. “Priyanka was right. I feel like I’ve been put through a blender. Sitting down and standing up is excruciating and my shoulder feels like there’s a vise around it.”
Sure enough, Song was holding her shoulders at a misaligned slant.
“Didn’t you stretch?” India sat down next to her.
China’s face lit up. “India can do a session with you.” She squeezed in on Song’s other side. “India has magic hands. Can you do some Reiki work on her?”
India rubbed her hands together and nudged them in front of Song. “This okay?”
Song looked delighted. “Yes, please.”
India put her hands on Song’s shoulder, the one she was holding as though it didn’t quite belong to her. Pressing into the soft tissue around bone, India felt around for alignment. The muscle was so tight it was basically one big knot. She cupped her palms around the joint. Almost immediately some of the tension in Song’s sho
ulder eased.
“My God. That feels amazing.” Song closed her eyes on a sigh as India focused on the muscles, bones, and connective tissue under her hands, and let the healing energy inside her flow out through them.
It didn’t take long for Song’s shoulder to relax completely. Energy was a healer and touch brought awareness to the part of your body that needed attention, and that had its own power.
India removed her hands from Song’s shoulder slowly, then pressed them into the middle of Song’s back before pulling away and pressing them into her own chest and absorbing the remnants of energy.
Song rolled her shoulder. “My God, I can move it. You’re a magician!”
“Rest it today. Tomorrow I’ll show you some stretches to do before and after your next session with your Body . . . Boadie.”
Song gave India the most grateful smile just as the doorbell dinged, startling them all but making fear flash in Song’s eyes.
“Were you expecting someone?” China asked.
“I don’t have any appointments because I was supposed to be in Costa Rica. And we’re done with classes for today.” She patted Song’s shoulder, trying to calm her and made her way to the front door.
The stuttering way in which her heart raced was totally unacceptable.
Don’t be idiotic, India.
She checked herself in the hallway mirror. So, so idiotic.
The giant full-bodied jolt she felt when she pressed her face into the glass and saw Yash wasn’t idiotic, it was pure lunacy.
His hands were stuffed into his pockets and his eyes were filled with so much unfettered anticipation that for a second India imagined his lips moving. You’ll come, right?
How could she be foolish enough to think about that right now? He has a girlfriend.
He belongs to someone else.
A sick sensation gathered in her belly.
Shoving it down, she pulled the door open. “Yash? Is everything okay?” Relief flooded his eyes at the sight of her, turning the gray dark and intense.
“I . . . I need to talk to you. May I come in?”
How she had loved how formal he was. How polite, how gallant.
Stop it. Stop.
“Hey, Yash!” China said behind her, making her jump.
Yash started too. Inasmuch as this new Yash would show being startled to anyone.
Brandy was close behind him, her usual icy demeanor firmly in place. “Hi, Brandy. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just wasn’t . . . well, come in.” Moving aside to let them in, India gave herself the hardest mental shake in history.
Brandy got right to her usual sweep of the place. “Is there anyone else here?”
China glared at her. “Why? Have you not pinned anyone to the ground in a while? Missing it?”
India placed a big-sister hand on her arm. Holding China down when she wanted to fly at anyone who pissed her off had always been one of India’s jobs.
They crowded into the entrance foyer lined with empty shoe racks and coat hooks. Which didn’t stop Brandy from studying everything as though it hid moats from which someone might ambush them. Or, more accurately, ambush Yash. When India thought about it that way, she was completely fine with Brandy’s paranoia.
China caught India’s eye and slid a glance at her office, a silent plea for India to not mention that Song was here.
“Yes, there is.” India never lied and she wasn’t comfortable skirting the truth either. Brandy was just doing her job. But Song had a right to privacy. “Our mother is upstairs.” Mom was in the incense workshop working tirelessly on incense sticks they had no orders for.
“I . . .” Yash hadn’t looked away from her even for a moment. His expression was impossible to interpret. Or at least, her interpretation was highly unlikely. The last time he’d been here, he’d run out of here as though she’d thrown gasoline on him and lit a match. “If you’re busy I can come back later?”
She made a sound that could be interpreted as a yes or a no. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved that she had the week off or if she wished she had an excuse to not see him. Oh, who was she kidding? She’d cancel everything to help him, but only because: one, she’d help anyone who needed help; and two, she wanted him to win the election. It was time for someone to fix the mess their state was in. Yes, she’d read his health care policy, and, yes, it had caused her entire body to be seized with hope.
All eyes were watching her and she realized that they were waiting for her to lead them to her office. Or somewhere.
The pleading in China’s eyes bordered on threatening. The office was not an option. “Do you mind if we talked upstairs again?”
A full-bodied relief rolled across him. “That sounds good. Thank you,” he said, just as Brandy started walking toward India’s office.
“Is there anyone else here?” Brandy repeated.
“No.” China was in front of Brandy in a second. Blocking her path.
Nose-to-nose, they stared each other down, neither looking like backing off was an option. India was pretty certain they’d both missed the backing-off gene. China, in fact, looked like she was itching to return Brandy’s favor and flip her to the floor.
“Do you mind if I check?” Brandy’s tone made it not so much a request as an order.
“Yes, we would mind if you check.” China did a perfect imitation of Brandy’s tone.
“If there’s no one there, why can’t I check?” Brandy said, piling her stubbornness on top of China’s.
“Because you just marched into our home and invaded our space and, generous as we are, we prefer to be the ones to decide which parts of our home we’d like violated.” Even in her sputtering rage, she threw Yash an apologetic look. “Not that you can’t come here whenever you want, Yash.”
“No, you’re right,” Yash said. “I . . . I shouldn’t have just barged in like this. We’ll leave.”
“That’s not what I meant at all.” China sounded torn, and Brandy studied her with an extra layer of iciness falling over her iciness.
“Let’s just go upstairs,” India said.
“Yash can’t stay until I’ve secured the premises.”
“That’s not necessary.” This from Yash. “I’ll call when I’m done. You can leave now.”
“I can’t do that, Yash, I can’t leave you here until I’ve made sure the premises are secure,” Brandy said.
“Will you stop saying premises? It makes you sound like a psychopath. This is our home.” China looked ready to wring Brandy’s neck.
“Cee, sweetheart, please,” India said.
“These are not premises. Who says premises? Is this an episode of Homeland?” China was not in a mood to be curbed.
“China’s right,” India said to Brandy. “This is our home. But you’re right, this is also my office. A lot of people who come here take their privacy very seriously.”
“So someone is in there,” Brandy said with some satisfaction.
“Yes, and if you wait in the yoga room, they’ll leave and then you can secure the premises.”
That seemed to satisfy everyone and made Yash look at her in a way that he really should not be looking at her. Ignoring him, when her entire body had decided to do the opposite of that, she ushered Brandy and him into the yoga room. As soon as she shut the door, she knew she’d made a mistake.
The room was lined with mirrors on opposite walls. Seeing Yash reflected across mirror upon mirror almost knocked her back. Those haunted eyes, that velvet-thick salt-and-pepper hair tousled by his fingers, that perfectly shaved jaw that didn’t know how not to be determined. Having him look at her that way, as though she were the answer to his questions, having that multiplied to infinity, it was a visual India really did not want to carry to the end of her living days.
Chapter Thirteen
As Yash followed India up the narrow wooden stairs to her apartment, the oddest sense engulfed him. What exactly the sense was, he didn’t want to inspect. He let it dance there, at the edge of his consc
iousness. Her hair was shorter than it had been ten years ago, and it tapered in the back to her long graceful neck, leaving it bare.
The moment they entered the cozy living room with its teal sofa lined with orange pillows, an already familiar smell—fine, stink—hit him, accompanied by a panting sound. Chutney’s slobbery face came into view.
One pat on her scrunched-up head and she promptly rolled over and whimpered. Dropping down on the top step, he gave her what she wanted, a belly-rubbing for the ages. In return she closed her eyes and gave him her unbridled ecstasy, and for the first time in days he laughed. And felt like himself.
“If you don’t stop, you could be doing that for the rest of the day.” India folded the throws that were strewn around the sectional couch and stacked them up. Then she picked up cups sitting on the worn wood center table piled with books and took them to the kitchen.
Sunlight filtered through a tree and streamed in through the wall of windows, kindling warmth in long-forgotten parts of him. There was a sense of peace here and it settled around him like the perpetual smell of incense threaded together with Chutney’s smell.
“Would you like to sit down?” India said. Her calm tone disturbed him and wrapped around him in equal measure.
The way she held herself was open and loose-limbed, as though he hung out in her living room every day, as though anyone and everyone walked in here and was welcomed. Meanwhile, his heart was beating out an entirely unfamiliar pattern directly at odds with her even breathing, and he couldn’t quite find the strength to fight it. Especially when something else inside him felt . . . it felt as even as her breathing.
Extracting a large glass bowl of something orange from the fridge, she placed it on the tiled island as he joined her, leaving a very satisfied Chutney behind.
“Can I help?” He’d never in his life had the urge to shell peas. Now it was a god-awful tug inside him.
“I need to take my mom a snack.” She filled a bowl with what had to be orange yogurt with unidentified clumps of something mixed in. “I’ll be just a minute.” Tightness slipped into her voice. She was working hard to appear relaxed and realizing that made a weight settle on his chest.