by Sonya Lalli
Lakshmi laughed. “You know, women in our family had to be strong. There was never a choice. But the strength always appeared in different ways. Maybe for this little one, it will be muscles.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know my story, Anu. You know it was very hard to leave my mother behind. And back then there was none of this FaceTime.”
Anu nodded. She’d never really known her grandparents, had met them only a few times as a young child before they passed away back in India. Phone calls were rare, and once a month they’d receive letters written in Punjabi that her parents read out loud—and usually had to translate.
“And then there was my ma. She had so much—” Lakshmi pressed against her chest, tapped it lightly, and then closed her eyes. “She ran household of twenty-nine people.”
“Twenty-nine?”
“It was joint family. A big house. All the cousins, brothers, uncles, and aunties, everyone living all together.” Lakshmi shook her head. “I remember so well. Can you imagine cooking for them three meals a day? All the washing, the cleaning, the children running around, screaming? From morning to night, my mother worked. I never saw her off her feet.”
“Wasn’t there help?”
“Hah, but never enough. There were a few servants, and the other women all helped as we could, but she was in charge. If something—if anything—happened, where do you think they went? If there weren’t enough chapatis on the table, who do you think received blame? The first day she didn’t have to work? Her funeral, Anu.”
Anu couldn’t remember, but had she known that about her nani? Surely, at some point she’d been told. Maybe as a child. Her cheeks reddened. She wondered if maybe she hadn’t cared enough to listen.
“And then there was my nani,” Lakshmi said with a sigh. “Boy, was she pill.”
Anu giggled. “What, like you?”
“Uh-ho.” Lakshmi laughed, turning to face Anu. “I often think if she lived in our time, she would have made great military officer.”
“Actually?”
“Or perhaps CEO? No one ever crossed my nani.”
Anu smiled, watching Lakshmi’s face. She couldn’t recall if she’d ever seen a picture of her great-grandmother or even if she knew her maiden name. Even her first name.
“What was she like?”
“Brutal,” Lakshmi said, her face like she had just tasted something sour. “So severe. If I played in sun even one moment, she would notice my dark skin. If I had a few extra malai after school, she would pull at my salwar and say to me in Punjabi, ‘Lucky, no man will want to marry a fatso.’”
“No, she didn’t!”
Lakshmi laughed. “She did!”
“She sounds like a . . .” Anu trailed off, catching her mother’s eye. “Sorry.”
“A bitch?” Lakshmi held her gaze. “Isn’t that the English word?”
Anu shrugged.
“She was bitch, Anu. Life made her hard around edges.” Lakshmi sat forward in the chair, elbows on knees. “In India, we have a saying. Loosely translated, it means . . . when you put gold in the fire, it shines. It’s hot, and it burns, but that is life’s experiences. . . . They will make you shine. They make us better. But for many reasons, my nani never shined. Too much burning.”
“How, Mom?”
“My nani had four children by the age of twenty-three, and then a husband shot dead while fighting for the British. Yet she lived with her in-laws’ family her whole life, surviving on their generosity. Since she was an eleven-year-old girl.”
“She was a child bride?”
“Those terms did not exist then,” Lakshmi said, completely matter-of-fact.
Anu glanced around the room and wondered if Lakshmi was thinking the same thing she was: Everything around them, every comfort, luxury, every tribulation—none of it had existed back then.
Here Anu was sitting on a nine-hundred-dollar sofa, watching a flat-screen television playing a show that had no societal purpose, having been annoyed her mother was doting on her too much. And what had Anu been upset about that morning? That Neil had shrunk her favorite cardigan in the dryer?
Suddenly, the remote control, her cupboard full of overpriced bourgeois peppermint tea, the sixty-dollar throw rug from Pier 1 were way too much. She kicked off the blanket. Lakshmi’s eyes had drifted toward the TV, still on mute. Some tween pop star was being interviewed now, their earlier discussion of the latest Kardashian scandal now in the past. The corners of Lakshmi’s mouth curled upward as the tween hopped up to her feet, miming something—making some joke.
“Do you want the sound on?”
Lakshmi shook her head, eyes locked on the pop star. Fleetingly, Anu wondered if Lakshmi had told her all of this to make her feel guilty.
But the thought passed as Anu realized the guilt was already there. That unlike anyone before her, Anu hadn’t had to make a single sacrifice.
What had Anu ever sacrificed for anyone? Sure, maybe if she had a do-over, she would have ignored her parents’ career advice and trained to be a yoga teacher. Maybe if she and Neil had really stuck up for themselves, they would have bought a condo downtown by the water, instead of a starter house in the same suburb as their families.
But was that sacrifice? Or just not being selfish?
Clutching her warm belly, she closed her eyes. Any day now, there’d be a baby in this world who hadn’t there before. A girl. Anu can picture her already. Almond brown skin, pitch-black hair. Eyes just like Neil’s.
A little girl in their line. A girl she would give up anything for.
chapter thirty-five
IMOGEN: Hey, Anusha. The pictures of the open house looked great. I’m glad you finally understand how Instagram filters work. :P
ANUSHA: Ha, thanks. Take care of yourself and have some nice R&R with your family. I’m looking forward to seeing you back in Vancouver when you’re ready! Again, please let me know if there’s anything I can do. . . . My guest room has your name on it if you need it.
IMOGEN: Thanks! I may need a job, too. . . .
ANUSHA: I’m pretty sure that can be arranged ;)
Oh, wow.” Kunal beamed at Anu from the kitchen table as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She was wearing some of her London clothes: a pair of jeans, a black top, and a blazer.
She twirled in slow motion. “Oh, this old thing?”
“You look just like your mother when she was your age.”
Lakshmi swooped in from around the corner, cocking her hip to the side. “When I was her age? Dear husband, are you saying I am no longer looking young?”
Anu laughed as Kunal’s cheeks reddened.
“Nah, you are still very beautiful. I am merely saying—”
“You are saying I am showing age. That I am merely a beautiful old woman.” Lakshmi winked at Anu. “I’ll show your father. Do you know, Anu, last month at the Starbucks, a boy your age approached me?”
“Really,” Kunal deadpanned. “Was he taking your coffee order?”
Shrieking, Lakshmi lunged at Kunal with an oven mitt, playfully smacking him as he cowered and covered his face with his hands.
Anu’s heart broke wide open as she watched them. Why had she been embarrassed of their affectionate demeanor growing up? Later, why had she resented it? She was lucky to have parents who loved each other, who—at nearly sixty—could be as silly as a couple of teenagers.
Lakshmi had been home for two days, brightening Anu’s home with smiles like sunshine. She’d been cooking, too, despite Kunal’s insistence that he wanted to plan the meals, despite Anu’s warnings that she didn’t want to take advantage of her.
Now it was hard to imagine a time when Lakshmi hadn’t been there. No, it wasn’t perfect, and Anu had already nearly torn her hair out when Lakshmi rearranged her spice cupboard—but Anu was so glad she was home.
The house would feel lonely after they’d gone, when Anu had all the time and space to herself. The open house a success, in the past few days, her roster of enthusiastic teachers had basically run the place without her. The classes were full, the website perfected, the online advertisements and social media posts making the impact she had intended. The day before, a local celebrity had even attended one of Radhika’s class and tweeted about it to her fifty thousand followers. Imogen had answered her phone when Anu called to tell her about it, and they ended up talking for two hours. About the future of the studio, how and when each of them had developed a passion for yoga to begin with. Imogen told her that she’d first tried yoga and meditation after a teacher had recommended it to her, mentioned that it sometimes helped people with mental health. Had it helped Imogen, or could it still? Anu hoped so. She hoped that maybe, one day, they would talk about it.
“Your father is correct, Anu,” she heard Lakshmi say. Anu looked up to catch her mother brush a kiss on the top of Kunal’s head.
“You look very wow.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Anu grinned. “I’m going on a date.”
“A date,” Kunal said flatly, picking up his newspaper. “With the skiing chap?”
“His name is Tyler. And yes, he’s the skier slash schoolteacher.”
“Is he taking you skiing?” Lakshmi furrowed her brow. “Your coat is in fashion, beti, but not appropriate for skiing.”
Anu laughed. She crossed through the kitchen and put her arm around Lakshmi. “No, Mom. It’s April. Can you see any snow?”
Over the past few days, Anu had tried not to dwell on what happened with Neil, and whenever she questioned her decision to let Neil fade into the past, she looked at Kanika. Brushed her hair or kissed her head. Squeezed her until Kanu, restless, giggled and pushed her away.
And so the night after the open house, when Tyler had called her out of the blue and insisted they firm up a date, she agreed. She wanted to move forward. Over and over, Anu had said this to herself and to her friends. She wanted it be true, so what else could she do but say yes?
“Should I come to the door?” Kunal said gruffly.
“Sure, Dad. Come to the door.”
“Kunal Narayan Kapoor, don’t you dare go to that door!”
“Mom, he can come to the door.”
“Do not encourage this business, Anu. Your father can keep those ample buttocks of his in his seat and mind his business!”
“Ample,” Kunal repeated, turning a page of his newspaper. “Ample?”
Lakshmi and Anu joined him at the table. They had already finished their tea, and they helped themselves to sips of Kunal’s until, pretending to be exasperated, he got up and went to the stove to make another pot. When Tyler arrived, Anu didn’t let her parents scurry off into the back room and insisted they stay right there at the table. Tyler waved at them from the front door, and tentatively, they came into the foyer to meet him, made obligatory small talk as Anu pulled on her boots and coat.
The date with Tyler was easy, friendly. He took her back to Granville Island, and they toured one art gallery and then another, both exquisite exhibits by indigenous artists local to the area. Tyler bought a print, and then they moved on to the food market and shared poutine and a pork belly bahn mi, traded stories on growing up, growing older.
As it got dark, they walked across the bridge into downtown and shared a carafe of white wine at an unpretentious bar on Hamilton. It seemed very natural, being there with him, and Anu felt the rush of what moving forward could feel like. His eyes sparkled in the low light, and on the walk back to the car, he gently, respectfully intertwined his fingers with hers.
Back home, on the porch step, he kissed her. It was short and sweet, like something Anu had watched in an Eva Mendes movie. Still, she couldn’t help but think of her first kiss with Neil, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she pushed away the thought.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the first time I saw you.”
She smiled sheepishly.
“Sorry.” He brushed a stray hair from her face and then slid his hand gently down to her shoulder. “Actually, I’m not sorry.” He drew her closer, resting his hands on either shoulder. “I’d like to ask you out again,” he said quietly. “But before I do that, I need to ask you something else.”
“Yeah?”
His face grew more serious. “You’re separated. . . .”
She nodded, pressing her lips together. “I am.”
“Is it . . . permanent? Because I wouldn’t want to interfere.”
“I understand.” She nodded, and the queasiness rose in her stomach. “I get it. And I need to . . .” She trailed off, letting him—letting herself—assume what words came next.
“So you’ll let me know, then?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “I’ll let you know.”
* * *
• • •
It was her first run in more than a week, since before the open house. Anu slipped out before Kanika and her parents were awake and jogged the half mile to Burnaby Lake. Thank goodness it was warm enough to have the party outside; in addition to more than a dozen family friends, Anu and Neil had asked Kanika’s entire kindergarten class to the party, and most had accepted the invite. As Anu ran around the lake, taking short breaks to stretch her calves or catch her breath, she kept her mind occupied as she mentally prepared for the party.
It would be Moana themed, of course, and the kitchen and back porch would be covered in tasteful Disney decorations and fresh flowers. Lakshmi baked a cake, and as a surprise, Kunal had rented a mechanical surfboard for the back lawn. Neil, knowing how busy a week Anu had had, insisted on bringing over all the food and beverages.
She kicked a piece of driftwood, and it scattered off the curved path. All week, she and Neil had been planning the party together—being civil, exchanging ideas, and dividing up tasks by text message. He was an involved and loving father to Kanika and a considerate ex, and she forced herself to dismiss all other thoughts about him that kept bubbling up.
After showering, she brought Kanika upstairs to get ready for the party. She’d braided her daughter’s wet hair the night before, and unwinding it, Kanika beamed at her reflection in the mirror.
“I look like Moana!”
Anu laughed, spritzing her hair with a bit of hair spray. “That’s kind of the point, huh?” She helped Kanika into her dress, red and tan with similar patterns to Moana’s dress in the movie, and then—as a treat—let her put on a bit of lip gloss; she always ended up licking it off, anyway.
As the final touch, Anu pinned a fresh flower into Kanika’s hair and then smudged a touch of black eyeliner behind her ear. “There. You’re ready.”
Kanika turned to her. “Why do you and Nani always do that?”
Anu hesitated. It was only the second time Kanika had asked her about the ritual. What had she told her the last time?
It’s makeup.
Wasn’t that what Lakshmi had told Anu as a child? To stave off the difficult conversation about what their superstions meant until she was older?
Kanika wrapped her arms around Anu’s waist and let her head drop back as she stared up at her. “What’s it for?”
“It’s for protection,” Anu said eventually. “Well, Nani and I think so, anyway.” Slowly, carefully, Anu explained what a superstition was, and how it was passed on from one generation to the next. And that while sometimes the meaning became lost, the purpose didn’t.
“Does that make sen
se?” Anu asked after a while.
Kanika had a far-off look in her eye as she stared out the front window. Neil and Priya had arrived, and she could see Kunal helping them to bring the food inside. “Sure, Mom.”
Anu was tempted to laugh by the confidence and charisma in Kanika’s voice, the way she could sound like a child one moment—and expertly mimic an adult the next.
She was growing up, slow and fast at the same time, and pretty soon she would be a grown woman herself. Her sixth-birthday party—her whole childhood—would be a hazy, hopefully, happy memory.
Anu tucked Kanika’s hair behind her ear, studying her. What did she remember? Even if she didn’t show it, what did she understand?
More than anything, she wanted to protect her daughter; of course she did. But she wanted to be an honest mother, too.
“Kanu,” Anu said, sitting next to her on the bed, “do you remember what happened right before Christmas?”
Still staring out the window, Kanika said, “Dadima got sick. But she’s all better now.”
Anu nodded, scooted closer to Kanika. “Do you remember what happened before that?”
Slowly, Kanika turned her head and looked up at Anu, her eyes shining clear and wide.
“I went away for a whole week—do you remember that?”
Without blinking, Kanika nodded.
Taking a deep breath, Anu looked her daughter straight in the eye. “I’m sorry I missed your Christmas concert, Kanu. And I left in kind of a hurry, didn’t I?”
Kanu shrugged, her expression unreadable.
“I was very sad, and I needed to be away for a little while, sweetie.”
“Why were you sad?”
Anu smiled at her, thinking of a way to explain it. “Kanu, you love acting in plays, right? In drama class?”
She nodded her little head.
“And dancing and singing? And you love coloring and playing outside—”
“And Moana?”
Anu laughed. “Especially Moana.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “And I guess, Kanu, I didn’t know what I loved to do. And I needed to leave to figure it out. Do you understand what I mean?”
