Page 13 of Adrift

“It was good. A fun start to the summer.” I tilt my head to my left hand lying on the table next to my plate. “Aside from the little sprain, I suppose.”

My mom scans my wrist, disapprovingly. “And how do you plan to lift your camera and take good photographs for your journalism project this summer if you’ve hurt your hand?” She doesn’t let me answer, bulldozing right over. “Have you given any thought to the event you’ll cover?”

I grind the naan and curry in my mouth extra hard, reminding myself to stay calm. This is just my mother being my mother–pushy, naggy. She cares less about my wrist or my answer to her questions than her need to exert her authority. “It’s the first weekend of the summer, Mom. I have weeks left before it’s due.”

“I’m just reminding you, that’s all.”

I decide not to argue, leaving the subject where it is. Sometimes it’s better not to rile her up, especially given that I’m about to tell her about my decision to move in with Darian.

I go to grab another piece of naan when my mother clears her throat. “You’ve had three pieces already.” She examines me, her sharp gaze lingering on my chest and torso. “That’s plenty for today. You need to focus on your figure, Rani. You can no longer afford to eat unnecessary calories.”

Well, there goes the restraint to not rile her up.

I feel the heat rise over my chest and neck, seeping into my cheeks. It’s not the first time I’ve heard her tell me to eat less or make me feel shitty about my body with her belittling remarks, but she usually suppresses them when others are around. I push my plate away, leaving the unfinished curry and refusing to meet Bella’s eyes, even though I know they’ll reflect nothing but compassion and tenderness.

But right now, I don’t want anything to sway the tiny bit of courage and resolve I’m hanging on to by a thread. I know if I look into Bella’s eyes, I’ll end up feeling sorry for myself with how I let my mother speak to me–at how I’ve ever let anyone body-shame me.

I love the way I look. I may not be a contender on America’s Top Model, but I’ve worked hard to get to where I am, both physically and mentally. I’ve worked hard to not let others’ cruel judgments and criticism take away from me appreciating my curves.

“Oh, stop it.” My mom snaps from across the table. “It’s hardly as if I’ve committed a crime by telling my obese daughter to be more cognizant of what and how much she’s eating. Don’t make that pouty face.” She moves on, as if the entire conversation has been swept under the rug, and turns to Bella. “Now, tell me what other plans you both have for the summer.”

Obese? By whose standards? The fucking magazines that line my mother’s nightstand, portraying unhealthy women the size of anorexic toothpicks, who probably feel nothing but self-loathing and misery everyday?

Bella clears her throat, putting her spoon on her plate, and I know she wishes she refused my invite to come to dinner today. “I’m starting that internship with Beam Systems in a week, and aside from that, just catching up on reading.”

“Oh, that’s right! Did they tell you which group you’ll be joining?” My mom plasters on a smile, but I know she’s still trying to diffuse the tension that’s lingering in the air between us. I know she can see me still glaring at her from my seat.

It’s all I can do to hold my tongue, because she doesn’t realize I’m about to light a motherfucking match to the napalm and set this table ablaze.

“From what I was told, it’ll be somewhere on one of their hardware engineering teams,” Bella answers.

Mom runs her hand over Bella’s bicep, oozing pride and affection–something she only doles out to me when I’ve met one of her bullshit standards or when she’s under the spell of the sleeping pills she often takes. “I am so proud of you, sweetheart. You truly do have it all, beauty and brains.”

I crack, severed right down the middle.

Not because I’m jealous of my cousin, but because I just can’t take another minute more. My mother knows exactly what she’s doing, and her relentless effort to light a fire inside me has finally come to fruition.

I was always intent on telling her, but maybe I wouldn’t have ice running through my veins when I did it.

So, happy birthday and merry fucking Christmas, Mom. Hope you like your gift!

“I’m going to live with Darian in Tahoe to take care of Arman.”

The sound of my voice–thundering through my ears like a freight-train–seems to have stopped all movement around the table. It almost seems like no one even blinks for a few moments before my dad raises his eyes, setting his spoon down while my mom looks like she’s stopped breathing. “Excuse me?”

I raise my head, keeping my tone even and my eyes steady on hers. Both Sonia and I have–or had–eyes like our mother’s–large, almond-shaped pools of chocolate with a thicket of lush eyelashes around them. “Karine’s health is deteriorating, and Darian needs someone to take care of Arman. I offered to help him through the summer.”

My mom just stares at me, seemingly still in shock and processing my words when my dad chimes in, surprising us all, “That’s kind of you, Rani. I’m glad you’ll be there to help him when he needs it. His family shouldn’t be the only support he has.”

At this, my mom seems to have found her voice again. “What the hell are you even talking about, Ramesh?” She snaps her gaze back in my direction. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? You’re nineteen! You have no idea how to take care of a baby. If he needs help, then I am happy to take care of my grandson. I am happy to take Arman off his hands, but you will not be going there to help.”

I scoot my chair back from the table, having lost my appetite. Mom should be happy about that, if nothing else. I get up and stare down at her. “You know better than I do that Darian would die before he gave you his son. Not after the way you’ve stonewalled him, not after the way you couldn’t offer him even a single hug when his wife died.”

“His wife?” My mom’s jaw sets as if it’s made with stone. “I lost my daughter that day.”

“No, Mom.” I smile, mirthlessly. “You lost your daughter years before, and you continued to lose her every day since. You continued to lose her by doing nothing to patch things up between the two of you.”

“Rani, don’t you dare speak to me as if everything was black and white. Don’t you dare imply that I chose the wrong side . . . it was never that simple. She hurt me to my core when she chose to marry someone who wasn’t worth the dust on her feet. He didn’t even have a real job; he was just a loser who taught people to ski. He lured her into his trap, and now he’s doing the same to you by giving you a goddamn story about his mother being unwell.” My mother slaps a hand to her forehead dramatically. “God, why is this man after both my daughters? Why can’t he let us live in peace? Wasn’t taking one–killing one–enough?”

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