Page 8 of Adrift

Honestly, I thought I was hallucinating.

I look back at the wall of pictures and note several with the same three men in them, Darian and two others. I vaguely recall their bright blue eyes and honey-blond hair–much the same as Darian’s dad’s–from Sonia’s funeral. From my brief conversations with Karine, I know they’re Darian’s twin half-brothers from his dad’s previous marriage. And where Darian takes after his mom–with his dark hair and Armenian features–his brothers are a spitting image of their dad.

I don’t remember much of anything else from that day–not unless I include the feeling of being disconnected, like one feels watching a television show, invested but not experiencing. It all felt like it was happening to someone else. And even as I watched my mother break down inconsolably while my father held her to his chest, I felt like I was watching someone else’s life.

And it wasn’t because I didn’t feel close to Sonia–I think you feel the loss of a sibling regardless of how estranged they are–it was because I didn’t know how to process it all. I recall just staring at my newborn nephew in Karine’s arms, thinking the whole thing was a dream.

Or a nightmare.

I scroll through my phone to distract myself from my thoughts–thank goodness the slight sprain is in my left wrist and not my dominant one–before remembering I needed to message Karine. I lift the phone between both my hands, testing to see if typing out a message using both my thumbs feels comfortable. The pain is bearable.

Me: Hey, Karine. I’m sorry to cancel, but I won’t be able to swing by to see you and Arman today. The friend I drove here with has to get back tonight.

I switch apps and start scrolling through my social media when her response comes in a few minutes later.

Karine: NWD. I understand. Next time.

NWD? I bite my lip, smiling at her response. Ever since I’ve been messaging with her, Karine makes me laugh with her unique definitions of acronyms and her overuse of emojis. It’s as if she’s created her own texting language and thinks everyone should be fluent.

Me: NWD?

Three dots appear on the screen before her response comes through. I can practically hear her sighing with exhaustion.

Karine: No worries, dear.

I laugh, shaking my head and slowly typing out another response.

Me: Ah, got it. Btw, we took a kayaking lesson at Darian’s school today. I didn’t know this was the one he and Sonia owned. Unfortunately, my kayak rolled over and Darian had to help me out. Now I’m sitting in his office with a bruised wrist.

Karine: Oh no. LOL. . I hope it heals quickly. I’m glad Darian was there to help.

I stare at her message, knowing she definitely has a different definition of LOL than I do. Even as I’m typing out my next message, a laugh bubbles out of me, knowing she’ll be rolling her eyes this time.

Me: LOL?

The bubbles appear for a little longer, giving me an indication she’s typing a lengthier response.

Karine: Lots of love. Really, jan, you should know these shorthands. All the kids your age are fluent in them.

As much as a part of me wants to correct her and tell her that she’s been using the wrong definition of LOL, I can’t seem to find the heart to do so. It’s so endearing, and she is such a sweet soul that I just leave it be.

Me: You’re right. I should work on that. How are you and how is my little man? Is he feeling better from that cold last week?

For the past year, Karine has been bringing Arman–the cutest baby on the planet and the love of my life–to see me and my parents in the East Bay. She actually has a good friend who lives near us, so we always coordinate a day that works for us and meet at her friend’s house. I get the feeling that Karine doesn’t feel completely comfortable with my mom.

Though, I can’t say I blame her.

Over the years, Mom has done nothing but denounce Darian. And though she doesn’t say it outright to Karine, it’s obvious with the way she belittles his job, or the fact that he’s not of Indian descent, or the snide remarks she makes about my sister’s marriage with him.

Karine is a true saint for not snapping back at her, however veiled my mom thinks her comments are under her saccharine smiles.

The notification of Karine’s response comes through, along with a new picture of my nephew. He’s holding a teether in his mouth with his hand and smiling at the camera, showing off his one tiny top tooth. His nose is crinkled adorably, reminding me of the way my sister’s used to whenever she smiled.

Karine: Arman is as good as new from last week. No more coughing. He’s such a good baby, so easy. And I’m doing okay, too. Darian is being overly concerned about my health, but he tends to do that.

I’m about to respond, wondering what she means about her health, when the door to Darian’s office opens. I put my phone on my lap, watching him traipse in with Bella and Melody in tow. My cheeks immediately heat at the recollection of me telling him my name meant ‘queen’ in Hindi.

Seriously, why?

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