“Oh, Mumma…” A soft sob escaped Priya. “You know what would make this moment absolutely perfect?”
“What, beta?”
“Chai and thepla.” Priya tilted her head toward Mumma’s tote.
Mumma’s eyes lit up. “Really? You think it’s okay now?” She glanced around as if they were sneaking food into a theater. The event had nearly wrapped up—booths coming down, banners rolled up, people heading out.
“Come.” Priya reached for her mother’s hand.
They found a quiet bench nestled behind tall plants, away from the fading chatter of the day. Mumma pulled out the thermos and poured the chai into steel glasses. Priya held it by the rim and breathed in the rich swirl of ginger, cardamom, cinnamon, and cloves. Passing the container of theplas between them, they tore off pieces with their fingers. The combination of spiced tea and soft theplas felt like a quiet kind of healing.
Mumma wiped her hands and turned to Priya. “Give me the key.”
“What key?” Priya asked.
“The coach house key,” Mumma said, holding out her hand.
Priya’s heart sank. Asking for the keys back could only mean one thing. Mumma expected her to move back into the apartment. Had all of this—her independence, her space—been temporary?
She placed the key in Mumma’s hand, swallowing back the knot of disappointment. All of her progress had just been dialed back.
Mumma took the key, but instead of putting it away, she dug into her purse. A second later, she pulled out a charm, attached it to the key, and placed it back in Priya’s palm.
“Today is a new beginning,” she said. “May it be free of obstacles ahead.”
Priya’s breath caught as she looked at her palm. A tiny Lord Ganesh key chain dangled from the key, just like the one Mumma had given Ethan. It wasn’t just a charm. It was a blessing, a silent acknowledgment that Mumma had finally accepted her choice to live in the coach house. Priya had won something greater than her parents’ permission. She had earned their trust.
As her thumb glided over the charm, it felt like a thread tying her to Ethan. She wondered if he ever thought about her. Did her name ever drift through his mind in the quiet moments before sleep? Or had he banished her to the corners of his mind, still refusing to look at her? Was she now an untouchable relic, distanced and set apart from the rest of his memories?
Thirty-Four
September arrived withcooler mornings, shorter days, and the first signs of fall. Even though the awards ceremony was just a few days behind her, life started to shift in small, noticeable ways for Priya. She steered her new car into Moksha’s driveway and eased into the parking lot. As the engine hushed to a whisper, even Puppa, the Chancellor of Cheapskates, couldn’t suppress an appreciative nod.
“This car…it glides more than it drives,” he said, stroking the dashboard with a touch of awe.
“It’s beautiful. Like a wow.” Mumma inhaled the rich, heady new-car fragrance before climbing out.
Puppa circled the car, oohing and aahing over its contours. Chrome accents sparkled in the sunlight, and softly tinted windows added just the right touch of mystery.
“We must perform a blessing ceremony,” Mumma declared.
“Not right now,” Puppa said. “It’s time for…” His words trailed off as Mumma shot him a warning look.
Pretending not to notice, Priya brushed off an invisible speck from the car. In just a few hours, Ethan’s new movie was premiering at TIFF, the Toronto International Film Festival. Pupparemained a die-hard fan of Ethan, even more so now that he knew Ethan had protected his family from a scandal. Her parents were itching to watch the red-carpet moments, but they were playing it cool for Priya’s sake.
“I think I’ll pass on dinner tonight,” Priya said. “I have a ton of work to catch up on.”
“Su?” Mumma’s hands landed on her hips. “Working, working. Always working. You will eat first, then go.” Hooking her arm through Priya’s, she pulled her back toward the apartment.
As soon as they got upstairs, Puppa sprang into action, reaching for the remote. Caught up in the excitement of the day, he had left the TV running—a rare lapse of his frugal ways. But before he could press the button, the room filled with TIFF footage.
“It’s okay, Puppa,” Priya said. “You and Mumma watch. I’ll set the table.”
“Please.” Mumma scoffed. “It’s the same every year.”
“Waste of time.” Puppa turned off the TV.
They were pretending not to care, but Priya knew that the second she was gone, they’d be parked in front of the screen, volume up, waiting for a glimpse of Ethan.
