I’m not sure whether I’m thankful or worse off, but Julian leaves my mind as soon as the plane is on the ground in India. Right now, the only thing that’s important is my sister. I’ll have to nurse my broken heart later.
I don’t recall talking to my father or even texting him my flight details, but he’s waiting for me at baggage claim. I can tell by the look on his face that there’s good news. I skip the carousel to join him first.
“You didn’t even tell me which sister!” I complain when I’m close enough.
He wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in for a hug. “I’m sorry. It was a very stressful moment. Ishika. She is doing okay. Her eyes opened while I was parking the car.”
Relief floods me.
Julian White
Are you home? Was everything okay with your flight? How is your sister?
I thought ‘home’was the condo in Chicago. Together. I close my eyes and try not to be hurt by this. None of those questions are meant to be hurtful. They’re supposed to be the opposite. I know this for certain.
Me
Yes. Sorry. I got wrapped up and forgot to text you. My flight was eventless. My sister is okay.
I think about typing more about my sister. That there was a long time—mostly when we were waiting for my plane—when no one thought she was going to make it. Her heart even stopped, not once, but twice.
Sometime while I was crossing the ocean, she miraculously took a turn for the better. Her eyes opened at practically the same moment the wheels of my plane touched down in Mumbai.
I want to tell him all that, but… was the question one of those ones that has an expected answer? Like when someone asks how you’re doing, you’re expected to tell them you’re fine. You’re okay. Anything else leads to an awkward moment.
Was that the kind of question he asked? Did he want the full answer or just to know that she’s going to live?
Why am I suddenly questioning the last three months?!
Because he returned me.
The thought is unbidden, and I’m not even sure it’s true. The only truth is that he’s not here. He stayed in the US.
I look up at where Ishika’s kids are playing with their cousins in the private waiting room of the hospital. I haven’t been allowed to see her yet. Only her husband and our parents have been. I’m sitting with my siblings, nieces, nephews, and in-laws as I wait for news.
The last update we received was that she’s not entirely out of the woods yet. She has a lot of internal injuries that could and likely will cause some complications in healing. But she’s awake. She’s conscious. She recognizes those around her, though she doesn’t remember the accident.
I’ve been assured that it’s completely normal not to remember an accident you were in. Especially when you hit your head. Interestingly, her head is the one place with few to no injuries outside of a laceration above her left eye.
So we’re told.
My phone pings again, and I look down.
Julian White
I’m glad she’s okay. How are you?
Trying not to panic over you sending me home! Okay, I won’t send that. These are the kinds of conversations one doesn’t have over text, right? Then again, I’m such a damn chicken shit that there’s a chance I might not say anything at all.
I’m going to end up stuck here in India because I let him put me on that plane without saying anything at all. Never mind that I didn’t have the presence of mind to register what was happening. My father made me think my sister was dead or dying while I was stuck on the other side of the world and might not get there on time to see her! Of course, I wasn’t thinking of anything else.
Nothing else mattered.
She has a long, uncertain road, but she’s alive. Which means my brain thinks there’s enough comfort in that, so now I can worry about what Julian meant by not coming with me. I type my response over and over again, unsure of what I’msupposedto say.
How am I right now? Well, I’m exhausted. I’m sick to my stomach. I’m heartbroken. Which of those answers seems the least confrontational?
Me
