The other pictures were of Maya as a little girl in braids, filled with adoration as she looked at her father, while he tossed a ball to her. In another faded photo, little Maya laughed as her father swung her through the air. And the one that Maya tried to forget the most was that of herself at eight years old, proudly standing next to her father after winning a ribbon at a cake-baking competition. Even back then, her father had believed she could be a world-famous pastry chef, and because he had believed it, so did she. The worst part of this memory was the love and pride with which her father gazed upon her. All that love. All that pride and affection. He’d left the following week, and Maya never saw or heard from her father again.
She used to stare at this picture and will him to come back to them. She had been sure that he would return. Her mother spoke so lovingly of him; Maya couldn’t understand how two people who loved each other so much could stand to be apart. Maybe he didn’t love her, but surely he loved her mother.
As the years passed, however, Maya had watched her mother’s love and hope turn bitter. Over time, her mother seemed to realize that her “true love” was not going to return, and she lost faith in love and in men altogether. She had made it her mission in life that Maya never suffer her fate.
“You know, in India,” her mother said tersely, “it is widely believed that people with light-colored eyes are not to be trusted.”
Maya tightened her lips and shook her head. “My eyes are light.” She no longer wished for her father’s return. In fact, Maya had done her best to keep her own daughter from the disappointment of parental abandonment. At least, until Sam had met Samantha today.
Truthfully, until recently, the only emotion she afforded this picture was indifference. Now it made her angry. Her mother brought these pictures out every time Raju-kaka proposed, to reinforce her reasons for turning him down.
“I don’t mean you, beta. You are very trustworthy.”
“Am I?” Maya sighed deeply. “Raju-kaka’s eyes are the deepest darkest brown there is.” She tossed the picture on the table. “What was it this time?”
Her mother stared into space. “Oh, you know. The usual. ‘I love you. I’ll wait.’” Her hand trembled as she picked up the picture that Maya discarded.
“You know he will.” Maya opened the fridge to start dinner.
“No. He’ll leave.” Her mother sighed sadly. “They all do.”
Maya took out vegetables and chicken, and started chopping onions. Her mother gathered up the pictures and returned them back to the metal box they’d always been in.
It had been close to thirty years since Raju-kaka had found his way into their lives. Maya wanted to tell her mother that if he hadn’t left yet, he never would. But they’d had that discussion and it always ended with her screaming, and her mother in tears.
Her mother picked up a knife and started to chop tomatoes. Sounds of chopping and sizzling joined the aroma of onions cooking with garlic, tomatoes, cinnamon and cloves. Mother and daughter worked in companionable silence, each preoccupied with her own thoughts.
“Samantha did a wonderful job on that cake, don’t you think?” Her mother sounded like her old self.
Distracted, Maya simply nodded.
“I hate to say it because of the circumstances, but itisnice having her around during the day,” her mother said. “She’s very talented.”
“She’s not going to run the shop, nor will she spend her life baking for it.” Maya’s voice was firm.
“I didn’t say she was.” The older woman put up her hands in surrender. “But if she doesn’t get back into that school, she has a backup.”
“She’s going back to that school.”
“Only if you send her. There are plenty of other schools.” She paused. “Did you find a lawyer?”
“I did. In fact, he told me today that things would be taken care of.”
Her mother turned to face her. “So I heard.”
Maya shifted her body away from her mother and toward the stove. She closed her eyes and chided herself for being so distracted that she’d fallen into this conversation. “Hmm.”
“Yes. Samantha told me she met the lawyer today. That he came to the roastery.”
Sweat started to bead on her upper lip. She stirred the pot and tasted the chicken. “Needs salt.”
“A Mr. Hutcherson.” Her mother’s inflection said it all.
Maya could feel her mother’s glare boring holes into the back of her head. She sprinkled salt straight from the canister and added a small handful of chopped cilantro before stirring the pot again.
“Can you pass the lemon juice, Mum?” Her hand shook as she took the bottle from her mother without turning to face her.
“Not a very common name.”
