Riya responded with a thumbs-up emoji, but the three dots popped up, indicating Roshni was typing.
You’re going to have to move in, you know that?
Riya sighed. She did know that. Her stomach churned. The last thing she wanted was to be back in the house. Too many memories. She responded with another thumbs-up and returned to her mother.
“Listen, I’m coming home for a bit.” She forced a laugh. “So you don’t have to eat Papa’s cooking. He tried, but it wasn’t pretty.”
“You’re coming home?” Her mother’s head snapped up. Riya caught the initial look of panic in her mother’s eyes, though it was gone in a flash. It matched the panic in her own stomach.
“Well, yeah. I can work my shifts around Papa’s schedule. You have rehab for a few weeks, and the house is much closer to the rehab facility than my apartment,” Riya pointed out. “So I’ll also be there when you come home,” she finished softly.
Her mother nodded, a small grin on her face. The two of them were in complete agreement about how they felt about Riya coming home. But neither wanted to admit it.
“Hey! Why so sad here?” an upbeat voice called from the doorway.
Both Riya and her mother turned to face the newcomer, the tension immediately easing in the air around them. Riya caught her mother’s eye and found her relief reflected there. Riya stood and greeted her mother’s older sister with a huge—and grateful—hug.
“Varsha Masi!” Riya inhaled the scent of her masi, a mix of drugstore perfume and whatever she had cooked. Today, Masi carried the comforting aroma of chai spices. She must have ground the chai masala fresh today. “So good to see you.”
“You, too, beti.” Her aunt grinned. “You, too.” She squeezed Riya again and met her eyes with a meaningful gaze.
She knew.
Riya clamped her mouth shut. Her masi bustled past her in a cloud of flowers and spice. “Radha, seriously, you must take better care of yourself.” Varsha Masi spoke with an accent, as did Riya’s mom. And when they got going, they mixed English with Gujarati.
Riya stepped back, biting the inside of her cheek, to suppress the smile that was fighting to poke through. Her mom was about to get it.
“You need to eat better—forget all this samosa, pakora, poori business. No more fried food.” Varsha Masi spoke with the authority that older siblings seemed to take as their God-given right.
Riya’s mother opened her mouth to say something, but her sister kept on, oblivious of anything. It would not matter to her masi that her mother rarely made any of the delicious fried foods. “And you need to exercise. I know you can’t just yet. But we will have to step it up.”
Varsha Masi whirled around the room as she spoke, her shoulder-length hair swaying behind her, until she stopped and fastened it into a small bun with an elastic band from her wrist. She continued taking out plastic containers of varying sizes and setting them up. By the time she was done with her little speech, an entire spread of fruit, yogurt and nuts, complete with steaming hot chai, had appeared. To Riya’s disappointment, all the fabulous deep-fried snacks that usually accompanied chai were missing. Maybe her mother couldn’t have those snacks, but she could.
It was no wonder Roshni was such a nonstop, energetic force. She got it from her mom. Varsha Masi poured them each a foam cup of chai and held up hers as in a toast. Riya and her mom followed suit.
“To my sister. Thank God you are okay.” They tapped cups and sipped chai. Riya was a definite coffee drinker, but when she had chai, she always felt wrapped up in warmth and love. Maybe because she usually had chai with Varsha Masi. Her aunt had added fresh mint to today’s brew, and the freshness hit the spice just so, causing a smile to spread across Riya’s face.
“Excellent chai, Ben,” her mother complimented her sister.
“Hmph.” Varsha Masi pouted and threw her younger sibling a skeptical look, as if she were in the hospital on purpose. She shook her head and closed her eyes and bent down and kissed her mother’s forehead. “Get better, Ben.”
It took exactly three sips of chai before Varsha Masi turned her attention to Riya. “So...you are doing a man’s job?”
Riya rolled her eyes. “It’s a job, Masi. And anyone can do it. Man or woman.”
She arched a perfectly threaded eyebrow. “Then let someone else do it. You’ll give your poor mother another heart attack.”
“Masi! What about all those stories you used to tell me about how women can do what men can, that you should go for your dreams?” Riya asked indignantly.
“Sure. Be a doctor, lawyer, whatever.” She tilted her head and held up her free hand. “Don’t do dangerous things.”
“Masi, I’m happy. I make a difference in people’s lives,” Riya continued, knowing her mother was listening. “Sure, it’s dangerous, but it’s what I’m drawn to.”
Riya felt her mother’s eyes on her.
Her masi tilted her head at her. “Why don’t you make a difference in someone’s life by marrying them?”
“Oh my God, Varsha Masi.” Riya dropped her head into her hands.
