My sister smiles in return. “I’m sure you won’t need it, but I’m wishing you all the luck,” she says, clinking her mug against mine.
My flight doesn’t leave until early morning, so we stay up late talking, mending the rift between us piece by piece. I wish we’d done this years ago. Now I know that my sister would have understood what I was going through back then. She had felt those same fearsand worries; she still feels this burden of being a disappointment to our parents. But like she tells me, that disappointment isn’t the end of the world.
“My life doesn’t look the way they thought it should,” she says. “It doesn’t look like yours, but I think it worked the way it was supposed to. I’m not saying Mom and Dad were wrong for wanting our lives to be set and sure and easier than theirs, for prizing stability. I can’t blame them for that. But from that good desire came…well, this. All this stress and pressure you felt. I had no idea you were going through all of that.”
“Yeah, well, I tried to hide it.”
“And you succeeded.” Her eyes soften. “Are you…With your career and job, are you happy? Is this something you really wanted or did Mom and Dad make you feel like you had to? Because you don’t, Meena. You don’t have to do any of it if you don’t want to. You deserve to do something that brings you joy.”
I’m quiet for a moment. I’m not sure whether I’ve really thought about my career this way. About my dreams and aspirations. Do I really want any of this, or have I just been trying to live up to some unreachable expectation? Have I just been trying not to let my parents down? To not lose their love?
“I don’t know,” I say. “Part of this I chose. I chose law school. Not medical school like they originally wanted. Like they wanted for you. I picked D.C. I picked being involved in politics. I always wanted to help people, and I still want that. But this…this pressure, this drive, this intensity. I don’t know if that was me. I don’t know if I would have always been like that. And I’d be lying if I said my desire to run for office is just about wanting to help people.” I think back to what Elizabeth had said, about the reasons why people run for office. “I think…part of what I like about it is the prestige. The recognition that comes with it. The idea that Mom and Dad would be able to seeme. That they’d see I was doing something important. Something that mattered. Something that they could be proud of. If I take that part away…I think I’d still want it, but I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
I go to sleep that night still thinking about it, unsure how I feel. Walking away from Shake had been the right choice. I’m sure of that. But the idea of giving up on a political future entirely still stings. And I’m not sure if that’s because I actually want it as much as I’ve always thought, because I think it would make me happy, because it would allow me to really make a difference, or if it’s rooted in something else. Something deeply ingrained in me. Pride or fear or this pressure I’ve been operating under for so long.
In the morning, my sister wraps me in a big hug before I leave.
“Whenever you get back, whenever you get everything sorted, you just let me know, okay?” she says. “And whenever you’re ready to tell Mom and Dad, I’ll support you. And I know Ritu will too.” She pauses. “Maybe we can both take a week off sometime and go visit her during her trip? In France or Italy or wherever she happens to be at the moment? Might be nice to spend some time together, just us girls?”
“Yeah,” I say, warmth filling me at the thought. “I’d like that.” I give her a final hug before heading to the airport.
As wonderful as jetting off to Europe sounds, those plans will have to wait. Right now, I’m going home. To Houston. And somehow, I’m going to make all of this work.
18
When I walk out of Hobby Airport I’m greeted by thick, heavy humidity, but it doesn’t remind me of hell this time. Instead, I think of warm summer breezes, the scent of salt in the air, vast expanses of water stretching as far as the eye can see. I think of a building with a porch, a firepit in the front yard, and a dock reaching out into the bay. A home away from home for travelers. An escape from the city. A gathering place for the community.
And standing on that porch is a tall, dark-haired man, greeting people with a wide, heart-stopping smile as they enter his inn.
I tighten my grip around my suitcase handle, dragging it behind me with purpose, resolve coursing through my veins. Come hell or high water, I’m going to make this vision come true.
I climb into the Uber, making a stop at my hotel to drop off my bags before taking another car to the property. I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I have no other leads.
I’d searched property records and called in favors, but no onehad been able to find out anything about the new owner. There hadn’t even been any public documentation about the sale. Everything still listed Nikhil as the owner, though I’ve been told it’s not uncommon for there to be a delay while the new paperwork gets filed. That sometimes it takes a while to update all the records.
I’m not expecting to stumble upon the new owner at the site today, but I am hoping whichever developer bought the place will have started some kind of repair work by now. Sheetrock and flooring have to be stripped quickly after a flood. Otherwise, mold can set in, causing a whole host of issues. Someone should be working there today, taking care of all of that, and I hope they’ll be able to give me some insight about the owner.
I haven’t told Nikhil that I’m in town. I haven’t told anyone really, except for my sister. And I’m not sure I should tell him just now. I don’t want to get his hopes up about the property or confuse him. Really, I’m not sure what kind of reception I’m going to get from Nikhil. Maybe I’m just delaying the inevitable. Maybe there’s nothing left for us. But I’m going to get him his inn back, even if it doesn’t mean I’ll gethimback. I have to make sure he doesn’t give up on this. I have to make sure he knows that I see his dream. His vision. That I seehim.
The car turns onto the rough gravel road, and disappointment creeps through me when we come to a stop at the front of the house.
There doesn’t seem to be anyone here. No construction crew ripping out the rotting wood. No one on the roof patching up the holes. I’d hoped to see some activity. Some movement on repairing the place. If the new owner is just letting it sit, there may not be anything left to salvage.
I’m about to ask my driver to just take me back to the hotel when a loudclangsounds through the air.
I swing the car door open, my eyes scanning the house from top to bottom, trying to find the source of the sound.
“Hello?” I call. “Is anyone here?”
No one answers. I strain my ears, hoping to hear that noise again, but all I hear is the crunch of tires over pebbles as my Uber drives away.
I stare at the house, unsure whether I should venture inside. The porch is likely not safe to walk on, and whoever owns the place probably wouldn’t leave the door unlocked, so I make a wide circle around the building instead. When I’ve almost reached the back of the house, I hear that loudclangagain.
I move faster.
“Hello?” I cry.
Anotherclang.
