Zara put the lid on her ice cream and returned it to the freezer. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to love someone. I don’t know how to be loved in a romantic way. And why me? Why would he fall for me? I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”
“Maybe he likes disasters,” Parvati said. “Maybe he’s wound up so tight he looks at you and sees a path to happiness. Maybe he sees what we all see. That you are utterly and completely worthy of love.”
Emotion welled up in Zara’s throat. She was saved from an embarrassing flood of tears when the ME on TV started his chainsaw and sliced into the body on the table. “I need to visit my dad. I want to ask him about the divorce. We never really talked about it, and I think before I make any decisions, I need to understand what really happened.”
“Does that mean I can eat your ice cream?” Parvati held up her empty container.
Zara twisted her lips to the side, considering. “I’m not sure. I don’t know how to walk this path. I think you’d better leave it for me. Just in case.”
* * *
• • •
Nestled in the middle of the Dogpatch, Zara’s father’s live/work space was the quintessential artist’s loft. Built over three levels, it boasted high ceilings and an open floor plan, large warehouse windows and skylights, white walls awash with prints, and a polished concrete floor coated in paint splatters.
She greeted her relatives as she made her way to the kitchen, where aunties and uncles were gathered around a long table piled high with food.
“Beta! We were wondering when you would get here.” Taara Auntie gave her a quick hug. “I made something special for the party. It’s in the plastic container. Do you want me to put some on a plate? It’s chimichanga samosa trout surprise.”
Zara bit back a grimace. “Maybe later, Auntie-ji. I need to talk to my dad.”
“He’s in the studio warming up. Wait one moment before you go.” She waved over Mehar and Lakshmi Aunties, who had positioned themselves at the far end of the table, away from Taara’s containers.
“We were wondering how the security camera case is going,” Taara said. “Have you filed any papers with the court?”
“It’s not going very well,” Zara admitted. “The partners don’t think we have enough plaintiffs to make it worth the risk for the firm. I’m afraid we won’t be able to run with it.”
Taara Auntie frowned. “Not enough Patels? I told everybody about the cameras.”
“When she says ‘everybody,’ ” Mehar said, “she means everybody. Not just locally but across the country. Your auntie has a big mouth.”
“Not as big as yours.” Taara Auntie turned on her with a scowl. “You told everybody about that incident with Lakshmi’s eyebrows.”
“It was you?” Lakshmi’s voice rose. “No wonder my kiwi tasted sour this morning and I couldn’t find my other sock.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have shaved them off in the first place,” Mehar retorted. “I don’t know who told you that you always looked surprised, but you didn’t look any different without them.”
Taara shut them down with a warning shake of her head. “We need to think less about eyebrows and more about Zara and her case. What can we do to help?”
Zara shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t even know if I’ll be at the firm much longer. Things aren’t looking good financially, and unless I bring in some clients, they might not be able to keep me.”
“How many clients do you need?” Mehar pulled out her phone. “Ten? One hundred? Five hundred? One thousand? You tell your aunties and we’ll get them for you.”
“These are people we’re talking about, not a few dollars to buy myself a treat.”
“They are Patels.” Taara Auntie’s voice was firm. “And they have security cameras because I spread the word on my social media channels. We’ll find them all and bring them to you so no other families have to be afraid in their houses and our Zara can have her job.”
“It’s a nice thought but . . .”
Lakshmi patted her hand. “It will all be good. Trust your aunties. Also, wear flat shoes. You’ll never get where you want to go if you have to run in heels.”
After leaving her aunties, she climbed the stairs and found her father in his studio, practicing his beats. He wore a long plain white kurta that went down to his knees and loose pants that gave him room to move when he was playing his dhol.
“I’m giving a show for the family to celebrate Darpan’s good grade,” he said. “I need some practice before I perform at Avi’s wedding next week. I hear I’ll be sitting alone at dinner.”
“Who told you that?” Like she had to ask. The Patel gossip mill never stopped.
He grinned as he pounded softly on the drum. “You know how the family is. Everyone saw you with that nice boy at Rishi’s wedding, the one who was at the gallery until you ran into the door. And then I heard you asked Mehar to look in on his mom at the hospital after she was in an accident. Once your aunties were involved . . .” He pounded out a drumroll. “It was all over for keeping it secret after that.”
Zara bristled. “There is nothing to keep secret. We’re not together.”
“Why would you ask Mehar to visit his mom in the hospital?”
Zara shrugged. “I didn’t want her to be alone. And I only mentioned it to Mehar Auntie. She was visiting a friend in the hospital and I saw her in the hallway. I told her about Padma and how she didn’t have family and the next day Padma’s room was full.”
“Exactly.” He punctuated the word with a loud bang on his drum.
“We were friends, Dad. We had a . . . thing.”
“A thing?” He raised a brow. “Sounds serious.”
“It wasn’t. I mean it was, but it wasn’t. The idea of getting that close to someone gives me hives. I don’t want to spend my whole life just waiting for the day it’s going to end.”
“I married your mother believing it was forever,” he said. “I loved her. I still do.”
This was her chance. She’d never had the courage to ask him about the divorce, assuming it was a memory too painful to discuss. “What happened?”
With a sigh, he put down his sticks. “Your mom and I had much in common when we got together,” he said. “We were both professionals, both first-generation immigrants, both focused on our goals and being the best we could be. My art was just a hobby then and something I planned to pursue when I retired.” He removed his shoulder strap and put his drum on its stand. “Then I was in the car crash and my entire world changed. I lay in my hospital bed thinking that if I had died, I would have had only one regret—that I didn’t pursue my dream. So after I recovered, I quit my job, built the studio, and started to paint.” He paused to take a sip of water. “Your mother thought it was just a phase, but I had changed after the accident and she had stayed the same. She resented me for it. She said I’d emotionally abandoned her. She couldn’t see what I’d seen—that life is short and you have to live your truth, embrace your joy, and pursue your dreams.” He gave a wistful smile. “I wish I could have brought her on this journey with me.”