When her father and grandmother looked at each other, then at her, Kareena knew.
They’d forgotten.
She hadn’t woken up particularly happy about her birthday, but damn it, she was really looking forward to those paranthas. And maybe even a moment that was about her. A moment that didn’t revolve around her sister or her sister’s wedding, or her sister’s YouTube channel.
Kareena should’ve been angry, but after so many disappointments recently, this was expected.
“Happy thirtieth to me,” she mumbled.
Her father and grandmother must’ve heard her because their eyes went wide.
“J-just kidding!” Dadi said, and bolted from the table. She hobbled forward, arms out for a hug. “Happy birthday, my bachcha! How could I forget my May grandbaby?” She squeezed Kareena around the waist.
Kareena patted her grandmother on the back. “It’s fine, Dadi.”
She met her father’s eyes as he rose from his seat. He was dressed for work in khakis with a phone clip on his belt. “You don’t want to celebrate today anyway,” he said as he rounded the table to give her a hug. “Thirty is your first infertility milestone.”
“And to think, I wanted to spend my morning with you both. Well, if there are no paranthas, I’m going to catch an earlier train into the city.”
“No, no sit!” Dadi said motioning to the table. “Your sister wanted gobi paranthas today during lunch while we reviewed her wedding invitations. I’ll just make them now for you.”
Kareena didn’t miss the double standard that existed for her sister when it came to food. “You know I hate cauliflower paranthas. Leave it, Dadi. It’s fine.” Damn it, what did she have to do to get that kind of treatment from people she loved?
Oh, that’s right. She had to get married.
Her grandmother was already taking out the Corelle cups and plates with the cornflower blue floral design on the edges from the cabinets Kareena refaced the month before. Then came the ceramic yogurt container with homemade dahi, the mango pickle, a Tupperware container of dough, and a matching container with dry durum wheat flour.
“It’s already prepared,” Dadi said. “Just sit, it’ll take me two minutes to make.”
“Dadi, it’s fine.” Kareena really hated cauliflower paranthas. It was like putting garam masala on farts.
“You shouldn’t be shouting at Dadi,” her sister said. Bindu strode in from the mudroom with her cascade of perfect curls. They flowed around her like the loose fabric of her maxi dress. Her hooped nose ring sparkled, and her bangles clicked as she dropped a gift bag to the floor.
“Happy thirtieth birthday, big sister!”
Holy crap, her younger sister actually remembered her birthday. Kareena had to admit it was a nice surprise that she showed up at all, since Bindu spent more time with her fiancé now than anyone else.
Kareena opened her arms for a hug. Like a musical fairy, Bindu gracefully returned the gesture. That’s when Kareena smelled something . . . earthy.
“Seriously, wake and bake, Bindu?” she whispered against her sister’s ear.
Bindu’s eyes sparkled. “Better morning sex,” she whispered back. “But don’t worry, I Ubered here.” She held out the birthday bag. “Happy birthday,” she said loud enough for Dadi and Dad to hear. “Now why are you fighting this time?”
Kareena motioned to her father and grandmother. “They forgot my birthday.”
Bindu gasped. “Seriously?”
“Have some breakfast,” Dadi said, motioning with a rolling pin. “You too, Bindu.”
“I’ll sit. Hey, is that gobi paranthas? I thought you were going to make that for me later.”
“It’s for birthday paranthas!” Dadi said. Her voice had a false pep in it that no one was buying.
“Well, I guess that’s okay then,” Bindu said, pouting. “I’m teaching a calc class at a sister campus later today, so I should eat something heavy now to last me. Oh! I actually came here to talk to you, Daddy.”
And there it was, Kareena thought. The real reason why her sister got out of bed and spent her precious time coming over to the house so early. Because she wanted something from her father. Since he was always in a better mood in the mornings, Bindu could get her family obligations out of the way and also talk to Dad at the same time.
“What is it, princess?” he said in Hindi.
Bindu flipped her long hair over one shoulder and pressed her palms together, already pleading her case. “I was thinking about having an engagement party in early September. The wedding isn’t until next year, and we should really celebrate with friends and family. We can make it a big, festive event that will coincide with Loken’s family’s trip from Italy. Catering, DJ, open bar, all of it.”
“Engagement party?” Dadi called out. She swung her spatula around like a conductor. “Yes! What a wonderful way to celebrate Loken’s family visit.”
“That should be fine,” Kareena’s father replied, leaning back in his chair. “But I’m not paying for it.”
“Daddy.”
“Beta, I told you that I have a set amount of money for both you and your sister. You get it as a down payment on a house, or you get it for the wedding. You’ve used every last cent of your share for this extravagant Italian desi wedding. And with two caterers! Because god forbid their vegetarian food is cooked with the same utensils that are used for the nonveg meals.”
“Dad,” Kareena chided. “Be respectful.”
He waved a hand in her direction. “I have nothing against veg food, but I don’t need anyone else making me feel bad about my goat meat.”
“Excuse me, but this is about me,” Bindu said, pouting. “It’s embarrassing Loken has to chip in, but I guess we’ll have to do it.”
“How is it embarrassing?” Kareena asked. She took Dadi’s chai cup and took a sip. “Your fiancé is from the richest Gujarati family in Italy. I’m sure that he can afford to cover something.”
“Not your business, big sister,” Bindu shot back. “Oh! Daddy, one more thing. If we do this engagement party in September, it’s not going to interfere with your retirement plan to move to Florida, right?”
Kareena spewed chai all over the table. “What?”
“Bindu, she doesn’t know yet.” Her father pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heartfelt annoyed sigh.
This had to be a joke. “You’re retiring? In Florida?”
Kareena waited for a response, but the kitchen was pin-drop silent.
“Are you . . . are you selling the house?”
“Kareena . . .”
“Oh my god.” The words were raw in Kareena’s throat, like bile had burned her and she was struggling to speak.
Her family looked at one another, down at their plates, at the floor, anywhere but directly at her. Dadi turned her back and fixated on the stove.
“Please tell me you aren’t going to sell Mom’s house,” Kareena exploded. It was a living, breathing entity that held all her favorite memories. And somewhere, between fixing pipes, changing wallpaper, adding her shed in the backyard, and replacing window treatments, the house had become hers, too.