Her mom sighed. “Pinky, I don’t have time for this. I have to dial in to a conference call in less than thirty minutes and I have a lot of research to do before that.” And with that, she clip-clopped away into the kitchen.
Pinky watched her go. Research. Her mom was always doing research. “Great.”
Her dad rubbed his face. “You know how she feels about protests and upsetting the balance of things, honey. She’s just worried about you, that’s all.”
“Worried for what?” Pinky asked, throwing her hands up in the air. “That I actually care about stuff? That I have principles?”
Her dad leaned over the coffee table and kissed her on the forehead, just as Meera Mausi and Abe came in, also carting bags of fruit and flowers. “Sorry. I’ll try to talk to her, okay?”
“Fine,” Pinky mumbled. She turned to Samir, who’d been sitting on the couch, watching. He mouthed “Sorry,” but that didn’t really help.
“My goodness, it’s hot out there.” Meera Mausi’s face was red, her hair stuck to her forehead. “I’m going to make some strawberry lemonade. Would you two like some?”
Pinky’s mental wheels began to turn. “Um, actually,” she said. “I’ll help you make it.” She took Abe’s bag from him. “Why don’t you and my dad watch the game in the den, Abe? We can bring you some juice.”
He looked surprised and pleased. “Well, that’ll be a treat! Thanks, Pinky.”
Pinky made sure to smile extra sweetly. “Sure.”
Samir gave her an I know what you’re up to look, but then he flashed her a thumbs-up and walked with Abe to the den.
* * *
“Do you want to rinse these strawberries for me, Pinky?” Meera Mausi handed her a bag of the fruit. She inhaled deeply. “Mm, they smell good, don’t they?”
Pinky smelled them too. “Yeah.” Her mom had already left the kitchen and sequestered herself in her bedroom for her conference call. Pinky stuck the strawberries in a colander and turned on the faucet. “Um, so, Meera Mausi… Samir and I were in the attic today, looking for pictures of the butterfly habitat.”
“Oh yeah?” Meera Mausi smiled as she picked out a few lemons. “Find anything good?”
“Yeah, a lot, actually. And, um… I also found a picture I wasn’t expecting to find. A picture of Mom.” Pinky reached into her pocket and pulled out the old photograph, setting it on the counter between them. She rinsed the strawberries and let Meera Mausi digest the picture for a moment. Shutting off the faucet, Pinky said, “That is Mom, right?”
Meera Mausi set the lemons on the cutting board and turned to Pinky, her hip resting against the counter. “Yes. That’s your mom.”
Pinky couldn’t quite make out the expression on her aunt’s face. Loud sounds of cheering came from the den, but she didn’t even glance that way. “But she’s got multicolored hair. And she’s wearing a miniskirt. And she’s at a protest. A protest.”
Meera Mausi smiled a little sadly. “Believe it or not, Pinky, that wasn’t uncommon for your mom back then.”
“But I don’t get it.” Pinky picked up a strawberry and tossed it into the air, catching it again. It made her feel less thrown to have something to do with her hands. “I thought she was this super-serious Harvard Law student. That’s what she always says.”
“Well, she was,” Meera Mausi allowed. “But this was undergrad. And your mom was a very different person during her undergrad years. In fact…” She smiled. “She was a lot like you. They even had a name for her back then—Hurricane Veena.”
Pinky dropped her strawberry on the floor with a splat. “Crap. Sorry.” She grabbed a paper towel and bent to pick it up. “Are you serious? Hurricane Veena?” It didn’t escape her that hurricanes were tempestuous and wild and hard to predict. Whereas her mom’s current name—the Shark—spoke of a cold, calculating predator.
Meera Mausi chuckled and began to peel a lemon. “I know. It’s hard to believe, right?”
“So, then, what changed?” Pinky asked. What could turn a person from a hurricane to a shark?
Meera Mausi looked at Pinky. “You know, your mom hasn’t shared this with you, so I’m not sure I should. It’s her story to tell.”
Pinky put down the strawberry and walked closer. “Please, Meera Mausi. You know how my mom and I are. If you tell me, it might help me understand her better.”
“Hello!” Dolly sauntered into the kitchen. “What are you guys up to?”
“Hey, sweetie,” her mom said, kissing the side of her head. “Just making some strawberry lemonade. Want some?”
“Ooh, yes, please. I’ve been craving your SL; it’s like you read my mind or something.”
Pinky watched them, their easy camaraderie even after Dolly had gotten into trouble, how easily her mom had forgiven her and vice versa. Something in her heart squeezed. It felt like her mom had been holding a seventeen-year grudge against Pinky for reasons she didn’t even understand. Meera Mausi caught her eye and her face softened, as if she knew exactly what Pinky was thinking.
“Dolly, would you mind keeping your dad company?” Meera Mausi asked. “He’s in the den with Howard and Samir.”
Dolly looked between her mom and Pinky. Her expression changed when she caught sight of the picture on the counter between them. “Um, yeah. Sure. No problem.” Smiling tentatively at them both, she turned and left.
Meera Mausi looked at Pinky. “Okay. I’ll tell you because it’s obvious you’re desperate to know. I still think you should ask her, though.”
“She won’t tell me. I just know she won’t.” She never told Pinky anything of substance about herself. Why would this be any different?
Meera Mausi sighed and began peeling her second lemon. Then, setting down the peeler, she turned to Pinky. “In that picture, your mom was a senior at Harvard. Her major was mass media and communications.”
Pinky nodded.
“She wanted to become a radio personality,” Meera Mausi said, smiling. “I remember that. She was really into it for all four years there. She even had a show on the Harvard radio station.”
“Mom wanted to be a DJ?” Pinky couldn’t believe it. Had her mom been taken over by aliens or shape-shifters or something?
Meera Mausi laughed. “Yeah. But shortly after that picture was taken,” she continued, more seriously, “she found out she was pregnant. With you.”
Pinky felt her stomach contract. “I thought she said she had me after law school. That she graduated early or something.” In fact, the story had always been vague but boring enough to keep Pinky from asking more. By design, she realized now. Her mom had said that she’d dated a guy through law school, gotten pregnant with Pinky right after she graduated, and the boyfriend had gotten spooked by the idea of commitment and bolted. Her mom had insinuated that it hadn’t been any big loss, and Pinky had accepted that. Howard Yeung was her dad; she hadn’t ever needed or wanted another.
Meera Mausi shook her head. “It was right after she graduated college. She was eight months pregnant when she walked that stage.”