“All right.” Samir stood, brushing off his hands. Behind him, the little fire crackled, growing bigger with every second. “Ready?”
They stood in line, waiting for their turn to grab their lanterns, in near silence, making occasional small talk. Pinky wanted to say more, to talk about the planner-size elephant in the room, but every time she glanced at Samir and saw his preoccupied gaze, the set of his jaw, she swallowed her words. It wasn’t worth it to fight. She needed to know when to let things go.
When it was their turn, they walked to the little shed that smelled like heat and wood and mildew and pulled out four lanterns. Feeling their papery texture, the slight heft of them resting in her palm, Pinky was hit with a wave of nostalgia so strong, she almost keeled over.
Blinking, she shook her head as she and Samir walked back down to their campsite. “It’s crazy how little moments weave together and become this, like, heavy tapestry of life, isn’t it?”
Samir gave her an amused look. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“I mean, really, it’s just mundane moments. Setting up the tent. Grabbing lanterns from a shed. Putting on sunscreen. But in the larger framework of life, it’s all so vital to who we are.” She glanced at Samir, at the way he was effortlessly carrying two large lanterns in one hand. “Hey. What do you want your legacy to be when you’re gone?”
“My legacy?” Samir said, raising an eyebrow. A breeze off the lake ruffled his hair. “I’m not sure I’m important enough to leave a legacy.”
“We all leave legacies,” Pinky said as a group of ten-year-olds ran past, screeching. “I mean, maybe Oprah’s legacy is one the world will remember, but less famous people leave legacies their immediate family members and friends, if they have any left alive, remember. Our legacies are just the way we’ve lived our lives, what we leave behind when we go.”
“Hmm.” They were at the tent now, and Samir set his two lanterns inside. Pinky followed him in and did the same. The tent was large enough that they could both stand up straight inside it. “My legacy would be… being the youngest graduate of Harvard Law. Or the youngest partner in a really good law firm.”
Pinky felt a beat of disappointment at his answer. He was so much more than those goals. She opened her mouth to say so, then closed it again. “Or maybe your legacy could be making the best gazpacho.”
He looked up at that and laughed. It lifted her spirits to see his eyes crinkle up in mirth. “Yeah, maybe. And maybe you’ll be remembered for being the best opossum wrangler this side of the Mississippi.”
Laughing, Pinky slipped her hand into his, feeling relieved when his fingers tightened around hers. “Yeah. Maybe.”
They headed back out of the tent, to sit by the fire. Pinky’s parents, sitting on little logs around the fire, were busting out the marshmallows, chocolate squares, and graham crackers.
“On second thought,” Pinky said, “I think my legacy will be the one who saved the Ellingsworth butterfly habitat.”
Her mom looked up from the plastic container of Hershey’s chocolate bars she held. “You’re still doing that?”
“Yep.” Pinky took a breath and a seat beside her mom. “You know, Mom, you could help us. I mean, you’re, like, the most badass lawyer in the world practically—”
“That could be a PR disaster for the firm.” Her mother’s brown eyes held hers. “I told you, Pinky. This is not our fight.”
“But there are local residents who want to fight this too. Don’t you want to help them? Don’t you want to stand for something again?” Pinky cleared her throat. “ ‘If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything’—Alexander Hamilton. Or maybe it was Peter Marshall. Reports disagree.”
“I believe it’s also a catchy country tune by that fellow in the cowboy hat!” Pinky’s dad put in helpfully.
Her mother looked less than impressed. There was a furrow between her brow Pinky didn’t much care for. “What do you mean ‘again’? I’ve never done anything so foolhardy.”
Pinky regarded her mom quietly for a half a second, feeling torn. She hadn’t wanted to say anything about her mom’s sordid past without careful planning. But she could feel the words pushing on the backs of her lips, eager to come out. She couldn’t take her mom’s lofty judgment anymore, not when she knew for a fact that it was completely uncalled for and hypocritical.
“That’s not completely true,” she found herself blurting out, even though her mom’s complete denial was making her doubt herself just a tad. Maybe that picture had been of her mom’s twin, whom her mom had then murdered and buried in the basement. In this moment, that was kind of easier to believe. “Meera Mausi told me about your undergrad days at Harvard.”
Her mom’s frown smoothed over. She blinked rapidly and looked away. She was thrown, Pinky realized, looking at her in wonder. She’d never once in her entire life seen her mom thrown. “Meera shouldn’t have told you that,” she said quietly. “That was a time in my life that I’m not proud of. Nothing good can come of talking about it.”
“But why not?” Pinky leaned forward. “Mom, you and I are alike—”
Her mother turned to her. “We are not alike! Don’t say that.”
“Veena,” Pinky’s dad said in a warning tone from across the fire, shaking his head. “Pinky, she didn’t mean it like that. Why don’t you explain what you mean?” he continued, turning to her mom again.
“There’s no point,” her mom said, looking away. “I said what I said for a reason.”
Pinky pulled back, hurt locking its jaws around her torso and clamping down. For a full two seconds, she couldn’t say anything. She could feel Samir’s warm gaze on her from across the fire, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Was that the worst thing her mother could possibly imagine—being compared to Pinky? Was she just that desperate to not be lumped into whatever loser category she thought Pinky was in that she’d deny her entire past? Pinky swallowed. Of course it was and of course she was. Pinky was a symbol of everything that was wrong in her life. She’d been a fool for thinking bringing Samir here as her fake boyfriend would change anything. Her mom would never respect her.
“Right,” Pinky said curtly, her eyes on the fire. She could feel tears just behind her stony facade and willed them away. “I’m not like you, so I guess I must be like my asshole, one-night-stand sperm-donor dad, huh?”
Her parents and Samir all stared at her in horrified silence. Pinky felt her heart shrinking even smaller, into a little hardened pit in her chest.
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Well, if it isn’t the Kumars!”
They all looked up to see Cash walking toward them, smiling an indolent, annoying little smile.
Pinky scowled at him. “What do you want?” He was the whole reason Dolly wasn’t here to draw the attention away from this train wreck of a conversation she’d just had with her mother.
“There’s no reason to be rude,” her mother said. Turning to Cash, she added politely, “Hello, Cash. Would you like a s’more?”