“Listen. We really like her.”

“All of us, especially April,” Sam added.

Aamar twisted in his seat up front and said, “We could see how this started, but we can see how much you two are connected. Bro, the chemistry.” He whistled.

Sam laughed. “You two were putting me and April to shame.”

“Bhanu managed to make you less serious, more in the moment.”

“Even April had said it, but man, we saw you thriving and happy like never before. And we’ve known you for a long time.”

Shaking my head, I affirmed, “Doesn’t matter. She was just trying to help me out, a generous act. A lie is a lie.”

Aamar turned back into his seat. “I don’t think either one of you were acting by the weekend. I saw how you looked at each other before the wedding started.”

“We all saw,” Sam concluded. “Words can lie, my man, but your faces can’t.”

If only that were true. If only they weren’t trying to make me feel better or get my mind off Papa.

I went directly from the airport to the hospital in Olympia, where I found Papa in his room, wrapped in a green gown and trying to sit up in bed.

“You didn’t have to come straight here,” Ma was saying as I quickly hugged her, then my father, in a good, long hug like he might perish any second. “Just another mild stroke.”

Mild strokes had their effects. They were still serious. I slept in the chair beside my father all night, forcing my mother and sisters to go home. I helped him get up to use the bathroom, to change positions, adjusted the thermostat, fetched drinks and blankets and whatever else he needed.

“You fuss too much,” he said, agitated. I knew he wasn’t annoyed with me. He didn’t like to be doted upon, feeling helpless and sick and in pain, feeling as if he caused worry in others when all his life he’d aimed to protect and provide.

I let him rant before I stepped into the hallway to get updates directly from the nurse and the doctor, and then call into work to ask for an extra day. Gabrielle was understanding and allowed me to work remotely, per usual, but approved of another day off and missing meetings. She was able to take over where needed.

Then Papa and I chatted about the stroke. He eventually led the conversation toward me, the vacation, the wedding.

“Who was that Indian woman on the boat?” Papa asked as he lay back down.

“Who?” I asked, slowly moving through the TV channels until he told me to stop. “Sejal?”

“No.”

“Maya?”

“No…”

Of course he’d ask about Bane if Sejal had brought her up first. “My coworker, Bhanu.”

He gave a lopsided smile—the effects of the stroke—and my heart ached for him. “The woman you’re always mentioning.”

“I’ve maybe mentioned her once or twice.”

“Beta, you always bring her up when we ask about work. You talk more about her annoying you or showing off her brilliance than you ever talked about Sejal.”

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe that; my memory wasn’t that terrible. Yet Papa went on to tell me, in detail, all the times I’d mentioned Bane. And damn. How had this woman infiltrated my life without me even realizing it? I just wished she’d return my calls.

Papa shifted in bed, grunting as he twisted this way and that.

“What do you need help with?” I shot to my feet, pressing the buttons on his bed to raise his head.

“I want to sit in the chair. This bed is giving me bedsores.”

I moved the blankets aside, helped him swerve his legs over the edge of the bed, stood with feet shoulder-width apart, bent down, and lifted him by the waist, resettling him onto the recliner. A simple turn and he was in place.

I adjusted his posture with pillows and draped several blankets over his lap and socked feet. “Are you cold? I can turn down the temperature or get warm blankets.”

“No, no…now sit. And tell me how this woman you can’t stop talking about ended up on your boat.”

“It’s not much of a story,” I grumbled, making his bed so that he didn’t return to lumps and wrinkles.

“Ah. But you see, the way your face always lights up when you talk about her makes me think otherwise. Even when you’re complaining about her, your eyes have a certain life to them. I never saw this when you were dating Sejal.”

I sat down, dumbfounded.

“I know I’ve taught you to always keep calm, but she’s had a way of breaking through to you, this Bhanu. I like this better. You seem happier, alive.”

“We’re just coworkers.” Apparently.

Papa smirked. “Is that so? Well, a woman who can light up your face like that should be more. Don’t you think?”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Being sick, having another stroke, reminds you that life is short, fleeting. We kept pushing you back to Sejal, but there’s obviously some bad things that happened. You can talk to me about it, you know? Anything you want to say. I want to hear.”

My father, a stoic man who showed love by feeding us and bragging about us to every uncle in the vicinity, had seldom encouraged me to speak about my feelings.

“I don’t want to burden you, Papa. You should rest, not worry about me.”

“You think you’re a burden? You think your suffering and dreams are burdens to tell me?”

I didn’t respond.

“This is my doing. I know. So let me start first, beta.”

And for the rest of the night, my father told me how scared he was of getting sicker, of being a burden to anyone, of all the hopes he had for us. And when his eyes misted, mine did, too.

So I told him about Sejal, the true, raw reasons why we broke up and why we’d never make it work, how it felt to have her in their lives when it seemed they wanted her over me, and how I felt when they spoke so intimately with her.

I told Papa about Bane, too, and the fake dating that led to real feelings. For once in my entire life, I spoke openly with my father and vice versa, and damn, it was the best thing in the world. Sharing tears and fears, dreams and hopes, not just for me or for him, but for our entire family.

I eventually helped him back into bed. Since Papa wouldn’t be discharged for a few more days, and I didn’t want my sisters’ lives to be disrupted, I stayed with him all day and again all night at the hospital, going to my parents’ house to shower. Despite telling my sisters not to get off track, there they were, cooking and cleaning and doing laundry for our mom so she could stay all day at the hospital, too.