Her window was rolled down as she hollered, “We need to celebrate! Kimo’s mom is making you a giant ube cake!”
My sister and ube: the best celebration and a cure-all for heartache.
Thirty-six Sunny
How had life gone from perfect to a shit show? Forget Sejal forcing me to come out like that, and even my friends, who would need a good sit-down to chat about this entire thing, but Bane? I couldn’t let her walk off like this.
But then Sheila called, and I had to answer. I couldn’t keep Bane there and concentrate on what my sister was telling me.
I knew, like storm clouds writhing overhead, that my weekend of bliss would shatter once reality broke. And reality was breaking hard.
“Papa’s in the hospital,” she told me, her voice cracking.
“It’s going to be all right,” I assured, even as worry grew into a hideous, dark monster devouring everything in its path. “I’ll be there soon. My flight leaves in two hours.”
After telling Aamar and Sam about my dad, they broke off from the group, leaving Maya and April arguing with Sejal, to give me a ride to the villa.
I called Bane on the way, but she didn’t answer.
I threw the rest of my things into my suitcase and off we went to the small, open-air airport.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked.
“I’m panicked about my dad. Every time he goes to the hospital for these things, we just expect the doctor to come back and conclude this is the big one.”
“He’s going to be okay. Your dad is a fighter.”
We sat in silence as I texted my sisters for updates and specifics when Aamar said, “For what it’s worth, don’t feel bad about the lying.”
“What?” I asked, derailed from worrying over my father.
“We get why it happened and why it lasted. Don’t need to worry about any of that between us.”
“Oh. Thanks.” A slight reprieve that didn’t quite cover the damage I might’ve done with Bane.
“And for what it’s worth,” he added, “it might’ve started out a lie, but it never looked like one.”
I frowned.
“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.”
