It was over.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

It seemed unlikely Reena would be able to manage much for the rest of the day but catch up on lost sleep, so she changed into her coziest sweats, brewed a large mug of coffee, and sat on the couch to think. She had made a big decision on the two steps between their goodbye kiss in the hallway and her apartment—no more searching for a finance job. She wasn’t sure what she would do instead, and she realized she would probably take a significant pay cut to start a new career, but she was done with taking the easier route, if that easy came with misery. Tomorrow she would call Abigail to talk to her about a career change. Maybe even look into classes to retrain in a new field. And she would talk to her parents about this. She had no intention of working with them, but she would take the support they would no doubt give—on her own terms. She pulled her computer onto her lap. It was time for research.

Reena had barely opened the continuing education site for a local community college when her phone rang. Saira.

“Mum says hurry up because there’s always a line at the kebob place. Who goes for kebobs in the morning anyway?”

“Saira, what are you talking about?”

“We’re downstairs. You on your way?”

Shit. Wedding clothes shopping. She forgot.

“Ugh, Saira, I had no sleep last night.”

“Mum invited Shaila Aunty and Marley. You have to come.”

Reena sighed. Great. A whole family thing. She was not in the headspace for this. “Give me a couple minutes.”

She was dressed and out the front door in a little under ten minutes. The grungy ripped jeans that were conveniently hanging off the end of her bed weren’t the best choice for a day spent at Indian formal wear stores, but she couldn’t make herself care about her appearance now.

Shaila Aunty and Marley were in the car when she got to it. She slid in next to Marley. After greeting her mother and aunt, she turned to her cousin. “Hey, Marley, how come you’re joining us?”

“I needed her fashion expertise,” Saira said, leaning over Marley. “And Shaila Aunty knows the manager of this store.”

Shaila Aunty turned to look at Reena. “He gave me a great deal on the sari I wore to my Eid party. Remember, my yellow georgette? It’s all about building relationships.”

The kebob place was in the same plaza as the sari shop—in a newish, suburban strip mall that catered mostly to the Indian population living in Markham. It still felt strange to Reena to see sari shops and Indian grocers in the suburbs, but the diaspora was all over the greater Toronto area these days, not just in the city.

And the shop was good. Over paper plates of spicy kebobs, tender-crisp vegetable samosas, and steaming cups of rich masala chai, they chatted about color schemes and menus for Saira’s wedding.