So far, job searching had gone better than expected—after a cursory scan of positions in her field, Reena found several she miraculously felt both qualified for and interested in. Well, sort-of interested. After all, these were still finance jobs, but the companies seemed up her alley and the locations good. She made a list of suitable options for when Amira finished helping her polish up her résumé. She also made an appointment with the employment agency Railside contracted to help laid-off employees. And she made an appointment for a mani/pedi. Job searching felt like a scorching walk through the hot bowels of hell, so may as well walk with painted toenails.

Her meeting with Abigail, the employment counselor, on Tuesday morning was exhausting, but fine. She subjected Reena to countless online tests to determine her proficiency with various computer programs and interviewed her so thoroughly Reena half expected to be asked what brand of peanut butter she preferred. Abigail was almost comically optimistic and believed she would have no problem placing Reena in a full-time position before the end of the month. She said she had several leads, including a top secret posting that hadn’t gone public yet for a position in the food-services industry. Between chirpy Abigail’s infectious optimism, and the sparkly purple polish on her fingers and toes, Reena had an honest spring in her step as she climbed the stairs to her apartment at the end of the day. Shayne, Marley, and Nadim were joining her for dinner to discuss plans for the next video in the contest. She had some chicken thighs marinating in Thai curry paste and planned to wrap them in pandan leaves and roast them to serve with cucumber salad and sticky rice.

But her hope for a pleasant evening with friends crashed into the sun when she got to her apartment door. Standing there was a five-foot, zero-inch tracksuit-wearing woman carrying a stack of foil pans, along with a spaced-out-looking woman drinking muddy green sludge.

“Mum. Saira. What are you doing here?” Reena asked as she pulled out her key from her bag.

“What, a mother can’t visit her daughter? Why are you wearing flip-flops? It’s September.”

Strangely, she’d heard this question a lot lately. The flipflops, of course, were to protect her newly painted nails from smudges. But if she told Mum that, she’d have to admit she’d had a pedicure and was not at work.

“It’s warm. I don’t like driving in heels,” she said before unlocking her door. “And of course you guys can visit me. I’m just surprised.” She motioned her mother in first, before dropping her bag on the kitchen counter. She gestured toward the foil pans, which her mum was placing near the stove. “What’s that?”

“Dinner. Kebob jo shaak and rice.”

“I just got off work or I would have made you something, too,” Saira added. “Did the bone broth help with your cold? I’m not sure the pressure cooker extracts the nutrients as well as a long simmer.”