“Well, I’d hate to hear that your career is stagnated,” Dad said. “You know, at your age I had—”

“Saira has news,” Mum interrupted as she passed the dish of channa to Reena to refill her plate.

Saira smiled. “Mum, I wasn’t going to tell Reena yet! It’s still not confirmed.”

Reena prepared herself to hear Saira’s fabulous news. It would be fabulous—in the Manji house bad news came whispered in hushed voices in darkened rooms, not told at the brunch table. If told at all. Maryam Aunty had been admitted to hospice before anyone told Reena she had cancer.

Straightening her spine, Reena took the bait. “What’s going on, Saira?”

Saira’s brows shot up as her smile widened. “Remember Janice? From high school? She works PR for publishers, now. She saw my posts on the Nourish blog and thought I should write a cookbook. She’s helping me with a book proposal!”

Reena blinked. Her sister was aiming to get published? A cookbook?

“Clean living is so big now, and Janice thinks I can sell my Indian take on it.”

Reena took another puri and squeezed the whole flatbread in her mouth at once, cheeks expanding like a hamster eating a burrito.

“Careful, Reena,” Saira said. “That’s how many puri now? You don’t need all that refined wheat.”

Sage advice from her sister. The puri was now a gummy, doughy ball in her mouth. She took a long gulp of lukewarm chai to wash down the bread before speaking. “That’s great, Saira. Good luck.”

“Yeah, isn’t it amazing! My therapist thinks it will be healing for me.”

Reena drained her chai, wishing for whiskey in it. Healing. That was why she couldn’t be angry at Saira. Saira needed this more than Reena did. And technically, no one in the family knew it was Reena’s almost lifelong fantasy to write her own cookbook. And they didn’t know just how close she’d come. That a small independent publisher had approached her and asked her to pitch a project when her cooking blog was still going strong. But the book deal fell through thanks, in part, to Saira. Reena wasn’t over her dream crashing and burning, and having the very person who lit the match now rub it in her face felt a bit much.

She ate another puri, chewing until the gummy mass almost choked her.

“Reena, you should be proud of your sister. Look how well her life has turned around,” Mum said.

After hitting some serious rock bottom, Reena was glad Saira had a job at Nourish, her favorite health food store. Was glad her depression was being managed with professional help. Even glad Saira had a new relationship. But being glad about her sister writing a cookbook? She tried to be a good person, but Reena wasn’t Mother Teresa.

“Reena, did you hear Khizar is being considered for junior partner in his firm?” Dad asked. No surprise he changed the subject—a cookbook project couldn’t come close to the prestige of his eldest child being promoted in one of the capital’s biggest accounting firms.