After carefully weighing equal amounts of rye flour and spring water, she stirred them into the jar. As she fastened a rubber band around it, her phone rang and the screen lit up with the knowing scowl of her best friend holding a blackberry-lavender cupcake. Reena had snapped the picture months ago, when Amira had been ranting about sexism in cupcake shops. Her expression had been so quintessentially Amira that Reena wanted to preserve it for eternity.

“Meer,” Reena said instead of hello, “remind me again why distancing myself from my toxic family means still going to family brunch?”

“You’re supposed to distance yourself emotionally, Ree. We’re Indian, it’s impossible to distance physically. What’d they do this time?”

“The usual. Dad found me yet another husband prospect. I left as they started their ode: Khizar the Perfect and His Auspicious Promotion.”

“Khizar’s not really perfect, you know. Remember the time he tried to make a salad and burned the lettuce?”

Reena snorted. She’d forgotten that one. Smiling, she closed the jar of sourdough.

Amira had been Reena’s best friend since grade two, and their friendship lasted through tween drama and high school fights over cute boys and loaned makeup. Amira had left town a few times over the years, twice for university, and again about two months ago for a job and to live with her boyfriend, and Reena had not forgiven her friend for abandoning her yet again. They still spoke daily, though, and probably always would.

“How was Saira?” Amira asked.

Reena sighed. “She’s pitching a cookbook to publishers.”

“She’s not.”

“She is. A clean-eating cookbook.” Reena cringed as she placed Brian on his perch on the windowsill.

“The woman who wrote a manifesto against gluttony in food blogs that directly attacked her own sister’s livelihood shouldn’t get to make money writing recipes.”

Reena didn’t want to get into this again with Amira—who would no doubt use it as proof that it was time for Reena to revive her old blog. Uncharacteristically, though, Amira did what Reena usually did—she changed the subject. “Who’d your dad try to set you up with this time?”

“Actually, this is pretty funny. He’s my new neighbor.” Reena told her friend about the brown Captain America (Captain Tanzania?).

“So, your dad moves a buff Tanzanian guy with a British accent and a love of bread next door, and this is a problem for you?” She paused. “Your parents would never force you to marry this guy, would they?”

“No. Not force, but yes, strongly encourage. And then I’d never hear the end of it from them. Mum still claims she found Nafissa for Khizar, remember?”

“Yes, and Khizar and Nafissa have a beautiful love that transcends time and space! Why wouldn’t you want that?”

Reena rolled her eyes as she put away the rye flour. Her previously cynical friend had gone all rainbows and butterflies since she fell in love with a small-town lumberjack-type musician.

“I don’t want what Khizar and Nafissa have,” Reena said. “They had to leave town to get away from the gloating and intrusion from Mum and Dad. I know my parents will intrude no matter who I’m with, but I’d like to minimize their role in my relationships.” Reena shuddered. “They’ve been looking for a suitable match for me for years. Clearly, they have no faith I’m capable of finding someone on my own. Believe me, it’s for their best interests, not mine.”