By the time we get home, I’m feeling despondent. I want to lie in bed and sleep forever.

I head for my room to do just that when my mom calls me back. “Let me show you the gifts we brought.”

“I thought you were feeling sick?” I say but pause at the base of the stairs.

“Yes, but I missed you more. Come here,” she says, waving me over.

I hesitate, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth before I nod. Maybe Dadu was right. Maybe they thought about things and changed their minds.

I want to believe it’s true.

I sit down next to her. My dad is busy looking over his plants to make sure they’re still alive, inspecting their leaves with a careful eye, and Samir is watching videos of my baby cousins on my dad’s discarded phone. “What’d you bring?”

My mom takes out gorgeous lehengas and sarees and salwars and rolls and rolls of beautiful fabric. “Nanu insisted on these so you could pick and choose your own outfit design.”

“They’re so pretty,” I say, running my hand along a roll of pale blue chiffon with golden designs woven in.

“And I brought you some jewelry, too,” Ma says, pulling out velvet boxes and unlatching them. “Some tikkas and anklets and bangles. Oh, and some nose rings. I think I have some regular rings, too.”

My mom presents a row of shiny golden rings to me, and my first thought is of Ace. He’d love one of these.

I quickly discard that thought. My parents and Ace do not fit in the same sentence, even in the safety of my head.

“I love them, Ma,” I say, slipping one on. I study the sapphire stone, glinting in the light before looking back at my mom.

She’s smiling warmly. The look on her face makes my stomach clench uncertainly. “It looks good on you.”

I nod, turning back to the accessories. I can’t second-guess myself now. Dadu isn’t here to support me. If I tell them the truth, it’ll be by myself, and what if they don’t approve?

I don’t know if I could cope. I’m not as brave as everyone keeps saying I am.

By the end of the night, they’ve run out of things to show me. I retreat to my bedroom to light a candle and text Ace, still feeling out of sorts, when there’s a knock on my door.

“Come in,” I say, setting my phone down.

It’s my dad, and he’s holding a giant package. I furrow my brows. “What’s that?”

“Your pillow,” he says, shaking it around. His eyes are crinkled with amusement. “It saved me a fortune since your mom had to stop shopping. It was so big she couldn’t find any room to fit in more clothes.”