The thought of my going far away to study or work had never occurred to me. In my house the conversations were always about getting someone married. First it was Nimita, now it was Mohini, and I knew that as soon as Mohini was married, Mummy would start thinking about me.

“Why didn’t you tell me that your mummy was a doctor?” I asked.

“Was I supposed to? You never asked me what she did.”

“I never thought about it. I always thought of her as, as . . .”

“Mrs. Judge?” Sarina laughed. “One time you did call her that.”

I could feel the blood rushing to my ears.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that when I found out your pappa was a judge, it was easy to think of her as Mrs. Judge.”

“Now you can call her Mrs. Doctor, and Pappa Mr. Judge.”

“Or I could call them Mrs. and Mr. Doctor.”

We sat on Sarina’s bed and talked for a long time. Usually I talked a lot, but today I listened. “Do you want to see pictures of my trip to America?” she asked, pulling a paisley-patterned album out of her bookshelf.

“You went all the way to America and stayed with a family for six weeks? I can’t imagine doing that. Are they your relatives?” I said, resting the album on my lap.

“Oh, no.”

“Did you know them well?”

“Not at all. I met my host family for the first time when I went there. Here are my two sisters.”

“You don’t have sisters.”

“Not like you have Nimita and Mohini,” she said. “When you go and live with a host family, you become part of their family. Since last summer I’ve had two sisters.”

Sarina’s sisters had golden hair and blue eyes, like fairies. Everything in the pictures of America looked so different. The house had no front courtyard or gate, but the ground was covered by a carpet of grass that led to the front door.

When I asked Sarina if neem or mango trees grew there she said, “Not in the Midwest, because in winter, it gets very cold and snowy there. They wouldn’t survive.” She showed me pictures of beautiful trees called linden, ash, and birch. I could not imagine such a lush place getting cold and snowy. She pointed out a bird, the color of our double-decker bus, called a cardinal; an ocean-colored bird called a blue jay; and an orange-breasted robin. As we flipped the pages of the album, part of me felt as though I’d been there too.

When we finished looking at her pictures, there were so many questions I wanted to ask, but I didn’t. I’d made a fool enough of myself for one afternoon.

“Let me call and see if my cousin is home,” Sarina said. “Maybe he can come over for a while.”