Instead, she spent the evening watching episodes of Family Ties on DVD. Growing up, it was one of the shows she and Sunil rarely missed, like The Facts of Life and The Cosby Show. As she mixes the hot water in with the lukewarm, she softly hums the theme song. I bet we’ve been together for a million years. And I bet we’ll be together for a million more…. Compared to the Keatons, the Guptas are like one of those candleholders made of wood or marble, of a family linked arm in arm—a family circle—only with the arms lopped off. She hasn’t heard from her father since he arrived at the abbey. He hasn’t answered any of her messages. Her mother called once, but mostly they talked about the upcoming sale of the house, and if Kavita could forward her mail. She sinks a little deeper into the bath, the waterline skimming her lower lip, and closes her eyes. This year whenever she hears I’ll be Home for Christmas the wound of losing Sunil splits its weak stitches. Christmas lights jar, cards are unreadable, setting up the tree—impossible.

So instead, she loses herself in memories of Christmas past, like Ebenezer Scrooge. Time condenses. It feels like mere weeks ago instead of almost a year.