As Nirav and Maya continue their conversation, she shifts her attention to her father-in-law. He looks more or less unchanged. Tall, broad, and alert. A man who has spent his career teaching high school History and Geography in a state of enduring disappointment, evident in his perma-frown. He is wearing a navy pea coat, khakis, saddle-coloured Oxfords, and what she considers a very British-looking newsboy cap, recalling a tirade he had gone on once about baseball caps and how appallingly “American” they were. His uncomfortably blue eyes gloss with rare emotion as he watches his children embrace, yet even now he emits a somewhat annoyed air. A moment later, he shifts his attention to Kavita. Walking toward her, he reaches out his hand. “Well hello, Kavita.” As usual, he speaks without smiling. They shake hands. He isn’t a hugger.

“Hi, Mr. Stone.”

“How was the crossing, then?”

“What can you say? It’s the red-eye.” She scans her father-in-law’s features. She suspects that the almost infected tint to his eyes speaks to how little he has slept in the past few days. “How are you managing?” she asks.

“Oh, you know, hanging in there. The missus is in a bit of haze, of course. But that’s to be expected, isn’t it? How’s my lad?”

Kavita looks sidelong at Nirav. He is forehead-to-forehead with Maya, locked in conspiratorial chatter. “I’m not sure, to be honest. He keeps so much to himself. Sometimes I wish he’d have a good cry and let it out.”

“Heavens, no. That wouldn’t do at all. Kavita, you must understand, my dear, that the Stone men uphold a proud tradition of drinking in lieu of tears, and there’s been a lot of that going on, I can assure you. Fortunately, my wife’s family also partakes in this noble custom. It is perhaps one of the few similarities between our clans. In any case, I’m sure Maya will cry enough for all of us, isn’t that right, my darling?”

“I can’t help it,” Maya pouts. “I’m sensitive.” Locking arms with Nirav, she flashes Kavita a possessive look. “So lovely you could make it, Sis. You look absolutely brill, by the way. Lost a stone, have we?”

Nirav scans Kavita from neck to ankle, forehead wrinkling, as if noticing her weight loss for the first time.

Mr. Stone grins at his children. “Come along, then,” he says, as he walks over to Nirav and grabs his suitcase. “Enough dilly-dallying. They’re already fleecing us with the parking. Spit spot.”

“All right, Mary Poppins,” teases Nirav. “Don’t swallow your umbrella.”

Kavita follows a few steps behind them. The scratch of her suitcase wheels against the ground is the only sound she makes until they reach the car.