As she looks at Mrs. Stone, Kavita feels the words resurge, the way they had in the shower, but quickly sandbags them with her reason-based mantra: Wait for a reasonable explanation. Everything is going to be fine. Be pleasant and helpful and a good daughter-in-law.

“Mrs. Stone,” she says. “I was thinking about making dinner for us.”

“Brilliant, brilliant,” says Mrs. Stone without taking her eyes off the television. “And another brew when you’ve got a minute, dear, would be lovely. Ta.”

Kavita lingers in case Mrs. Stone might add a please or a thank-you or perhaps the reasonable explanation she has been strenuously awaiting.

“Something else, dear?”

“N-no. The tea won’t be long.”

Kavita passes Nirav on the way to the kitchen.

“It’s too bloody loud in here,” he huffs, then marches off to his bedroom upstairs.

Kavita goes about making tea, concentrating on each step as a way of quietening her mind. She gets out cups, pg Tips, cubes of sugar, and pint-sized jug of milk. Meanwhile, she considers that perhaps it’s a good thing Nirav went to his room. Maybe Mrs. Stone means to explain everything to her over a nice cup of tea.

Back in the living room, Kavita hands Mrs. Stone a steaming cup. “Ah, lovely.” Mrs. Stone takes a loud slurp. “Really, really nice, dear. Much improved. I think you must have forgotten the sugar in mine last time. Never mind, never mind!”

Kavita sits and sips. Sips and waits. The mantra begins to fail her. She recites it again.

Wait for a reasonable explanation. Everything is going to be fine. She feels a bit calmer. Now, tells herself. Be pleasant and helpful and a good daughter-in-law.

“I guess I’ll get dinner started.”

“There’s a Jamie Oliver cookbook on the counter if you need a dash of inspiration. He makes a lovely curry, you know.”

As Kavita rises, the mantra fails her again. Blaze flashes like oil in a pan. I don’t need Jamie Oliver to teach me how to cook Indian food, thanks.

Back in the kitchen, she scours the small fridge and the cupboards for ingredients. She is always surprised to see a washing machine under the sink, where she expects to find a dishwasher. By the end of her rummage, she has gathered together cauliflower, potatoes, onions, the necessary spices, and a pack of ready-made rotis.

First, she chops the onion. Blaze guides the knife. The pieces get smaller and smaller until they resemble grains of rice. Next, she moves on to the tomatoes. When Blaze is finished with them, they are jam.

She is about to start hacking the cauliflower, when Mrs. Stone enters the kitchen, the slap of her chappals announcing her arrival. This is it, Kavita thinks. She sets down the knife, orders herself to smile, and clasps her hands behind her back, an inviting pose.