Here, Jaya could finally grow her flowers in the earth, a way of rooting herself to this land she’d claimed for herself and her family. She and Keith had loved this house when they first saw it, a brick two-story on a quiet tree-lined street. They were both drawn to the sprawling backyard, though for different reasons. Keith saw the swimming pool as a symbol of success. He envisioned hosting summer parties and manning the grill while the children swam. Jaya prized the yard for the enormous canvas it provided to create a garden of her own, one that would include flower beds, rosebushes, herbs and vegetables, even a dwarf citrus tree that occasionally yielded limes. Karina was just a toddler when they bought the house, and Jaya had felt a deep energy connecting her to a place for the first time in her life, a feeling that had grown over the last decade. They could afford a bigger home now, in a nicer neighborhood, as Keith always reminded her when they drove past open houses on Sundays, but Jaya didn’t want to leave this one.

Now, she scooped a trowelful of potting soil into each of the small holes dug by Karina, followed by a spoonful of bonemeal. “So, have you decided what you want to do for your birthday dinner? We could go to Benihana, or the Spaghetti House,” Jaya suggested. “Maybe we can try that new ice cream place afterwards? Or do you want cake?”

“Mom, I don’t see why I can’t babysit for the Crandalls tonight. My birthday’s not until tomorrow. Why can’t we do dinner then?”

“Because your father’s traveling tomorrow. His flight’s at three o’clock,” Jaya explained. “Besides, it’s better to go out for dinner on Saturday, isn’t it? No school to get up for tomorrow.”

Karina rolled her eyes and jabbed her spade into the ground for a new hole. “It’s not fair. I should be able to do what I want with my own time on the weekends. Izzy spends all day at the barn. Why can’t I babysit for a few hours if I want to?”

Jaya looked up at her daughter and sighed. It was the same argument. Karina had started walking one neighbor’s dog on the weekends, then another’s. Now she wanted to babysit, it seemed, every Friday and Saturday night, cutting into their family time together.

“What else am I going to do with my time?” Karina said. “I’m already getting good grades, so you can’t use that excuse.”

“Karina.” Jaya tilted her head to one side and smiled, hoping to defuse the indignation she could see brewing in her daughter. “Why are you so eager to do this? For the money?” She tried not to taint the word. The values bred into Jaya by her parents were crystalline: her first priority had been her studies; the second was dance. Nothing else was supposed to come into the equation as a child. In their culture, working for money was only for adults and beggar children.