Even though there’s no traffic on I-75, she finds herself taking another route. A longer one. Cruising down the Atlanta back roads always takes her back to that exciting burst of freedom she got the first time she got in a car and drove by herself. She could take herself to her friends’ houses, Chili’s, or the mall, and her parents wouldn’t know.

She slows down on West Paces Ferry Road, which is lined with mansions and sprawling green lawns. When they were all younger, Mom and Dad would take them on drives here. Inside all those houses, Natasha always pictured well-dressed, happy families, families with parents who didn’t have a chip on their shoulders because they were poor when they moved to America, families where everyone was accepted for who they were instead of who they should be. Who knew she’d miss those car rides when she, Suhani, and Anuj were squeezed into the back seat, Dad drove, and Mom sang along with her latest favorite hip-hop song, “Welcome to Atlanta.”

She feels an unexpected twinge of longing that’s so intense that she’s compelled to turn onto the highway and drive home. But then she remembers the texts. For the first time ever, she knows that nobody in her family wants to see her.

She ends up outside Fado, her favorite Irish pub. Only two other cars are in the parking lot. Nothing makes you feel like a loser quite like getting to a bar before the evening crowd.

The inside of Fado is dark and drafty as usual. The wooden beams on the ceiling and mahogany bar always make Natasha feel like she’s in Europe. She perches on a barstool. Behind her, a group of guys a little older than her are watching a football game.

“What can I get you?” A bartender puts a coaster in front of her. His shaggy red hair and kind eyes remind Natasha of Ed Sheeran.

“Corona,” Natasha says.

She finishes it in a few gulps. There’s a tingling in her body as the bitter liquid goes down her throat. But instead of feeling relaxed, Natasha has a thought: I am so goddamned alone.

“Can I get another one of these?” Natasha asks. “And a shot of tequila?”

Ed Sheeran gives her a questioning glance but still puts the drinks on two coasters in front of her.

She downs the shot and then grips the sweating beer bottle, determined to make it last. The word “alone” keeps echoing in her mind. Alone, alone, alone. Maybe Karan was right and the only reason she wanted to get back together was to have some stability. Maybe some people have loneliness woven into their bone marrow.