But it’s not just about that visit. It’s about Suhani always seeing her mother put herself last. It’s about how politeness and accommodating others were a part of her language, like the syllables of Gujarati mixed with English. And now that it’s just her and Dad at home, she should cook less and tell him to do his own laundry. Why does she accept this for herself? Why doesn’t she demand more? She can’t believe this woman in front of her—the one concerned with when Patel Brothers will restock ginger or if she’s slacking by buying ready-made dosa batter—once recited lines onstage in front of hundreds of people.

“Trust me, I made peace with all this years ago. It’s not worth it for you to get so worked up. And I’m glad this isn’t your life, beta.” Mom gazes at Suhani with a look that takes her back to countless afternoons when Suhani studied at the dining table while Mom cut fruit. The rush of nostalgia and wistful expression on Mom’s face make Suhani wonder if she should just tell her everything going on with Zack and work and Roshan. Maybe she won’t judge her. Maybe, since Suhani is now an adult who has proven herself, Mom will listen and provide support.

But then Mom’s phone rings with a WhatsApp notification. She rushes to pick it up with an urgency Suhani thought was reserved for doctors responding to codes. She watches Mom scroll through the message and knows her moment to tell her anything has disappeared. Throughout Suhani’s life, there have been narrow windows of time when it felt right to confide in her mother. Once they were interrupted—by a phone call, something bubbling over on the stove, one of her siblings needing something—it was as though the air between her and Mom had shifted, and it no longer made sense to bother her with anything.

Mom tucks her phone into the side pocket of her nightgown. “I’m going to bed.”

“Already?” Dad walks into the kitchen. He’s wearing an outfit that’s a confused cross between loungewear and nineties soccer player: a buttery yellow shirt that reads keep talking; i’m diagnosing you and a pair of black Umbro shorts that he definitely took from Anuj’s room.

“Yes, I’m going to watch that new Bollywood series on Netflix until my eyes close.” Bina gives Deepak a hug, then pecks Suhani on her cheek.

“Now, why are you awake?” Suhani asks Dad after Mom is gone.

“I was hungry. Ah, my favorite!” Dad picks up a warm rotli, adds chickpea curry, and rolls it all up like a burrito. He’s been eating his Gujarati food like that since residency. Now the ensemble has been named a “kathi roll” and is sold at Indian restaurants everywhere.