Finally, Suhani says to herself. She’s calming down.

“It’s always so nice, being around all these doctors.” Mom runs a hand over her brown silky hair, which she recently had trimmed to chin length. “So much purpose and satisfaction. Everyone should have that. I always told you that, remember?”

Of course she remembers. Mom first told Suhani that when Suhani was five years old. Mom was boiling chai on the stove for ten guests who were visiting from India that week. Something about her—her furrowed brows, the drop in her shoulders, a heaviness behind her eyes—told Suhani that she was stressed.

“What’s wrong?” she had asked. “Do you need help with the tea?”

“Not at all. This is my job, beta.” Mom shook her head.

“Then why do you look so sad?”

“I’m not sad. I’m just thinking.” Mom kept her eyes on the pot.

“About what?” Suhani asked, oblivious about the far-off look on Mom’s face until she’d revisit the memory years later.

“Just . . . life.” Mom gripped the edge of the counter and turned to Suhani. “If there’s only one thing you ever remember me saying, please let it be to work hard and build a career for yourself, something nobody else can take away from you, so you’re never dependent on anyone else. Anyone. And don’t worry about that being too much for some man. It’s not your job to make a man feel comfortable.”

It took years for Suhani to realize how complicated women’s relationships with ambition and money were. Whenever she told her friends about Mom’s words, they’d often say, “Your mom told you that? Mine would never give that type of advice.”

Just when Suhani thinks they’re finally moving on from Natasha, Mom’s nostrils flare. “I forgot to tell you that on top of all this, Natasha quit her job. Your sister thinks she’s too good to work! Isn’t that nice? To just wake up and decide you’d like to relax forever? Did she tell you?”

“Uh . . .” Suhani puts on her best I-had-no-idea face. Natasha told her she was fired two months ago. I hated that boring job anyway, she said. And now I can work on my stand-up comedy.

“I’m sure she plans to work again soon, maybe in a job that’s more suitable for her,” Suhani says, careful not to give away any details but still provide reassurance. No wonder she went into psychiatry. First-born daughters are live-in therapists for their entire families. “And she’s going through a tough time. We should be supporting her.”

“Please! She’s fine.”

“Karan said she’s been crying and unhappy. What if something is really wrong?”