“I just told him the truth, the way I should have years ago.” Kavita taps her brown heels into the grass. “Sonam helped me a lot. I kept telling myself I was staying because of the children. But my children were aware of everything. And they were miserable because of it! My own daughter doesn’t want to get married because of what she’s seen between Bipin and me. I woke up one day and asked, ‘What are you still doing here, Kavita?’ I thought Bipin would put up more of a fight, but in some way, I don’t even know if he was that surprised. We had been sleeping in separate beds for so long, living separate lives, really.

“But I’d be lying if I said it’s all been easy. I forgot how many things I’d become dependent on, whether it’s how he pays the bills or even just the security of knowing he was in the house. Now I notice every little creak; I get bored; I get scared.”

“I’m sure it is hard, very hard, in so many different ways,” Bina says. “It was very brave of you to do that. It would have been easy—and understandable—if you stayed.”

“I know. I felt so guilty about leaving. I was worried about what everyone would think. I know that’s why it took me so long. I thought I’d let everyone down, including me. And when Sonam told me she’s proud of me . . .” Kavita’s voice breaks. “I never thought I’d hear her say that. I almost let guilt stop me from doing what I needed to do for her.”

“The guilt. It’s always the guilt.” Bina blinks back tears, in awe of her friend’s honesty, of all women, who hold so much inside for the sake of others. Women change their shapes physically to give life and then change their shapes emotionally every day to sustain it.

“It really is,” Mona says in Gujarati. “And even when we try to let it go, it’s still there.”

Guilt is sturdy in that way, always leaving a residue, even if you manage to sweep it away.

“Actually, what if instead of discussing menopause, we made guilt today’s topic?” Bina asks.

“I think that would be great,” Kavita says. “Can I start?”

“Of course!” Bina says.

They all assemble back into their circle and stay there for the rest of the afternoon.

Thirty-Two

Natasha

Next at the Laughing Skull Lounge open mic, we’re going to hear from Natasha Joshi!”

Natasha gives her curls one last fluff. Just seeing the dimly lit stage from the side curtains makes her insides squirm as though she ate something undercooked.

A thought from her last therapy session with Dr. Chan materializes: This feeling will often be there. Natasha’s mind jumps back to the notes she wrote down after the session: