That’s the story she told Zack. It’s the same story she told herself for years until she believed it. She realized then that that was how people deceived themselves, by telling themselves something again and again, until the line between truth and lie eroded.

“Bye,” Suhani says without making eye contact with Roshan.

Zack pats Roshan’s shoulder. “See ya.”

Roshan nods. He’s still frowning.

Suhani feels the weight of something settling onto her chest. Shame and guilt. And something else, something scarier. She lets herself sink into Zack’s embrace, and they step into the dark parking lot without looking back.

Three

Bina

Bina!” Mira yells across the parking lot. “What is this playing on the speakers?”

“‘Jolene,’” Bina yells. “My favorite Dolly Parton song.”

Mira frowns as she takes quick, purposeful strides toward Bina’s phone. The gold bangles on her wrist jingle as she scrolls through Spotify. “Can we put on something else?”

“Go ahead.” Bina rolls her eyes. She should have known better than to think that everyone here would appreciate Dolly.

Mira puts on a Bollywood remix that’s more appropriate for a wedding reception than a health fair. Bina considers asking her to put on something less let’s-get-on-the-dance-floor and more we-are-volunteering-for-an-important-cause. But she has too many other things that require her attention. Years ago, her mother told her a woman’s brain is always like that, bursting at the seams with everything there is to keep track of.

But right now, Bina has to focus. She has to put all her effort into getting through this event, and when Anita shows up, if Anita shows up, talk to her about announcing the idea they’ve been planning for weeks. They were supposed to do it after telling everyone about their children’s engagement.

“You’ve done such an amazing job again. Everything looks great,” Deepak says, interrupting her thoughts. “And it’s going to be great.”

Bina smiles with gratitude. She smooths her mint-green kurta top and cream linen pants. This is the third year in a row she’s organized a health fair, and it’s since grown to two hundred people congregating at the Atlanta Hindu Temple. She has to make sure everything is nutritious, so large containers of kale salad, roasted vegetables, lentil soup, nuts, and fresh fruit are arranged on the wooden table. Let the Indian attendees grumble about not having traditional food. At least everyone else will be satisfied.

Outside the temple, booths are set up across the vast parking lot for volunteer doctors, nurses, and physician assistants to take people’s vital signs and blood samples and screen for different diseases. College students saunter through the booths to pass out flyers about local clinics.

“Have you seen Anita or Jiten?” Bina asks. Her stomach churns at the thought of seeing their closest friends for the first time since family brunch.

Deepak shakes his head. “Not yet.”