Bina counts the plates, bowls, and utensils. “You know busy is good for me, especially considering the situation.”

Busy makes her forget that her daughter utterly humiliated her and her best friend. Busy lets everyone in Atlanta assume she’s just another traditional housewife. Only Deepak and Devi know what can happen if Bina isn’t just the right level of busy.

Deepak scans her face. “You’re referring to Natasha?”

“Of course I am. I can’t stop thinking about her!” Bina says. “Our daughter is out of control!”

The most frustrating part is that Bina was finally starting to accept that maybe she’d done a good job as a mother. She used to have the habit of combing through her regrets the same way she’d go through photo albums, lingering on some moments while moving past others. But over time, as the kids became more settled and she became more secure, that dwindled.

And then what happened with Natasha and Anita made her question everything she filled her days with. Every school lunch she packed, every dish she scrubbed, every countertop she wiped—all of it now seemed to mock her. She hates that her insecurity can be this flimsy, this malleable. Just when she thought it was small enough to be tucked away, something like this happens, and she feels it expanding, consuming all of her.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Deepak says. “You have to let this all go.”

Natasha would be thrilled to hear her dad say this. She idolizes Deepak. All three of their kids do in different ways. They don’t have to pick up his socks or cook him elaborate Gujarati meals. Deepak has a habit of making a grand announcement after doing one chore and then disappearing into their library, where he spends hours buried in a psychiatry textbook. He is so brainy. He is so clueless.

“I can’t just let it go,” Bina says. “This is a big deal.”

Deepak squeezes her shoulders. “I know. But you’ll talk it out with Anita on one of your morning walks and we will all move on.”

Bina sighs. Deepak knows about her morning walks and every other part of her day since he’s been home more after scaling down at work. She gets irritated, then feels guilty for being irritated, at the nonstop questions. Do you always drink that many cups of chai every morning? Why do you chop okra on the cutting board and then carrots on the counter? Are you still on the phone? What’s that you’re looking at on Facebook?

In those moments, she tells herself that it’s just ordinary, run-of-the-mill marital tension. It’ll go away soon enough and make space for other things. Marriage allows different emotions to run side by side. Pride and annoyance. Gratitude and frustration.

Friendship does that, too, or at least, that’s what she always thought until now.