The first time Anuj saw his parents watch a Bollywood movie was when he was in preschool. Mom had gone on one of her drives. Anuj, Natasha, and Suhani sat at the top of the staircase and waited for the headlights of Mom’s car to illuminate the driveway. Hours later, Mom emerged through the door and apologized to Dad. They went into the living room and put on a Bollywood movie as though nothing happened.

Now, Anuj stops in the kitchen, which still smells like the roasted okra and rotli his parents had for dinner. He pops several Goldfish into his mouth, his favorite late-night snack, and then goes toward the living room. Every few seconds, he passes a painting from India of men and women in a circle. Mom bought several of them during a summer trip they took when Anuj was a toddler. Ever since then, he feels like he sees these paintings in every Indian person’s house, these scenes of nocturnal social gatherings, where the women showed a lot of cleavage.

Dad’s voice is low, almost inaudible, as Anuj gets closer to the television. If only they could see how Natasha kicked ass tonight.

“You should tell her,” Dad whispers.

“Absolutely not!” Mom says, not whispering back (Mom doesn’t ever really whisper). “What makes you even think that would be helpful?”

“It could be a way for you to come closer together. Maybe she’ll understand you better.”

“Psh, she will not at all. Trust me, she’s different with me than she is with you.”

“I know, but if you maybe shared what it was like to be in the hospital and take that medication, she mi—”

“She might what?” Mom has an edge to her voice. “Not ever look at me the same way again?”

“Um, hey,” Anuj says as he plays with the strings on his red hoodie. His eyes travel to the amorphous silhouette of his parents cuddling on the couch. It’s moments like these that remind Anuj that Mom and Dad are the only ones in their friends’ circle who did not have an arranged marriage. None of the other uncles and aunties ever cuddled, kissed, or even held hands.

“Anuj!” Mom immediately perks up. “I thought you were upstairs.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Anuj says. “What have you been up to?”

Two bowls of melted chocolate ice cream are on the coffee table in front of them. Ice cream soup, Anuj used to call it.

Dad yawns. “Just watching a movie. Before I forget to tell you, Bipin Uncle is coming over tomorrow morning, you know, in case you want to talk to him about med school applications.”