Everyone should be here any minute. Bina fluffs up the throw pillows in the formal living room, then double-checks the food: mini chutney-and-cucumber sandwiches, cashews spiced with chili powder and chaat masala, and spicy carrot chips. Next to the food, there’s a turquoise teapot full of chai, a stack of gilded teacups, and bushels of mint leaves.

It feels like the first day of school, with that same blend of anticipation and excitement. She will soon be with her friends. Bina’s always loved being around groups of women. During her highest and lowest points in life, they gave her comfort and a sense of belonging.

She glances at her reflection. Her outfit is chic but hopefully not trying too hard: a burnt-orange calf-length dress, thin gold bangles, and gold studs Ma gave her on her last trip to India. Per Suhani’s recommendation, Bina filled in her eyebrows with one of those roll-up pencils and dusted blush on the apples of her cheeks. The makeup and outfit bring out the resemblance between her and her oldest child, something she often forgets about until people mention it.

She sends a text to Kavita and Mira—See you soon!—then scrolls through Facebook to pass the last few minutes. Mira’s daughter, Pooja, posted a series of stylish summer outfits. Bina knows that despite everything Mira says, deep down, she’s proud of everything Pooja has built.

It’s only after she’s scrolled through Pooja’s entire year of posts that she realizes how much time has passed. Maybe Deepak was right when he said her autopilot social media scrolling is taking up a lot of her time. (She responded to him by locking herself in their room and watching two dozen Instagram stories.)

Where are they? Bina wonders as she makes her way back to the formal living room.

Her phone buzzes with a text.

KAVITA: I’m so sorry. I won’t be able to make it.

MIRA: Same. Can we do the meeting another time?

Something in Bina’s chest drops. She starts to type. Did something happen? Are you both okay?

But she deletes it, then types: No problem. See you another time.

She stretches across the couch as dread washes over her. Something must have happened. It isn’t like Kavita or Mira to cancel at the last minute. She had texted Anita about the meeting earlier in the week and never got a response. But a part of her held out hope that she would show up anyway, surprise her.

She scrolls to Devi’s name in her phone.

“Hi!” Devi exclaims. On her end, Bina hears a man yelling, “Peaches! Blueberries!”

“Are you at the farmers’ market? How LA!” Bina laughs.

“Ha! I’m in Napa, on a set that’s supposed to be a farmers’ market,” Devi whispers. “Hold on, let me just step away.”