She walks into the kitchen even though she already knows there won’t be any good snacks. Suhani’s weird about food. She once told Natasha that she thought cooking was a lot of work and taken for granted, something women did while the men sat in the adjacent room discussing big ideas and having fun. Maybe both of them ran away from becoming their mother in different ways.

Sure enough, the fridge is barren except for Tupperware and Pyrex containers full of Mom’s and Zack’s mom Barbara’s food. Natasha drafts a grocery list on a sky-blue Post-it note. She can make a Publix run later this afternoon. She might be lazy, but she’s no mooch.

The fridge side door has two chilled bottles of champagne.

Perfect.

Natasha opens the cabinets. One entire shelf has pairs of flutes, coupes, and tulips. Of course her sister has multiple types of champagne glasses. Natasha takes a coupe glass and pours a generous serving. If Karan was here, he’d shake his head and laugh with her. He’s the only person who can appreciate how intense Suhani is.

In the moments Natasha has space to think, she realizes that’s what she misses the most about him: the silent understanding that can only be shared with someone who often knows you better than you know yourself.

The bubbles tickle her throat as she goes back to her notebook. On the last page, there’s something scribbled in her large, bubbly handwriting.

Self-compassion.

You need to practice being nice to yourself. You know, self-compassion, Dr. Jenkins, her therapist, told her during their last appointment.

Dr. Jenkins was in her forties and always wore fun shoes: turquoise pumps, glitter sneakers, flats lined with fringe. She spoke in a calm voice that was ideal for those mindfulness apps everyone loves. When she wore sleeveless blouses, Natasha took note of her toned and tanned biceps. She certainly was nice to herself, and Natasha found that inspiring.

But even though she liked her therapist, she felt like there were certain things Dr. Jenkins just couldn’t understand, like the way Natasha had to always consider how her behavior impacted others or how her community saw going to therapy as a weakness or how, even though Dad is a psychiatrist, she never felt like she could tell her own parents about getting help.

She finishes her champagne and walks to the fridge for a refill. On the way back to the couch, she notices that Suhani and Zack’s bedroom door is cracked. She steps inside and ignores Suhani’s voice telling her not to even think about snooping.