Page 52 of Here One Moment

“He’s a medical professional, and he’s your brother, Allegra, it’s not like I’m discussing it with a stranger on the street.”

Rationally, Allegra knows her brother must have some expertise. He has a degree, an office, patients. But he’s still just Taj. What would he know?

Her irritation makes her reckless. “I shouldn’t have told you what that passenger said. I will never ‘self-harm.’ I do not have depression, Mum, and I’m not getting it.”

Her mother’s tone is frosty. “Depression is not actually something you choose to suffer, Allegra, any more than you choose to catch a cold.”

Now Allegra feels bad. “Yes, I know, you’re right, I’m just saying—”

“I’m not concerned about what the passenger said.” Her mother’s voice is louder. She probably regrets saying what she said too, because isn’t she therefore implying that depression floats invisibly in the air like cold germs ready to infect Allegra with her genetic susceptibility? Allegra knows her poor mother is walking a delicate line: Don’t worry about this, but don’t be cavalier about this.

“I’m not even thinking about it. I called to make sure you knewwhen Diwali is this year, so you’re not working, because your cousins—”

“I know, Mum, I’ve got it in my calendar. I promise I won’t be working.”

A glass of wine is handed to her by the man about whom Allegra’s mother knows nothing. Her mother is not old-fashioned about premarital sex, but she would not like the idea of sex for the sake of sex. Sex is meant to be an expression of love. If you know for sure you have no future with this man, Allegra, if you’re not sure you even like him, why waste your time sleeping with him?

He carefully positions himself next to her on the bed, his back up against the headboard. He has smooth tanned calves. He shaves his legs because it “improves his aerodynamics” when he cycles. A surfboard is propped up in the corner of his bedroom. A dumbbell sits on a pile of military-themed books on his bedside table, along with a nasal spray. They could not be less compatible.

“You sound distracted,” says her mother. “Are you in the middle of watching something? Your brother hates it when I call when he’s in the middle of watching something, which, apparently, I always do.”

“I’m just tired,” says Allegra.

“You work too hard. Have you—”

“Eaten? Yes, I have.” She preempts the next question. “I had the brown chicken you gave me the other night.” She’ll have it tomorrow night. “It was good.”

“I will make more for you, meri jaan, sleep well.”

Meri jaan. Her mother reserves this term of endearment for times of genuine illness or heartbreak. The translation is “my life.” The love in her mother’s voice makes Allegra feel terrible for snapping. She will visit tomorrow.

“Bye, Mum,” she says, in a tone of voice that means I’m sorry.

She puts the phone face down on the bed next to her.

“Thank you,” she says to the man with whom she is not compatible.

He smiles. “You sound different when you’re talking to your mother.”

“You mean I sound more Indian.”

It’s something Allegra and her family notice about themselves: their accent subtly shifts depending on their audience. “Listen to Dad doing his Aussie voice,” her brother will chuckle. It happens naturally. Allegra can’t fake it.

“Do you speak…any other languages?”

“I understand Hindi pretty well,” says Allegra brusquely. “But I’m not fluent.”

She doesn’t want to talk to him about her family, her background, her culture. It’s too personal. She’s happy to be called “insanely beautiful” but not if what he really means is “exotic.”

She picks up her phone again, begins to scroll. “Shall I order us takeout?”

“Nope. I’m cooking,” he says.

“You’re cooking?” She puts down her phone. “You don’t need to do that.”

“For your birthday,” he says. “I felt bad when I turned up to work and saw your friend with the balloon and realized it was your birthday, I didn’t know—”

“Why should you have?” She wants to make it very clear she has no misapprehensions about what is going on here. She kicks his calf with her foot. “Speaking of which, what was that performance with the doughnut? My friend…”

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