Page 13 of Breaking Away

“We could take the long way back to the hotel?”

“Or we spoil you.” I lean forward. “There’s a Hammam Spa nearby. The kind you’ve always wanted to try out. I checked and they’ve got room for both of us in the afternoon. My treat?”

My mom’s eyes brighten. She’s nodding yes when her phone rings. It’s my dad calling from the arena to check in on her birthday. When she picks up, they reminisce about how it’s so weird they’re getting old, remembering their foolish dreamer days back in India. Dad says something to make her laugh. I’m smiling. It’s in these moments that our family feels perfect. Seriously, if I could time-loop and bottle the simplicity of life in this second, I would.

Mom mentions the spa, and the way she is answering, I know Dad is questioning her. Something about whether she’ll be ready in time for the dinner he’s arranged with important people from the league tonight. The start of the Blades season has been rocky, and other than needing to win tonight’s game against the Wings, he needs his wife later on his arm for networking.

“They only need a reason, Karen,” are the muffled words I overhear. “To replace me. I’ve got to work twice as hard for half as much.”

My mother’s name is Kirendeep, but to fit in with the crowd that my dad is around, she’s become Karen. It’s Karen and Perry now instead of Kirendeep and Pritpal.

Her hand roves across the tablecloth, not settling until knitting needles are firmly grasped again. “Of course, I understand. We won’t go to the spa, sweetheart.”

I deflate like my donut. Instead of jelly, something hotter spills out. She wassoexcited about the spa, but now that my dad’s plans interfere, her own happiness is shelved. As if his wants are needs, and they matter way more than her wants. He gets to come first no matter what because he works this job.

Even though, in the early days long gone, I remember forgotten pancake batter on a frazzled cheek as Mom droveherself ragged to keep our middle-class house running. She worked, cooked, and cleaned. Her voice was as loud as his.

Now my parents have cleaners, and food delivered to their doorstep.

Everything has changed, and I can’t remember the last time I heard my mom raise her voice. Why can’t I remember it? When was her lastNo?

Do theNosrun out? Under what conditions? When you are a wife to someone whose notoriety has eclipsed their origins? When you aren’t working any longer? When you owe everything to someone else?

My ribs feel tight. I practice myNosin my head, a bit desperately. Anything to stop this feeling where my lungs can’t get enough air.

No, Tyler, I don’t want you to talk about my fat lips ever.

No, Tyler, we aren’t in an open relationship.

No, I don’t want to forget about this and move on. No, the wedding can’t just happen.

… No, I don’t know what to do next. Or what happens now… No, I’ve not got a clue or a plan…

“Your dad wants to talk to you.”

I blink at the phone she’s holding out. Slowly, I take it. “Hey, Dad.”

“Take his calls, Kavleen. I need my captain focused.”

My jaw drops.

“That’s not my fault,” I squeak out. “You don’t know what he’s done?—”

“He’s told me.”

I suck in a shocked breath. “And you still want me toanswerhis calls?”

Surely, my dad doesn’t know about the other woman, and how Tyler’s been saying our relationship was open. Not tomention thefat lips on my dicktrash-talking. A wave of bubbling nausea hits me. NO WAY.

“Everyone deserves a chance to explain,” the gruff voice of my dad advises me. “Just hear him out, that’s all I’m saying.”

My hand seeks the butter knife on the table. I won’t do anything, but it feels nice to hold as if Icouldfling it around. “You’re taking his side!”

“I’m not. Stop that kind of talk.”

My dad’s patience has thinned. His tone is now terse. “What I am doing is breaking history as the first South Asian man coaching at this level. I’m paving the path for others who look like me. That’s my burden, Kavleen. And right now, one of my top players isn’t on his game because he’s calling his fiancée twenty times a day.”

“I—”

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