Page 141 of Debugging Love

Dadi gathers up the front of her saree and walks over to the couch, claiming a spot. She’s still sweating bullets. Frizzy flyaways surround her long braid. She smooths them absent-mindedly as she leans in for another doozy.

“How is that going to work?” she asks.

Focusing on my toe is helping me stay calm. I don’t know why and I’m not going to question it. “We’re going to keep dating.”

“And then what,” Dadi presses. “What happens when you come home? Is she going to come with you?”

I grab my toe and squeeze. “I think I am home.”

More gasps.

I just ripped off the BAND-AID. Plunged in the knife. Dove into cold water headfirst.

“Your father expects you to work for him.”

“I know he does.”

“Have you told him this?”

“No.”

Mom’s taking it well. Dadi is frozen with her hands flat against her thighs.

“Are you going to tell him?” Mom asks.

Guilt bears down hard when I look at her. Her lips are pinched and wrinkled, making her look like a decades-long smoker. She’s forcing herself to stay calm, which I appreciate. This isn’t how I wanted to break the news. But I’m not the one who showed up for a surprise visit.

Dadi wads up her saree in her fist. “It’s all making sense now,” she says like she just solved a riddle. “You haven’t been doing your daily pujas. That’s why you’re so confused. You lack guidance. You need to start up again right away.”

I already plunged in the knife. Guess I’ll go ahead and twist it. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t.”

Dadi gapes at me. “Why can’t you? It’s not difficult. It just takes discipline.”

“I don’t believe in God. I don’t think I do. I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out.”

Dadi’s jaw unhinges. Her breathing gets louder, whistling through her nose and picking up speed. She jumps from the couch. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you come to America!” And then she’s out the door, leaving me and Mom with our jaws unhinged.

“She didn’t mean it,” Mom says when she finds her voice. “She’s just upset.”

“This is a lot for her. And for you.”

Mom regards me sadly, adding weight to my guilt, but I’d rather shoulder it than keep pretending. I want to stay here, grow roots, see where this thing with Danni goes.

“You’re not my baby anymore.” Mom lifts her arms and folds me into a hug. When she lets go, she presses her palms to my cheeks, and peers into my soul. “We’ll be fine with whatever you decide. Including Dadi. Just give her time.”

That went surprisingly well considering I didn’t know I wanted to stay here until I said it. The idea was growing before I met Danni, and then she dumped Miracle-Gro all over it. “Thanks, Mom.”

We hug again, and then we address Dadi’s hasty departure. She’s outside in the sweltering heat, enclosed in several layers of fabric. We have to find her before she passes out.

“Where do you think she went?” Mom asks.

“Hopefully not far.”

The oppressive heat swallows us when we exit the apartment. Wherever Dadi is, it’s shaded, I can guarantee that much.

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