"Haan, bilkul sahi," Mamma said, nodding with a martyr-like look on her face. "They had to extract Dimple with the forceps, you know. Very painful. I couldn't go to bathroom without screaming after that." She sipped her chai and then sighed, looking at Dimple. "And they're so ungrateful after they come out."
Dimple rolled her eyes to herself. "So sorry to disappoint," she mumbled too softly for anyone to hear. She thought, anyway. But when she looked up, Seema didi was chewing on her cheek to keep from smiling.
"But still, Ritu, you're so lucky, you know," Mamma said, smiling wistfully at the ultrasound picture, which was now in her hands. "In eight months you're going to be a grandmother! Tum kitni khush kismet ho. "
Khush kismet. Lucky. Which, of course, implied that Mamma was unlucky. She'd gotten a dud of a daughter who ripped her way out in the world and had done nothing but disappoint her ever since.
Dimple and Mamma hadn't had a real conversation about any of what had happened over the summer at SFSU with Rishi. Papa had reassured Dimple that he supported her decision to sever all ties with him, even if he didn't know all the details. He'd just wanted to make sure that Rishi hadn't hurt Dimple. Papa told her to focus on her app and her relationship with Jenny Lindt. He told her she'd make new friends and have new things to look forward to at Stanford, that all of this would be a distant memory soon. All the things that parents say to their kids when life deals them lemons.
And then there was Mamma. She'd looked at Dimple with reproachful eyes ever since she came home from Insomnia Con. She hadn't said anything outright, but she'd sighed so much, Dimple was afraid the house was on the verge of collapse. And she loved to talk about Seema didi 's new pregnancy. Incessantly. Mamma talked about domestic life, and how much it suited Seema, and how happy Ritu was. And in the empty spaces between her words, Dimple heard how disappointed Mamma was in her. How much she wished she and Ritu could swap lives.
Dimple stood abruptly, tears threatening. That seemed to happen without warning now, like severing ties with Rishi had left her emotions raw and vulnerable to the elements. "Excuse me," she said, aware that her voice was trembling. "I should finish packing."
Ritu auntie beamed up at her from her wheelchair, oblivious, though she saw Mamma in her peripheral vision, frowning. "Haan, you're leaving tomorrow, na? Stanford!"
Dimple tried to smile and failed, so she settled for a nod.
Ritu auntie reached in her bag and handed a dollar bill to Dimple, a common practice for elders when younger people were entering a new stage of their life. "Oh, auntie, I can't-"
"Yes, you can, and you must," Ritu auntie said, pressing it into her palm. "Khush raho, beti. And best of luck."
Dimple managed a half smile then, thinking, It's a nice sentiment, but happiness is way too tall an order.
• • •
Dimple sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her suitcase and pillow and her lone box of books. She wasn't taking much else with her on this trip. She'd managed to convince Papa and Mamma to let her drive up there alone, but they'd only agreed because she'd promised to come back down for the long Labor Day weekend. Dimple figured she'd get anything else she really needed on that second trip. There was no need to overdo it; all she really wanted were her laptop and books.
She purposely didn't glance over at the bookshelf where she'd left the graphic novels Rishi had given her in Two Sisters. She'd read one of them before she left Insomnia Con. It was full of love and magic and the promise of new things. Dimple couldn't handle that right now. She'd wanted to donate them, but hadn't found it in herself to do that yet. Maybe when she came back home.
Dimple looked around at her room, wondering if Mamma would even notice she was gone. Maybe she'd be happier without having to think about Dimple every single second, without Dimple's many disappointments in her face all day, every day.
Mamma entered her room without knocking, just like usual, and set a glass of haldi doodh on the nightstand. Dimple looked away. She couldn't bear to see more disappointment or reproach. She was so done. Things were hard enough-her own doubts were hard enough-without Mamma's constant pressure.
"You told me you finished packing," Mamma said, sitting on a wicker chair Dimple had bought at a flea market years ago.
"I did," Dimple replied. "I just wanted to get out of there. Couldn't stand the baby talk anymore."
Mamma chuckled. "Haan. They're very excited. First child and grandchild, na? "
"Did they leave?"
Mamma nodded. After a pause, she said, "Sab theekh hai?"
Dimple looked at her, feeling a lump in her throat rise. "No, everything's not all right, Mamma."