Star Daughter(49)

The stars giggled at something she’d missed, and Padmini herded Minal closer to the mirror for a better view. “This should be good,” she murmured.

In the mirror, the bride, jubilant in a vivid blue gharara kameez and gold jewelry, stood with the groom, who wore an ivory sherwani and a cream-and-gold turban. Around them, dancing guests played dandiya raas, their cloth-wrapped sticks striking one another and then retreating. The bride, ignoring the hesitant groom’s claim that he didn’t dance, handed him a pair of dandiya. “Your wife says you have to,” she said. Finally he laughed and followed her into the circle, where he managed to keep the beat.

“It is like your mortal television,” Charumati explained. “A never-ending serial of delights. It is how I found your father, Sheetal.”

Minal might be charmed by all this—and by Padmini—and Charumati might be used to it, but right now, Sheetal just wanted something ugly and plastic. All this beauty was overwhelming in its richness, like eating three bowls of chocolate mousse in one sitting.

Like Dad had done that one winter when she’d dared him. He’d claimed he couldn’t even look at chocolate for months after, though that didn’t stop him from sneaking bites of the brownies she baked. Sheetal missed him so fiercely, she couldn’t breathe.

Charumati had been there, too. So had Minal.

“Do you remember,” Sheetal whispered, ducking away from the mirror-gazing stars, “that New Year’s Eve when we made chocolate mousse and went out to watch the fireworks, and after, Minal was our emcee, and I sang while you and Dad danced in the snow?”

They’d been, what, seven? Dad had dipped Charumati and done an exaggerated tango until both Sheetal and Minal were in stitches on the icy grass. At Minal’s urging, Sheetal had sung wilder and wilder songs, until she finished with a slow one. Dad had pulled Charumati to him, swaying to the melody, and they’d gazed into each other’s eyes as if no one else existed, then and always.

“Of course I do.” Charumati’s eyes shone like twin moons. “That is one of my most treasured of our memories together. Minal suggested such entertaining songs.”

“That was so fun,” Minal said. She stepped away from Padmini and the mirror to stand by Sheetal, who glimmered happily. “I kept trying to find a song that would stump you, but you were all in.”

“You were always such a wonderful singer, my dikri,” her mother said. “So full of joy.”

Sheetal started to thank her until she noticed the trio of stars had abandoned their mirror and were shamelessly eavesdropping. “How do I do this?” she asked instead.

Charumati gestured to the nearest wall. “Gaze into a mirror and think of your papa. Any one will do.”

“Look,” Minal said, staring at an oval one, “there’s my mom!”

Padmini hurried over to see. “I have always been curious about mortals. What is that box? Some sort of storage compartment?”

Minal laughed. “I guess you wouldn’t need washing machines here, would you? Well, our clothes get gross from being worn, and thanks to modern technology, we don’t have to kneel by the river to scrub them clean anymore.”

“Fascinating! So this ‘washing machine’ cleans your clothing for you? But without hands?”

“If you think that’s great,” said Minal, her elbow brushing Padmini’s, “wait till I tell you about dishwashers.”

Padmini nodded, but she was gazing at Minal, not the mirror. “Do tell.”

If it had just been them, Sheetal could have gotten started, but the strangers were still staring. She looked pointedly at her mother, who nodded and whispered something in Padmini’s ear.

Sheetal closed her eyes and inhaled until she’d shut everything out. When she looked again, the hall was empty except for Minal and Charumati.

She could deal with that. She picked a relatively private rectangular mirror and faced it. Dad, she thought, frantic, hot as silver fire. Show me Dad.

The mirror responded, her convulsing chin and overbright eyes resolving into a picture of a hospital room.

There he was, in that poisoned-apple coma, the briar patch of machines all around his bed, their thorn-needles in his arm. He’d turned ashen under the fluorescent lights, a doll, a mannequin, all emotion washed away.

Sheetal bit back a rush of grief. Dev’s words haunted her. She’d done that. If she’d just listened to Dad and never gone to Dev’s house that day . . . I’m so sorry, Daddy.

If he heard her, she couldn’t know. She watched him, humming refrains from songs he loved.

At least, at least, at least, she told herself, thinking of Nana’s promise, he didn’t look any worse.

Radhikafoi appeared in the frame. She rubbed her tired eyes before sitting down next to the bed. “It’s almost Sheetal’s birthday, Deepak. What if she doesn’t come back to us?”

Deepakfua pulled up a chair beside her. “Why wouldn’t she? We’re her family.”

Radhikafoi made a dismissive click with her tongue. “She should be home with us. Whatever happens to Gautam, we should be together.”

Sheetal’s chest squeezed. For once, she agreed with her auntie.

“She was always going to go,” Deepakfua said. “I know you want to protect her, but you can’t shield her from who she is.”