From Twinkle, With Love(75)

“I can see that now. But also … if I had, would he even have given me the time of day? I mean, look at how he’s completely disengaged now. Just mentioning his brother was an anti-Sahil talisman.”

Vic took another sip of her latte and tapped her long fingers on the table. “Yeah. It’s always been like that with them, for as long as I can remember.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I just hate that I hurt him because Sahil’s a good person. Genuine and nice. But he’s always behind the scenes. It’s hard to notice him when Neil’s sort of like this brilliant sun or something, and Sahil’s just gentle and less in your face. Like the moon, I guess.”

“The sun and the moon. Huh. That’s a pretty good analogy for them, actually.” She drank the rest of her latte.

“Yeah. It sucks, but I figured it out too late. I think I’m more of a moonlight kind of girl.” I bit my lip and looked away, trying not to cry.

Victoria squeezed my hand and stood. “I’m sorry, Twinkle. I can’t give you Sahil, but I can give you more sugar. I’m gonna get us another round.”

Now I’m just sitting here at our table alone, beginning to realize just how deeply I cut Sahil. How do you come to terms with the fact that you can’t set something right? How do you begin to let go of the moon?

Love,

Twinkle





Saturday, June 27

0 days until Midsummer Night

Backyard


Dear Ava DuVernay,

This is the day. In roughly eight hours, I will be sitting in an auditorium full of people who will be watching a movie I made.

You know that shirt you have that says, “I am my ancestor’s wildest dream”? That’s what I’m trying to do here; I’m changing the narrative. I so badly want to earn the right to wear that T-shirt one day.

Oh, God. I don’t think I’m equipped to deal with this. I don’t know whether to be terrified or exhilarated or excited or bawl like a baby. I went downstairs at the crack of dawn this morning and saw Dadi in the kitchen, stress cooking and baking.

“Beta!” she said when she saw me. She was wearing this ridiculous apron with squirrels all over it, and Oso sat at her feet, waiting for scraps. “I am making kaju pista biscuits. And idli and chutney is ready for you. Oh, and next on the list is gajar ka halwa.”

My nervy stomach churned at the mention of all the food and desserts. But I knew if I didn’t eat anything, Dadi would take it as a personal insult. “Idli sounds delicious,” I lied, going to get a plate. “Dadi, how long have you been awake?”

“Only since three a.m.,” she said. “There is no better utilization of nervous energy than into ingredients that can make the stomach happy. Isn’t that right, Chandrashekhar?” she said to Oso, and dropped a piece of idli for him to eat. He struck like a cobra; the food was gone before it even touched the floor.

“Three a.m.?” I sat down with my food and milk. “And I thought I was anxious.”

Dadi smiled at me as she grated carrots with lightning speed. “There is no reason to be anxious, beta,” she said. “Your movies are of Oscar quality!”

I groaned. “Dadi, I don’t think you’re the most reliable judge of that,” I said. “But I appreciate it.” Swallowing my mouthful of idli, I asked, “So … are you coming tonight?”

“Of course I am!” Dadi said, looking mortally offended. “I have already reserved my taxi!” Then, seeing my face, she said, “Oh. But you’re not really asking about me, are you, munni?”

Dang. Sometimes I wish Dadi didn’t know me quite so well.

She came to sit across from me at the kitchen table and put her hand on mine. “You’re asking about Mummy.”

I shrugged. “I mean, it’s Saturday, so I know Papa’s going to be at work. But …” I didn’t have to complete the rest. Mummy always dutifully showed up at any school-sanctioned, required events like plays or choir recitals. But when it came to my filmmaking, something that made up three-quarters of my soul, she wasn’t there. It was like she had this quota to fill in order to not be a crappy mother, and my filmmaking was above and beyond the call of duty.

Dadi didn’t try to lie and tell me of course Mummy would be there, of course she wouldn’t want to miss this momentous event in her only daughter’s life. Which both made me feel better and worse. “It will be what it will be,” she said instead, smiling sadly. “Sometimes one must be strong enough for two.”

I nodded and pushed my plate away with my free hand. I knew I had to be strong for Mummy. She’d been through a lot in her life, things I could never even imagine going through. But sometimes? I just get tired of being strong.

“But I have a feeling this moroseness is not only about Mummy, hmm?” Dadi said, stroking my hand. Her brown eyes looked right into me, like she was taking an X-ray of my thoughts. Am I that easy to read? “I have noticed that Sahil and Maddie haven’t been calling here.”

I looked away and swallowed the lump in my throat. “The movie’s over, so … there’s no reason for us to talk anymore.”

When Dadi didn’t say anything, I looked back at her to see her gazing sadly at me. Then she suddenly patted my hand, stood up, and went back to the kitchen.