Echoes of Belonging by Vandana Prajapati

Author:Vandana Prajapati [Vandana Prajapati]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Notion Press
Published: 2023-11-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

I manage to avoid Tara on Saturday by holing up in my room, only leaving for the occasional foraging trip to the kitchen. I even skip dinner—sitting at the table with her is a nonstarter. I tell Amit uncle and Kavita aunty that I’m feeling unwell when they come to check on me, which technically isn’t a lie, although it’s my emotional wellness that’s suffering. Kavita Aunty’s maternal instinct shines its brightest. She even goes so far as to take my temperature. She’s relieved when the thermometer flashes 98.6. I hope it doesn’t make her suspicious. “It’s probably allergies. Mold,” I say. This is true, but we’ve had a mild autumn so far with very little rainfall.

Amit uncle runs to the store for medicine.

When he returns, he has a glass of water ready. He undoes the child-safety cap and breaks the aluminum seal, then pours a pill into his palm and presents it and the water to me. “Down the hatch.” He really does think I’m a child in need of a father. You are.

It’s so heartwarming, I can’t take it. I do as I’m told and swallow everything.

Once they’re gone, I pop in a Blu-ray, one of a handful that I own, of the classic sci-fi horror They Live, and fall asleep.

BY LATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON, it has become intolerable. And we still have another day off. Our first—with a bit of luck, our last—argument had to happen on a three-day weekend. I wouldn’t have expected it to go down any other way; fate was always going to make sure I’d have a remarkable amount of time on my hands to brood over it.

Tara’s BEEN out for a while. When I ask Kavita Aunty about it, she tells me she’s at the mall with Avani and Shreya. Her absence is advantageous. I can let my guard down while I plant my ass in the recliner and figure out the best way to remedy the shituation.

Groveling for forgiveness won’t work; that would annoy her. A simple apology won’t be enough. Why the hell did I act without considering the consequences first?

I could cry? That’s some weak shit. The only acceptable time for tears is during a panic attack, when my logical brain goes into hibernation and my primordial lizard brain takes over.

I could write her a note? Do you want her to forgive you or laugh in your face?

I could buy her flowers? Lol, wut? No, that’s weird. Total wifey move.

The front door opens and closes. I shut my eyes. Please be Amit, uncle. I open them again and see that Tara is standing in the hallway with about fifteen bags in her hands.

Retail therapy.

I scamper to my feet. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“You need some help with those?”

She holds out her left hand. I bundle the handles and take the bags from her.

“Come upstairs with me?” she asks.

We head to her room. She closes the door. I place the bags on the floor, then turn around and squirm under her gaze.

She puts the rest of the bags down on her desk.

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