Sam blinked. “What?”
“Mom came home the other day talking about how one of her friend’s daughters came out recently. It was this bigscandal, of course, but the family is a bit more progressive than ours. They’re taking a while to come around, but it sounds like they’re gonna let her do her thing.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. And Mom is already wondering who this girl could possibly date. Not a boy, mind you. Another nice Indian girl who is currently unattached. To anyone. Of any gender.”
“I can’t believe it.”
Nisha shrugged. “We’re well into the 21st century. I suppose it’s not impossible for even our mother to come around. Besides, I’m marrying a man. He may not be Indian, but he’s a man. And Mom will get her grandchildren, God willing. So maybe it means she’ll finally lay off you.”
Sam stifled her laughter. “Yeah, right. The only reason I’m allowed to set foot inside this house is because I started making serious money with my business. That’s it. Once they heard I had some cash in the bank, I got to talk to you again.”
“Times have changed, Sammy,” Nisha said, using one of the few nicknames she had for her sister. “Mom’s getting older. We’re adults now. They’ve been living in Seattle long enough that they’ve inevitably been influenced by progressive thinking. Do you think they would have let either of us marry a guy like Damien ten years ago?”
Sam scoffed. “They would have thrown a fully choreographed Bollywood number if I was dating any guy ten years ago.”
Nisha opened her mouth to refute Sam’s comment when the front door swung open. There, from the cold and rainy Seattle night, came the two people Sam wanted to see the least right now.
“What a mess!” Sam and Nisha’s mother was the first to enter. She whipped her scarf off her head and shook the water droplets out over the empty umbrella stand in the corner of the living room. Like most locals to the PNW, the Reddys saw umbrellas as a crutch. Even if it meant precious scarves were inevitably soaked through. “Someone should have told them that the streets around here can flood.”
Sam didn’t know what surprised her more: that her parents were home, or that she understood most of what her mother said in Telugu.
“Ah!” Both her mother and father stood a few feet away from the couch, eyes locked on Sam. “You’re here!”
Sam remained frozen solid at her end of the couch. Nisha tensed, as if anticipating that she would have to intervene at any moment.
Their mother approached Sam, who was on her feet, preparing to make a swift exit. But something kept her there. When did she get old? Although Sam had spoken face-to-face with her parents several times over the past year, her mother’s crow’s feet and graying in her hair still felt unfamiliar to her, as did her father’s weight gain.
Her mother patted her on the arm before hurrying into the kitchen. “Have you girls eaten?” she called over her shoulder, switching to English, presumably because she thought Sam had forgotten all her Telugu by now.
Nisha answered before Sam had the chance to speak. “I’ve had dinner already.”
Their mother fired up the stove and grabbed something from the fridge. “Your father’s meeting was cut early, and we only got to the appetizers. I’ll make us all some dinner. Nisha, did you put that roti in the fridge like I… ah, there it is.”
Sam and Nisha exchanged a look, while their father wordlessly popped up upstairs as if this were a normal night in his house.
Their mother shut the fridge and glanced out toward Sam. “Stay and eat with us. I’ll make some of that jackfruit curry you like. It won’t take long.”
“Uh… I guess.” It wasn’t the first time Sam had eaten dinner with the family since reconnecting with them. But those had all been tense, formal affairs. And her mom certainly hadn’t offered to cook Sam’s favorite meal for her. Sam was surprised she remembered what it was.
And right now, her mom’s jackfruit curry sounded like the most delicious thing in the world.
“Let me help you, Amma.” Nisha got up and joined her mother in the kitchen. “Actually, I was just telling Sam about—”
“Yes, Samhitha, I want to talk to you about something.” When her mother projected her voice, it was with enough force to smack her target right on the head. “Do you know the Konidelas? No, of course not. But you might know their daughter, Lakshmi? She’s a lesbian, too. Her mother told me all about it. She asked if I knew any decent Indian girls who might want to date her. Mrs. Konidela isn’t so bothered by her daughter being gay. She was born in America, you see. And she has another daughter and two sons, all married and giving her grandkids.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. Nisha looked at her from over her shoulder as if to say, “I told you so.”
“It made me think of you. Samhitha and Lakshmi. Sounds like a nice pair, doesn’t it? But first, we have to put some meat on you. You can’t get a wife with those stringy muscles of yours. Come help me. I think you’ve forgotten how to cook.”
It was almost too much for Sam to handle. But she knew if she didn’t indulge her mother for an hour, she would never hear the end of it.
Could she one day come around to someone like Bianca? Sam had never considered it before. “There’s something I want to tell you,” she thought as she entered the kitchen and silently took over vegetable chopping duties. “I’ve met someone special. I’m hoping it goes somewhere. She’s not Indian, but she’s a good woman and I’m sure you’ll love her.”
One step at a time. Her mother being open to the idea of a future wife in Sam’s life was already a huge step.
And Sam? She liked the idea of Bianca being her wife.
It wasn’t something she’d thought about before. She’d never allowed herself to truly consider what her feelings toward Bianca meant. She was used to locking any strong emotions deep inside to keep them from taking over, from hurting those around her.
But perhaps it was okay to let go of the past, to let herself feel again. After everything with her family. After everything with Rosalie.
Because her feelings for Bianca only strengthened her resolve to protect her with her life.