“We wanted different things,” Trisha answers coolly. A few beats later, she asks, “How is Gia?” The change of topic is abrupt, clearly not fooling anyone. “She’s back at school?”
A week has passed since Gia returned to school. Ranee stopped by the morning of her first day back and stood by while Marin and Raj awkwardly went through the rituals of early morning preparation. Ranee listened as Raj chatted about the weather, ignoring Marin as she silently rechecked Gia’s backpack to make sure all her finished homework was in the appropriate folders. Gia gave Ranee a hug good-bye before slipping into the car for Raj to drive her to school. Marin immediately returned to work, leaving Ranee to see herself out. She called that afternoon to check how Gia’s first day went, but Marin coldly replied that it was fine and she was in her room studying.
“Yes,” Marin answers, now the one to avoid everyone’s eyes. “She appreciated your gift basket.”
“You gave her a gift basket?” Sonya asks, a smile hovering. “Really?”
“It seemed appropriate,” Trisha says, defending herself with a shrug.
“What was in it?” Sonya asks, dropping the tape roll and scissors on the box she was packing.
“CDs, some books, I think,” Trisha pauses. “Maybe hot chocolate, body wash.”
“Just what she needs,” Sonya says. “Some yummy-smelling soap.” Sonya starts to laugh, fueled by the ludicrousness of the situation.
Ranee opens her mouth to scold Sonya, to tell her that the thought is what counts, but before she can utter a word, Trisha starts to laugh. At first it is small, almost as if in embarrassment, but soon she is doubled over with it. Marin watches in shock, but soon enough she joins in, the laughter contagious.
For just a moment they are young again, all three of them, laughing like they did in their room late at night, bonding over the pain that no one else could understand. A decision to laugh instead of cry, to survive instead of let go. There was no past and no future, just now. As Ranee watches them, she wishes she could hold them in this place forever. Where they remember how to laugh with one another, to find joy even when sadness is the dominant emotion. But it is not meant to last. Just as Ranee begins to hope that they are once again tied together, that maybe there was a right after all the wrongs, Trisha’s laughter turns ugly, bitter. As if remembering the surety of her life is shattered, she stops abruptly, shaking her head in obvious disgust.
“I guess I should have done more research, tried to figure out what to give a girl like Gia,” Trisha says.
“What does that mean?” Marin demands, her own laughter coming to a halt.
“Why wouldn’t she tell you what was happening to her?” Trisha demands. “Hard to figure out.” Trisha stacks a box atop another. “Don’t you think?”
Marin slowly approaches Trisha without breaking her gaze. “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now.”
“Gia is a teenager,” Ranee interrupts, coming to stand between the two of them. “It does not always make sense why they do what they do.”
“I just think—” Trisha begins, but Marin interrupts.
“I think my daughter is none of your business,” Marin lashes out, clearly ignoring Ranee’s attempt at diplomacy. “And you’ll understand my hesitancy to accept any advice from the woman who can’t have any children of her own.” Hands on her hips, she has the stance of one ready for battle. A thought seems to occur to her, the revelation clear on her face. “Is that why Eric left? Because you couldn’t have children?”
“I didn’t want any,” Trisha says slowly, her words laced with venom. “Good thing too, huh? Given the track record of our ability to mother.”
“Everything my daughter is, is because of me,” Marin throws out.
“Including the bruises?” Trisha demands. The words are whispered, said so quietly that Ranee isn’t sure anyone heard. But when Marin grabs her purse and moves toward the door, Ranee accepts that she did.