Leaving the place settings to the planner, Marin approaches her family. “Thanks for coming,” she murmurs. “Where is Trisha?” She directs her question to both Sonya and Ranee.
In India as children, Marin and Trisha were close. Trisha was the little sister Marin cared for when Ranee was busy or off running errands. Their house was filled with Dalits cleaning and cooking meals for mere pennies a day. But the Dalits weren’t allowed to touch infants for fear of marking them with their inferiority. As a result, Marin was often called on to babysit her younger sister.
Marin would feed Trisha the smashed-up vegetables the Dalits prepared, and then swing her in a cotton hammock while she read her storybooks to lull her to sleep. On the flight to America, Trisha spent almost the whole time on Marin’s lap, as her older sister stared out the window at the clouds below, wondering if the ones over America would be different from the ones over India.
Once they landed and Brent couldn’t find a job, things started to change. His interest in Marin’s education became obsessive, while his attitude toward Trisha was one of love and concern. By treating his two daughters differently, he created the fault line that existed to this day. It was the only explanation for their relationship. Without realizing it, Marin began to hate the little sister she had loved so much. To envy her the affection she received, so unlike the hatred directed toward Marin. Her father placed no demands on Trisha to be anything except who she was, while Marin had to mold herself to whatever Brent deemed worthy.
Trisha’s natural beauty earned her even more accolades, making her the star in everyone’s eyes. Marin and Trisha were the pride of the family, community members crowed. Marin’s smarts and Trisha’s beauty made Ranee and Brent fortunate indeed. Members of the samaj never bothered to mention Sonya, who stood to the side, her heavy tummy hanging over the tight hand-me-down pants she was forced to wear. With neither brains nor looks, she was tossed to the side as unnecessary.
“She’s not here,” Sonya answers now, while Ranee looks away, biting her lip.
“Why?” Marin was confident that, of all the guests, Trisha would most appreciate the work that Marin had done to ensure a successful party. Having thrown so many herself, she could relate to the time and energy spent on it. “It’s not because of what happened? At the house?”
“No,” Sonya is quick to assure her. Marin glances at Ranee, who remains silent. “She’s going through a hard time right now.”
“Because of Eric,” Marin assumes, angry that Trisha wouldn’t show up. To Marin, she is breaking a sacrilegious rule, one created in childhood that demands no matter what hardship any of them are enduring, they still have to put on a happy face. If for no other reason than to convince the world to continue believing that they are fine.
“No, not because of Eric.” Sonya and Ranee share a glance, a silent message clearly passing between the two. “She’s barely eating. Sleeps all day,” Sonya finally says. She runs her hand down the length of her sundress, as if she’s uncomfortable with the attire. Now that Marin thinks about it, she has never seen her sister in anything other than jeans and T-shirts. A way to hide herself from the world. “She could use both her sisters right now.”
“What happened?” Marin asks, glancing around to gauge the number of guests that have arrived. She wants to keep talking to Sonya, to understand what her sister is dealing with. “Don’t speak to me in puzzles, please. Is it about not having children?”
“No,” Sonya says, a ghost of a smile haunting. “If it were only so easy.” Lowering her voice, she glances around as if to make sure no one can overhear. “It’s her story to tell,” Sonya says. “But she was hurt, very badly.”
“By whom?” Marin demands, unsure what had happened that could cause Sonya to be so serious.
“Dad,” Sonya says, shocking Marin. It is the last person whose name she expected to hear.