“Sure.” Gia’s confusion is clear, but she doesn’t say anything. “I was just going to change real quick.”
Marin watches silently as Gia throws her top and capris onto the floor before pulling out an oversize T-shirt from her dresser drawer. There are no scars marring her body anymore. Instead, it is smooth, the skin clear and free of the black and blue that decorated it not long ago. Raj retired to the guest room after giving Gia a quick peck on the head and sending a warning glance to Marin. She acknowledged it with a nod, more afraid of Gia’s reaction to her than of any damage she could do to her daughter.
Gia steps into her adjoining bathroom, brushing her teeth with just a few strokes. Marin bites her tongue, choosing wisely not to say anything. She takes a seat on the bed, waiting for Gia to finish up and join her. Exiting the bathroom, Gia walks around to the other side and climbs under the covers, fluffing her pillows, and leaning against them. “What did you want to talk about?”
“A story I wanted to tell you.” Marin takes a deep breath, praying for courage. “I’ve never told you about my childhood. About who I am.”
“Why?” Gia asks. The innocence that once emanated from her is lost.
“I don’t know,” Marin lies, still hiding. She berates herself silently, yearning for a hand to guide. But she has to take these steps on her own and allow everything to fall where it may. “I didn’t want to move to America,” Marin starts, admitting it aloud. “We used to live in a small house, barely two rooms, in India. Most of my friends still cooked their food over coals, but we were fortunate enough to have a stove. That was it for luxuries, though.”
“That’s crazy,” Gia murmurs, listening attentively. “How could you stand it?”
“It was home,” Marin explains. “All I knew, and I loved it. Dada was so good to me when we lived in India. He used to play with me, bought me toys.” When the visas came, he showed her pictures of America from books. From their small village it looked like paradise. A place all their dreams would come true. “He loved me.” Marin can still remember the feeling of being his girl. With no sons in the home, Brent gave all of his attention to her. Once upon a time, Marin considered herself fortunate for that.
“You make it sound past tense.”
“When we moved to America, that’s what it became.” Marin shifts closer to Gia on the bed, bringing her sock-clad feet onto the covers. “How did you know what he did to me? Who told you that?”
“He did,” Gia replies. She tenses, playing with the covers on the bed. “I don’t remember how old I was, but I was young. Maybe nine, ten years old. He asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I told him I wanted to be you.”
Marin catches her breath, unable to remember a time when her daughter exalted her so much. How much more had she missed, she wondered. “I never knew that.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t exactly cool to tell your mom you wanted to be like her.”
“And I can’t imagine I made it easy.” Marin never wanted to be like Ranee. She refused to be weak when she needed to be strong. Brent was the easy choice to mimic. “What did he say when you told him?”
“That you were you because of him.” Gia stares at the wall. The silence in the room is deafening. “He said you weren’t very smart or disciplined. That he used to hit you to make you learn. He said he did it because he loved you.”
Marin’s head falls back as she tries desperately to swallow the cry that comes instinctually. How could any father convince himself of that and then dare to pass the message on to his only grandchild? “The first time he hit me was on the first birthday I celebrated in America,” Marin divulges, hearing Gia’s intake of breath. “I dropped the ice-cream cone he bought me.”
“Mom,” Gia starts, looking pained.