“I hope to give you the world,” Brent explained. “This rock is a small piece of it. One day I will present you with more.”
Every year after that, until he fell into his coma, Brent would present her with a rock on their anniversary. Each larger than the original one. A few he ordered from faraway places. One from the caves of Brazil, another from the shores of Australia. Ranee never knew how he found them, but each year he would present it to her with a grand display and say, “I’m going to give you the world, Ranee.” She always wanted to say, “If you could stop hitting us, that would be enough.”
But she never did, and he never stopped.
SONYA
The day of my graduation from Stanford, the sun was shining and there was a slight breeze. Enough wind to cause the tassel on my graduation cap to flutter against my cheek. A distinguished member of the community just told us in his speech that we too could be successful. Life was ours to own. We must forge our path. With Stanford attached to our names, we had the guarantee to blaze a trail with a fire that shone brighter than others did. Now that we had been proven worthy, the future was waiting.
Shockingly inspired by the words, I made the unthinkable decision to declare photography as my vocation. It was always my passion, my escape, but I never dared to dream of doing it full time. I sat in my chair, surrounded by my classmates, and decided to make the once-inconceivable decision for myself. To tell Dad that the law, the profession he chose for me, was not my choice. Never before had I dared speak my mind out of concern for the consequences. I feared his anger, but more so who would feel his wrath.
Later we stood on the grounds of the main quad. I glanced around at my family, who had gathered into a circle. Marin was in her standard suit while Trisha chose a sophisticated summer dress. Mom had on a sari, the tight fit limiting her range of movement. Gia sat atop Raj’s shoulders, pulling on his hair and pretending he was a horse.
At first my voice was quiet, gaining strength only as the words flowed from a place deep in my heart. “I’ve decided to defer my admission to law school,” I announced, avoiding Dad’s eyes. Clutching my diploma, I struggled for courage. “I’m going to pursue photography.”
“No,” Dad said, without a second thought. “You will attend law school in the fall, like we decided.”
I nearly acquiesced, used to bending to his will. But the sight of Gia atop Raj’s shoulders, laughing at the control she was sure she held, trigged something within me. A quick glance at Trisha, who was watching me with concern but not disappointment, strengthened my resolve. “It is my decision to make. I will let the law-school committee know immediately.”
He began to laugh, shocking all of us. The sound was not of joy, but instead disgust. I flinched when I saw him narrow his eyes in my direction. Mom closed her eyes, her head dropping in dejection. “You are stupid,” he yelled. Unconcerned about having an audience, his face tightened with rage. “I always knew it.” A few friends were lingering nearby with their families. At the sound of his raised voice, they turned toward us, watching with curiosity. I felt the familiar shame creep over me, the strong instinct to disappear.
“Please,” I pleaded, losing my courage. “I’ll defer, just for a year.”
“Defer,” he mocked. Shaking his head, he announced to all of us, “We should have aborted her when we had the chance.”
His words didn’t surprise me. Whether he was telling the joke that life played on him when he believed me to be a boy or talking about the additional cost of another child that he resented, I had heard the sentiment enough times over the years to be numb to it. But when he turned toward Mom, who had always stayed silent during his tirades, my heart lurched.