“Beti,” Ranee calls Marin from the small doorway of their house, modern in comparison to many of the others in the neighborhood. Though their toilet is not connected to running water, they do have a separate space in the house to shower and use as a restroom. Most of her friends still have to walk to an outhouse shared by a number of families. “It is time to prepare dinner.”
Marin has recently begun learning how to cook. It is expected of all the girls; the younger you start, the better. The lessons allow her time with Ranee without her grandmother watching and scolding. Brent’s mother lives with them, as tradition demanded, and her arthritis has flared up, causing her to be even more judgmental and critical of Marin’s actions. Ranee has told her to ignore the harping, but it is hard.
“Five minutes, Mummy,” Marin says, her focus on the game. Three more jumps and she will be the ultimate victor. Scrunching her face in concentration, she eyes the rock she has to pick up without falling over. With all her effort, she makes the leap, but trips over the branch, falling flat onto the concrete. Her nose grazes the ground and begins to bleed. The girls rush to help her. Ranee, having seen the fall, moves as quickly as her sari allows.
“Are you all right?” Ranee uses the edge of her sari to wipe away the blood. When Marin’s nose continues to bleed, she pinches the top of it and tips her head back. “What happened, Beti?”
“She was too focused on the rock. Didn’t pay attention to the branch,” her smug grandmother says, seated on an old wooden chair nearby. “Foolish girl.”
“I’ll be home at ten,” Gia announces as she grabs a piece of toast. Her backpack overflows with books. Her school uniform, a plaid skirt and pressed white shirt, flatters her slim figure. Two days a week, the students are allowed to wear their own clothes. After a heated discussion about individuality versus conformity at the PTA meeting, the school board compromised. On those two days, Gia often throws on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. To Marin, her choice of clothes screams indifference rather than a personality statement.
“What?” Marin mutes her conference call. Setting down her chai, she stops Gia before she walks out the door. “Ten?”
“There’s a study group for the science test.” Gia taps her foot in a seeming hurry to get in the waiting car. She’s in a carpool, which frees Marin from the hassle of school pickup and drop-off. “We’ll be at the library.”
“Who is driving you?” Marin doesn’t recall seeing the test on her calendar. She makes a point to sync Gia’s school calendar with her own, and she’s careful to keep the nights before due dates and exams free of dinners or family events so she can spend the time reviewing with Gia.
“One of the moms. I have to go,” Gia insists, trying to shut the door.
“Have a great day,” Marin offers, turning back to her phone. She considers giving Gia a hug, but recently her daughter has started shying away from contact. Not a fan of displays of affection herself, Marin hasn’t pushed it. “Good luck studying.” But her words are swallowed by empty air. Gia has already left the house.
“That is not acceptable,” Marin says, rejoining the conversation on the phone. “Get the reports on my desk within the hour,” she orders a senior manager.
Her day started at four this morning—it is now past nine. As she paces her home office, she glances in the mirror that hangs on the back of her door. She’s still in her pajamas. A quick glance at her calendar reminds her she has a meeting in an hour at the office. Throwing her cooled chai into the sink, she rushes upstairs and turns on the shower to let it warm up. She quickly grabs a pantsuit and accessories to match as her cell phone begins to buzz on the dresser. “Still have thirty minutes until I’m due in the office,” she calls out to no one. Unless it’s her secretary, Marin rarely makes time to talk to anyone not on her schedule. But this caller is insistent. Running naked to the phone, she barely registers the number before answering. “Hello.”
“Marin? It’s Karen, the principal at Gia’s school. We need to speak to you. It’s urgent.”