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Chapter Fifty-Seven

Shantal

I brought Sonia’s photo with me to Dubai at the last minute, grabbing the frame off my bedside table and taking it with me in a well-packed suitcase to ensure it didn’t crack. Now, with a pit of guilt building in the bottom of my stomach, I am back where I started: in the guest room of Navin’s house in the Emirates, with Sonia, hoping she can give me some kind of answer.

‘You won’t get to see any of this, will you?’

I catch the sob that begins to creep up my throat as I meet my sister’s eyes. Perfect. She was perfect. And she was so, so tormented.

‘My engagement. My wedding. You won’t get to see me off when I leave Ma and Babu.’ I push tears from my cheeks with a force that takes off some of my fresh makeup. ‘What would you have wanted, huh? I feel like that’s always been the question. Would you have wanted our parents happy, or me? Because the more I think about it, the more I realize – we can’t have both.’

They’re happy. But I’m you now .

I picture Darien lining up for the race in mere hours – Abu Dhabi, the race that will decide the outcome of his season. He’s points from Miguel. This is his chance to prove himself, and he’s doing everything in his power to make that chance worth it. I can’t even begin to define who I am, what I stand for. Am I myself, or am I the weight that was placed on my shoulders when my parents found out why we lost Sonia?

When the doctors talked to my parents, Ma had fallen into Babu’s arms with cries so horrible they made my stomach turn. She couldn’t believe Sonia would hide such a thing from us for so long. None of us could, and I don’t think any of us accepted the true reason she made that choice because of it. We were in shock. We didn’t want to think about the sacrifice she’d made. We are still in shock, and instead of recognizing that something went awfully wrong, we made her a martyr.

Sonia did everything right, with meticulous skill. Dance, teaching, pageants. But there is a sharp sting that stabs at my heart when I think of the emptiness in her eyes that last night before she died, when she turned to me with those final words. ‘Don’t waste your time in making everyone else happy.’ You think I’ve done it all right. But this is evidence that I have not.

I stand up, set my sister’s photo in its frame back on the nightstand. I shake the wrinkles from my lehenga , my engagement dress, a pale lavender embroidered with gold designs and glimmering pearls and diamonds. I check my face in the mirror, make sure nothing is out of place, straighten the dupatta pinned to my bun. This is what it’s going to be now. I can hear the commotion in the yard already, all the guests waiting eagerly as I sit here and pray for the minutes to pass by until I no longer have any choice but to leave my room.

I look terrified.

I grab my phone from off the bed and shoot Anjali a quick text. I don’t think I can make it down there on my own. But just as I’ve hit SEND , she bursts through the door.

My yap-happy cousin is dead silent as she paces the room for a full three minutes before sitting down on the bed with dramatic emphasis and looking up at me, eyes heavy with disappointment.

‘Seriously?’ she finally says. ‘You’re still here ?’

‘What do you mean?’ I reply slowly, with a hesitant gesture to the windows beyond which the ongoing party is visible. ‘All these people are—’

‘Shantal, to hell with all these people!’ she sighs, voice rising. ‘ These people dictated everything we did all our lives. They’ve been telling us what to do for ages, and never once has it made sense to me. Sometimes we’re told to keep our chins up and be good wives. Other times we’re told to lower our heads and have some emotion. Sometimes we have to put on makeup and curl our hair. And other times we’re ridiculed for the extra effort. We get assigned a role in society, and when we raise our voices about it, we’re told we have options.

‘I’m sick and tired of being the perfect daughter. Of being the perfect girl . Our parents suck all the love out of us, take us for granted, and then ask us why we don’t love harder. Everyone always tells us to be quiet, until they hurt us, and then they ask us why we weren’t louder. Look at Sonia, Shanni. Perfect daughter, perfect sister, perfect dancer, perfect teacher. None of us realized that something else was going on behind all of that. So tell me, what kind of a world are we living in? Are we living in it, or is it just using us like everybody else is? And are you going to let it use you as well?’

Anjali’s eyes fill with tears as she deals the final blow. ‘When are you going to realize that it’s time for you to stop being the listener, didi ? To stop sitting there with nothing to say, listening and listening? Someone sees you, and you love him. If you don’t – if you stay here and do this, I’m just scared you’re going to keep serving everyone else until you just … disappear. And then there won’t be anything left for him to see.’

My eyes slowly travel to behind Anjali, and they widen significantly as I realize it’s not the two of us alone here.

‘Ma,’ I barely whisper.

Wrapped up in her purple and gold saree, my mom takes quivering breaths, her hands shaking as she takes in this entire scene, this tangle of lies she’s just now getting the truth about.

‘Vaani, what’s—’

My father stops in his tracks directly behind Ma. Babu’s glasses slide down his nose, and he pushes them up with urgency, his line of sight flitting from me to Anjali and back to me. ‘Shanni, what’s wrong?’

‘Babu …’

Anjali clutches my hand in hers, and then my rebellious cousin does something that I fully believe comes from both herself and my Sonia. She tells the truth that undoes everything I’ve hidden from my parents since I got back.

‘Aunty, she’s in love . She’s in love, and it’ll cost her everything. She’s willing to sacrifice all her dreams, the life she wants, to make you happy. She’ll do whatever it takes, even if it means pleasing everyone before herself, just like Sonia did. And I know, I know this isn’t my place, but that would be a mistake. She wasn’t born to be Sonia; she was born to be Shantal.’

They are both silent for a long minute as they take this in, and then my father looks up at me with what I think may be disappointment. Is it disappointment? I can’t tell, but it’s the worst kind of stabbing pain.

‘I just …’ My words are slow, a long time coming. ‘I know you know Sonia was everything to us, but what happened to her … It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. Now it feels like she’s brought me the answer, and he’s everything I never thought I’d have the heart to love … ever again. He’s my way to something happier, something that’s … truly and deeply mine. My kind of love. No obligations, no fine print, just …’ My voice cracks as I remember what I’d told Darien that day, what my mum used to tell me. ‘The other half of my heart.’

Ma takes a step forward, her fingers brushing the curls and flowers of my mehndi as she takes my hands in hers. A soft breath escapes her lips, and she meets my gaze with eyes brimming with tears.

‘The drive to Abu Dhabi is an hour.’

At first, the words don’t register in my brain. They don’t even sound real, and then they do. They click together piece by piece, and I question how this is even happening – any of this.

‘Vaani?’ Babu says quietly.

‘I will talk to the Kumars myself. I don’t want,’ my mother replies, more to herself than anyone else, ‘to lose another daughter.’

Babu takes off his glasses, focuses on the ground, and then he wraps an arm around my mother, taking my hand in the other. He swallows hard. Says, ‘That drive is more like forty-five minutes if you’ve really got somewhere to be.’

I don’t think I’ve ever driven the way I do when I whip my parents’ grey sedan out of Navin’s parking lot and onto the road. I peek at my GPS for only a moment, making sure to get on the right highway, at which point I press my foot straight to the floor of the car. My chest feels as if it’s about to burst from the thumping of my heart. Is it too late? Is this a mistake? Does he even want to see me?

‘Shut up,’ I mutter to myself. My eyes dart in search of police officers. None. I speed up even more. There’s nothing to lose, anyway. Either I get there and he’ll hear me out, or I get there and he won’t. I’m too far to turn back now.

Heading off at the exit, I hit the traffic unexpectedly quickly; a flood of cars cramming the roads. Honking is the chosen mode of communication, with a couple of joyous middle fingers thrown up as necessary. No one is going anywhere right now. I check my phone. The race starts in less than an hour. The teams will be getting ready soon and, once that’s started, that will be my chance gone. Darien will be on the track. It’s a wonder if I’ll be able to get in and find him any time after that.

I put my car into park and pat the dash longingly, checking in front of me one more time. No movement. Well.

I tug my heels off, and pull my Hokas from their tote bag in the back seat, yanking them on as I open the door. I grab my paddock pass and step out of the car. Once I’m satisfied that all the lavender-tulle material of my lehenga and dupatta have escaped the driver’s seat, I slip my lanyard around my neck and slam the door shut.

With a deep breath, I peek down at my shoes. Don’t fail me now.

And I run.

By the time I’m at the turnstiles for the paddock, I’m so out of breath that I nearly throw my badge at the machine to scan in. I rush through the paddock itself, ignoring strange looks from team members and a principal or two. The Heidelberg motorhome is close to the front, just beyond Revello and Jolt, and I grab the lehenga so I can run up the stairs, bursting through the doors. I’m a mess, I know it – my hair falling out of its jasmine-wreathed bun, my makeup melting off my face, dress crumpled, but I have one thing completely intact, and that is my audacity.

‘Mr Demir!’ I catch sight of the team principal right away and set a beeline.

His eyes go wide when he sees the state I’m in, looking over me with deep concern. ‘Shantal! You’re … God, are you all right?’

‘Yes,’ I manage. ‘Darien?’

Afshin, bless his heart, sighs a resigned sigh, gesturing to the track, from which the roaring of cars already emanates. ‘In the car. He’s gone out there. It’s all down to the wire here.’

No .

I collapse onto the nearest chair, my lehenga flying up around me, and I press a hand to my forehead. Down to the wire.

Please, please, please. I need you to know I’m here. I need you to know I’ll never leave your side again.

‘Shantal …’ Afshin begins, brow wrinkling, but I hold out a hand.

‘Hang on.’ I look up at him, and I hope with all my heart that I can convey the desperation of the situation to him. ‘I need to go out to the fences.’

‘You think …’

‘I know it.’ I purse my lips and nod, every exhale a ragged, shaky puff of air. ‘I know he will.’