Page 14 of Reasons We Break

Sher putt. Lion daughter. Brave daughter. He says it admiringly.

Simran straightens. That, she can do. She can be brave for them. “I’ll make dinner,” she announces, and when her father smiles again, it bolsters her to do more, be above all this. After all, someone has to function.

Newly determined, Simran heads into the kitchen. She takes out an onion, garlic, ginger, and chilies. While chopping, she calls her sister. Three times. She finally leaves a message. “This isSimran. Call me back, okay?”

She can’t keep the annoyance from her voice. Kiran rarely picks up.

She turns on the kitchen fan as she works. It’s loud, but she finds herself glad for the noise. Anything to drive the thoughts from her head. How strange to think how the day began—worrying about assignments, gossiping with her cousin, and Rajan—Rajan, but she can’t even digest that encounter yet. She has no right, with her mother in the next room reeling from a cancer diagnosis, to think about her old friend or her grades or...or...her transfer to Vancouver...

She nearly drops her wooden spoon. She’d totally forgotten her resolution to tell her parents about it tonight.

Her hopeful self from six hours ago seems stupidly naive now. Of course Simran can’t go to Vancouver. Her family needs her. Staying in Kelowna will be fine—more than fine, actually. Moving to a new city would be tedious.

Decided, Simran pulls out her phone and finds Dr. Maxfield’s email. Standing in the kitchen, she composes a reply.

Dear Dr. Maxfield, thank you for your email, but I’ve decided not to transfer...

She writes a few lines about how she appreciates the opportunity and maybe they can work together later. After proofreading, it’s ready to send. Her thumb hovers over the button.

But she can’t seem to bring it down. Her brain keeps whispering:What if? What if youdidgo?

The frying onions on the stovetop sizzle distractingly loud, stinging at her eyes. She blinks the tears away, but they’re unrelenting. She hates it. No crying allowed today. Not even from onions.

Frustrated, she turns the heat off and heads to the bathroom to wash her face. As the loud kitchen fan fades behind her, she faintly hears a conversation taking place in the living room. She slows. Her parents are murmuring to each other. What could they be talking about after hours of silence?

Simran creeps closer. The first thing she catches is her sister’s name.

“...Kiran’s made it a point to do the opposite of everything I wish for her. I think I’ve lost her forever.”

“That’s just Kiran being Kiran,” her father replies. “Let her be.”

“But Simran...” Simran freezes at the sound of her own name. Her mom sighs. “I’ve always had hope for her. I’ve lost every one of my dreams, except her.”

Why are they talking about this? About her, and Kiran, after the day they’ve had?

“I’ve kept myself going, hoping I’d at least seeonething I wanted for Simran. I hope she can get a stable career, on this path she’s on now. Of course it would’ve been better if—Well, it doesn’t matter. If nothing else, I thought, I’d get to see her grow up.” She grows quieter, so Simran has to lean in. “I’d get to see her become an adult, get married, have children, and be settled. And now I’m learning I won’t even get that.”

“You can’t say that,” her father says. But his voice is rough, too. “No one knows what will happen.”

“But we do know this. I’mold.” Her voice is bitter. “We both are. We knew it when we had Simran. That we wouldn’t be like the younger parents.Theydidn’t have to try for ten years.Theydidn’t have to learn a new country before they could even get started with their lives. Sometimes I wonder if we ever should’ve left home.”

“Hush, Tarleen. We did it to give our family a better life.”

“Maybe.” Her voice cracks. “But I don’t think I made a better life for anyone. I think I just wasted mine.”

And then, Simran hears the most dreadful thing she’s ever heard: her mother crying.

TEN MINUTES BEFOREhis alarm, Rajan cracks his eyes open to the sounds of a scuffle in the hallway. He stares at the ceiling of his storage-closet-turned-bedroom. He could ignore it. His brothers aren’t actually going to kill each other, right?

“I’m gonna kill you!”

Rajan flings the covers off. His mattress takes up most of the floor, so he stands on it, wood creaking under him, and opens the door. At least, he tries. Damn thing’s hinges are stuck.

He hates this shitty house. It’s objectively not theworst; it may be one floor, cramped, falling apart, and shared with the city of rodents in the crawl space, but it’s way more livable than certain places he crashed in after his mom died. It’s more about what it represents. Or rather, what it doesn’t represent: a home.

He shoulders the door open and is rewarded with a sharp pain down his arm. He makes a note to pick up some Tylenol. That freaky probation officer will be so smug if Rajan has to cut down on work.

In the hallway, two young boys are on the floor, locked in a very unfriendly wrestling match. Rajan strides forward to grab the back of the bigger one’s shirt, since he’s currently hitting the younger one. “Sukha, what the hell? You’re gonna be late for school.”