Page 151 of Reasons We Break

“It’s not. And I think I made it worse when you and I talked about how I wouldn’t be here forever. I didn’t mean to traumatize you. I was just trying to prepare you.”

And despite herself, her chin wobbles. Because that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Today her mom’s news was good, but it’s not really the end of the story. The end will be just that—an end. How can she ever bepreparedfor the death of her parents? How can anyone? It’s overwhelming. It’s unbearable.

“I don’t want you to ever leave me,” she whispers. It’s unfair to say, it’s childish, but it’s the truth.

“I cannot promise you that. I would if I could,” he says softly. “How long I or your mom will be here, I don’t know.”

That’s the exact kind of straightforward response she would expect from him. She sighs, but he continues.

“But there are plenty of things I don’t know. I don’t know if a meteor will strike the earth before I finish my next sentence. I don’t know, every night when the sun sets, whether it’ll be back the next day, or if it will rain for the next two months. I don’t know if the store will continue stocking my mango ice cream or if the carton I finished yesterday was the final one. Even this conversation could be the last one we ever have. Who knows? You could decide once you get out of this car that you don’t want to speak to me anymore, or the continent could split in two between us and we might never find our way back to each other. Every moment in life is temporary.”

“That’s...a sad way to think about it,” Simran says softly.

“On the contrary.” He shrugs. “I think understanding this is a gift. We have the ability to appreciate every moment wedoget, as it’s happening. What’s sad is only experiencing happiness in hindsight.”

She’s never thought of it that way before. She studies her father and wonders if maybe he’s thoughttoomuch about it. Maybe that’s why he’s avoided confronting her screwups. Like her, he wants to cling to their relationship as is. He doesn’t want to watch the peace between them die.

I don’t believe anything about you unless you tell it to me yourself.

Simran makes a decision right then. If this moment between them was meant to die, she has to do it now, on her own terms. She can no longer leave their relationship as dishonest as it’s become. She has to tell him the thing most likely to break them.

“Dad, I know you’ve heard things about me and Rajan Randhawa.” She traces the dust on the dashboard. “They’re true.”

“Ah,” he says. “I see.”

There is a long, long silence.

She can’t help herself. “You don’t like him.”

“That’s not true. I don’t know him.”

“But?” she presses.

“But,” he acknowledges, “I don’t like the idea of you with him.”

She knew this already, but the confirmation still feels heavy. He goes on, though, as they both stare out the windshield. “You have to understand where I’m coming from. All your mother and I want is for your life to be happy and stable. Our lives were not. We don’t want you to have the problems he’ll bring.” He pauses. “But I didn’t listen to everything my parents said, either. We cannot and should not stop you from making your own decisions.”

“So you think it’s a mistake.”

He shrugs. “Life is about learning from your mistakes.”

His casual words hit her deeply. Even he has no problem telling her he thinks she’s messing up, in his own gentle way. If she keeps going regardless, does that mean she loses him? Does her relationship with her father die right here, right now, in this car?

“Dad,” Simran ventures tentatively. “Do—do you still love me?”

His eyes crinkle, and a tear slips out, trickling into his beard. “What have we done to you that you have to ask that question? Of course, I will always love you.”

“But will you...still talk to me?” Simran’s voice trembles. “Can we still fly kites together in the summer? Will you still make popcorn and watch movies with me? Will you play tabla when I need you to accompany? Will you teach me—”

“Yes, nikka putt,” he replies. “I will always be your father.”

Her eyes blur with tears. And, earnestly, she begins to cry.

As if it’s an everyday occurrence instead of something that has rarely happened before in his presence, he turns off the ignition and draws her close. Embracing her fully, flaws and mistakes and hopes and dreams and all. He sniffles a little, too.

That makes her pause. What is she doing, worrying him with the sadness that has weighed her down for months—years, really? But when she tries to pull away, he holds on tighter. And she gives in.

Maybe there’s a companionship she never realized in crying with someone you love, as much as in laughing with them. And it doesn’t have to weigh either of them down—but can help them both finally, finally let go of it.