Page 24 of Reasons We Break

Rajan sits back. He moved back to Kelowna because Vancouver was crawling with Lions. But the Lions just found him again. And even if Halifaxwastoo far for them, who’s to say they wouldn’t retaliate some other way?

Nick’s not-threats toward his brothers ring through his head again.

“Rajan?” He looks up to find Kat watching him intently. “Do you think you’re in danger here?”

Of course he’s in danger. Either the system or the Lions will screw him over.

But...the system will only punishhim, not his family. He can’t guarantee the same for the Lions.

And suddenly the choice seems very clear indeed.

“No.” Rajan tosses the toothpick in the trash. “No, there’s no danger anymore.”

“YOU’RE ALL BEINGso dramatic,” Kiran says on Saturday morning. “I talked with Dr. Tran. She’s optimistic. Mom can probably just get a hysterectomy and move on.”

Simran watches the pot of chah on the stove and tries not to show her irritation. “We don’t know that yet. And either way...I don’t think she can just move on.”

“Oh, I know.” Kiran rolls her eyes and fluffs her short hair. Once, her hair was longer than Simran’s, brushing past her knees. But at eighteen, she cut it all off, then cut ties too and left home. The rift has never quite healed in the years since. “She’s the most dramatic of all of you. I bet she was going on about how her life is over, blah blah.”

Shehadbeen going on about her life being over, but Simran isn’t about to tell Kiran that. Kiran seems to know anyway. She nods sagely.

“That’s what I can’t stand about her. The smallest inconvenience will happen, you’ll get one bad grade, and she’ll start talking about how hard it was to move to Canada for you and give up her whole life. Guilt-tripping much?”

Simran’s irritation grows, partly because Kiran’s analysis is not entirely untrue. Partly because it’s just like Kiran to parachute in and make judgments after a year of barely any contact.

Apparently, Kiran had finally gotten in touch with their father a few days ago. When she showed up last night, their mom actually came downstairs. She’d even washed her face and put on semi-nice clothes. Her dad opened their expensive box of biscuits. They hosted her in the living room like a guest—which she is, in a way.

“That’s irrelevant.” Simran twirls her kara. “We’re talking about her being sick. The scans this week are to see how much it’s...spread.”

On the wordspread, Kiran stands, her chair scraping back from the kitchen table. “Oh my god. She’ll befine. She’s booked to see a surgeon! Stop looking so miserable. We’ll be laughing about this by Christmas. Here, your chah’s about to overboil.” She hurries to the stove, where the chah is barely simmering.

Simran watches Kiran fumble around the cupboards, as disoriented as a houseguest. “Mom and Dad are really sad. I’ve been thinking about what we could do to make them happier.”

Kiran snorts, tossing a cinnamon stick into the chah. “Simmi, you’ll never make them happy. Unless you completely shape your life according to what they want.” She tosses a glance over her shoulder. “Which I guess you’re kind of doing.”

Simran’s forgotten how talented Kiran is at getting on her nerves. Back in the day, when it came to their parents, Kiran never picked her battles. She fought all of them. By the time she moved out, everyone was tired of the never-ending conflict. Simran the most of all. “It takes less than you think to make them happy.”

“Not our job. They need to learn to have a life outside of their children.”

“I know it’s not myjob,” Simran snaps. “I just want to. What’s wrong with that?”

Before Kiran can respond, their dad comes down the stairs, still in his nightclothes. His eyes fall on them—tired, but affectionate. “It’s so nice seeing you two together again.”

Kiran and Simran look at each other and then away. Probably best not to mention they were arguing.

He doesn’t notice, extending his arms for a hug. Simran goes over immediately, and as always, his embrace is tight and safe and welcoming. When they pull apart, he glances at Kiran, who rather deliberately turns away. He lowers his arms, a trace of sadness in his eyes.

Sometimes Simran wants to shake her sister. Instead, she busies herself pouring chah for them all. Her father takes a biscuit from the box on the table. Kiran takes one, too, and so does Simran. They stand around the table munching their cold biscuit breakfast silently.

Just then, there’s a creak of the staircase as footsteps come down. They all stop to stare as Simran’s mom appears in the doorway. “Mom,” Simran says, trying not to sound too hopeful. “You’re up.”

Her mom’s freshly showered, eyes red-rimmed. “Of course I’m up,” she says, voice feather soft. “I wanted to see my daughters. For as long as I’m able.”

And just like that, any possible normalcy for the day goes out the window.

Kiran turns her eyes to the ceiling. “Mom. Seriously?”

Their mother sinks into a chair at the table. Simran rubs her shoulders. Her dad busies himself at the fridge, but Simran suspects he’s turned his back for other reasons. Kiran doesn’t move, just stands in the middle of everything with her arms crossed and lips thin. She seems immune to the anguish in the room, but Simran can feel it. Suffocating her.