Page 6 of Reasons We Break

“I CANNOT BELIEVEthis,” Simran’s mother exclaims in rapid-fire Punjabi. She clutches the phone closer. “How my sister can show her face, I don’t know.”

She paces by the living room couch, where Simran is pretending to be absorbed in her calculus assignment. Simran can’t quite make out what the auntie on the other end is saying, only that she’s talking just as fast. As her mom paces out of the room again, taking the gossip with her, Simran refocuses on her laptop screen. Or rather, the email displayed on it.

Dear Simran,

I heard from our department head that you’re applying to transfer to UBC Vancouver! I’d be thrilled if you joined us. I was so impressed when we met during the Euclid luncheon last year. If I remember right, you were interested in my research—I’d be happy to have you in my lab, should you decide to come.

Hoping to see you in September!

Warmly,

Dr. Emily Maxfield

The sign-off is followed by the professor’s long list of titles and degrees. Simran’s eyes track over each and every one.

“Justshocking,” Simran’s mother exclaims in Punjabi. Simran jumps slightly; she hadn’t realized her mom had paced back into the living room. She hastily switches back to her calculus assignment, but her mother doesn’t notice. One hand is clutching the phone, the other raking through her grey hair—normally tucked under a turban, but currently curling down her back. Then she glances at the clock and does a double take, as if unable to believe how long she’s been gossiping. “We’ll have to talk later. See you Sunday?”

She hangs up and is silent. Simran feigns busyness by typing the same equation into the mathematics software repeatedly. It’s running into three lines by the time her mother speaks. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

For a split second, Simran thinks she’s talking about the email from Dr. Maxfield. “About—what?”

Her mother snorts. “Simran, don’t pretend you didn’t hear. You must’ve known your cousin had a boyfriend? Awhiteboyfriend?”

Oh. Simran relaxes slightly and starts backspacing the gibberish she typed. “No,” she says, like a liar.

Her mother squints at her suspiciously. “TJ didn’t tell you? Aren’t you two always on the phone?”

As if Simran’s going to admit to playing secret-keeper for her cousin’s relationship. “We don’t talk about that stuff. What did you hear?”

“Kamaljot’s daughter saw a photo of them on the internet.” Her mother sits next to her, plunking a bowl of sliced fruit on the coffee table. “Going behind her parents’ backs for so long—You know what your masi’ll do, right? She’ll pretend she always knew. To save face.” She giggles. Simran’s long given up trying to unpack whatever’s going on between her mom and her aunt. “If you have a secret boyfriend, tell me now so I don’t find out from someone else like a fool.” She jabs Simran’s side teasingly.

As if such a thing wouldn’t absolutely end her life. However, Simraniskeeping other secrets. Enough is enough.

She clicks back to her email and tilts her laptop screen. “Mom.”

Her mother starts turning her head. “Yes?”

And...Simran loses her courage. A millisecond before her mother’s gaze hits the screen, Simran minimizes her email, revealing the math software again. “See this assignment? I need to finish it before class.”

It’s not her best segue. But her mother immediately gets up. “Oh. Sorry. Of course we can talk later. Focus on your homework.” The abruptness of it has Simran feeling guilty; but before she can say anything, her mother’s peeking out the window and tsking. “Your windshield looks horrendous. Do you have any wiper fluid in there? This spring slush is terrible for visibility. I’ll top it up for your drive to the university.” She kisses Simran’s forehead and heads for the door.

Simran returns her gaze to her blinking cursor, listening to her mom’s feet crunch around the gravel driveway. The math software keeps spewing error messages, but she can’t focus. Just as TJ probably should’ve gotten ahead of her secret coming out, Simran should do the same. Especially if she wants her parents to be happy about her transferring to a different university.

She never even planned to apply—truly. She likes Kelowna, and the university here. She got several scholarships, and adjusting to her first postsecondary year while living at home was smart. Plus, her parents love having her around—Simran could’ve gone anywhere, but she knew they were relieved she chose to stay.

Maybe that was evenwhyshe stayed.

But in this second semester, Simran has found herself restless. Bored, even. Her cousin always has debate tournament stories that make Simran miss their high school club. And each time she attends guest lectures from the Vancouver campus profs, she wonders if their regular classes are just as fascinating. Not to mention the research being done there that she’d love to participate in. So she applied, on a whim. Her application was haphazard. She hadn’t expected a response, let alone a personal email from a UBC prof she knew from her high school math contest days.

Simran pulls up the email once again to reread it. And again, just like every other time, her mind races with the possibilities of a far more interesting next three years. She doesn’tneedthat for her math degree. But she wants it.

The only thing left is to mention it to her parents. It should be easy. They wouldn’t discourage this choice, especially if Simran framed it as having more opportunities for the future. And yet, every time Simran tries to bring it up, the words get stuck in her throat.

Frustrated with herself, Simran picks up her phone instead.

She texts TJ:My mom heard about you and Charlie.

The reply is instant:WHAT