Page 78 of Reasons We Break

“—your mom’s cancer,” he goes on, and her hand tightens around the ledger she’s holding, becauseokay,he went there. “So you go looking for something else youcansolve. And if you can solve it, you can’t leave it alone. You need everyone to know you can do it.” He laughs again, softly. “It’s about yourpride. Maybe you really are one of us, after all.”

Her grip on the ledger becomes painful. “What’s the point of this conversation, Rajan?”

“To confirm how batshit you are, but also, to come up with a plan.” He runs a hand over his jaw. “We have to convince Nick this was a fluke. Or that someone else figured it out, not you.”

“Nick wouldn’t buy that. And besides, the deal hasn’t changed. I’m here until July’s end—he knows that. It’ll be fine.” Her phone rings. She fumbles for it.

Rajan rolls his eyes and pushes off the desk to the other side of the kitchen. “If it’s Nick, I want to talk to him.”

It’s not Nick, of course. Simran’s hand trembles slightly as she brings it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Nikka putt.” Her father’s worried voice makes her tense. “I was looking for you. Where’d you go?”

She clutches the phone. “I’m at TJ’s. Is everything okay with—” She cuts herself off because Rajan has whipped around, his eyebrows raised at her blatant lie.

Simran ducks her head as her father says, “The doctors said she has a blood infection. It’s probably from the surgery, and probably the reason she...” He trails off, but he doesn’t have to say more. After all, Simran was there.

This morning. She’d pulled herself away from the TV when she heard the thump. Took the stairs two at a time. And there her mother was: lying on the floor next to her bed.

For a moment, Simran’s world fell apart.

Then she stirred awake, and the ambulance came. The doctors took over. Once Simran had answered all their questions, she left without telling her father. She couldn’t handle it anymore. She camehere, where she wouldn’t have to think any longer about what her first thought was upon seeing her mother’s body on the floor.

Her father goes on. “They say she needs antibiotics. And she’s very dehydrated.” Simran closes her eyes. She should’veknownthat. She was throwing up. Acting strangely. Ofcourseit wasn’t normal. Why’d she let her mother convince her otherwise?

Because you didn’t want to deal with it that day.

“Are you coming back?” her father asks hesitantly. “I was going to head home, but if you want to visit...”

The idea of sitting at her mom’s bedside while she gets pumped with drugs, a scenario Simran could’ve prevented the day before, is too much. “Maybe tomorrow. Bye.” She ends the call before her voice can waver. Robotically, she sinks back into her chair.

Rajan’s voice breaks through her mental haze. “What happened? Is it your mom?”

Simran can’t answer. She just wants this all to be over. She wants her parents back, not these needy echoes of them. It’s a selfish thought, but she can’t take it back or stop herself thinking it, and the frustration inside her builds andbuildswith nowhere to go—

Rajan takes her hand.

Her head jerks up, bewildered, as his fingers wrap around her wrist. She hadn’t noticed him approaching, or kneeling next to her chair. His expression is strangely intent. When she doesn’t pull away, he captures her hand entirely, their palms sliding together as if they’ve done it a million times before. But they haven’t; the feel of his skin against hers is new. Dizzying. Dangerous.

“Sahiba,” he says simply, and the dam in her breaks.

“She’s in the hospital again with an infection,” Simran says. “I can’t...I can’t. I can’t visit her. I can’t.”

She’s aware she’s nearly hyperventilating, not making any sense, but he nods anyway. “The last time my mom got admitted to the hospital, I left, too.”

His words are overly casual, despite the fact that he rarely talks about his mom. Right then, Simran understands why. “You don’t have to—”

“She wasn’t doing so hot. Hadn’t been for a while. My dad was making plans to come down and be with us, but he never got a chance. She just...tanked so suddenly. I don’t know exactly what happened that day, though, because I wasn’t sober. And I must’ve been a real asshole, because security kicked me out.”

“Rajan,” she exhales, but he holds up a hand.

“That’s not the worst part. I wasgladthey kicked me out. I didn’t want to see her like that. She wasn’t my mom anymore, she was just tubes and lines and monitors. I went out looking for a distraction—you know,mytype of distraction. Not yours.” He chuckles without humour. “I didn’t find out she died until the next morning.”

Horror clogs her throat. There aren’t words to respond adequately. Rajan doesn’t seem to mind.

“I haven’t even told you the worst part yet. Part of me, a real fucked-up part of me, is still glad I wasn’t there.”

And in that moment, she realizes he understands her perfectly.