Page 85 of Reasons We Break

Oh.

A realization that has taken her entire life slides quietly into place.

“Sher putt,” her dad says timidly as Simran pulls out of the lot, “are you okay?”

A hysterical laugh escapes her. “I’m great,” she says. “I’m great.”

WHEN RAJAN KNOCKSon Sukha’s bedroom door, several days after Simran’s visit, Sukha yells at him to fuck off.

So naturally, Rajan kicks it open. Sukha has barricaded it with his hamper, so it takes two kicks.

When he pushes inside, he notes Sukha’s baseball rolling off the desk. Why does Sukha keep it there, anyway? It’s not like they’ve played in years. Rajan never even sees Sukha touch it except to put it back in its place.

Which he does now, before turning back to his computer. “Get out.”

“Smells like weed in here,” Rajan says.

“Must be coming from your room.”

Rajan forcibly wrestles down a comeback. He’s not here to fight. Hoping to channel Simran instead, he comes closer. “I’ve got an offer for you.”

Sukha turns up the volume on his headphones. Forget channeling Simran, then. Rajan rips them off. Sukha leaps up, eyes screaming bloody murder. But he pauses when Rajan holds up a hundred-dollar bill.

“I’m going to give you this, but only if”—Rajan tosses the Hillway pamphlet on his keyboard—“you go to this with me.”

Sukha takes one look and scoffs. “I don’t need your reform school.” He makes a grab for his headphones.

Rajan holds them away. “Two hundred.”

“I’ve got my own money.”

“How? Got a job?” Rajan shoots back, and Sukha’s jaw ticks. That was a slipup, right there. And Rajan definitely knows whatthatmeans. But he reins himself in with conscious effort. “What do I have to do to make you go?” Sukha stares ahead, bored. Desperation breaks Rajan’s pride. “Please.”

Sukha blinks. Clearly he didn’t expect begging. Rajan waits with bated breath. At last, Sukha says, “Give me your bunny.”

It takes Rajan a second to understand.

When they were little, their mother made all three of them these stuffed animals. Sukha and Yash have a bear and a tiger, Rajan has a bunny, and he’s never cared what anyone said, helovesthat fucking bunny. She bought all the fabric with his input and sewed it and stuffed it herself, then gifted it to him on his fifth birthday.

“Screw you, man,” Rajan says finally. His heart is somewhere in his throat.

Sukha shrugs. “I’ll go to your stupid seminar if you give me that.”

“It got lost in the move.”

“Too bad.” Sukha snatches back his headphones. The movement again jostles the baseball, which he quickly steadies.

Rajan finds himself fixated on that action despite himself. Years ago, Rajan taught Sukha how to catch that ball. He always threw it gently underhand, and when Sukha caught it, he was alwayssoexcited. He’d talk Rajan’s ear off about how he wanted to join the T-ball league, too. Their parents didn’t let him because they thought, Sukha being a clumsy toddler, that he’d get hurt.Wait until you’re older,their father had said. So Sukha spent his time on the sidelines of Rajan’s games. And he never did get the chance to step up to the plate—their family situation went downhill real quick after that.

Sukha’s reabsorbed in his computer. Rajan studies him. He’s never thought of himself as the lucky one, not until right now. But maybe in some ways he was. He, unlike his brothers, got a taste of normal childhood.

Rajan pushes off the wall and leaves.

Back in his own bedroom, he flings open his suitcase, the one that’s remained unpacked since Surrey. He digs out a bundle of T-shirts and unwraps it.

The bunny falls into his hands. The fabric is yellowing, but it’s still in decent condition. Except for one of the button eyes—it’s hanging by a thread. He’s been telling himself he’ll fix that button for years.

He brings it to his face. Somehow, maybe because he barely ever touches it, it still smells like her.