I set aside the tissue and gently extract the contents of the bag. Two ceramic jewelry trays, clearly designed at Paint Away, the site of our sibling date at the start of summer, emerge. One tray is inthe shape of an open book, and the other takes the form of a car. Even with the inexpert paint job, I have to admire the attention to detail, from messy scribbles crafted on the book to a scratchy bumper on the car, an imitation of my fender bender. An accompanying note reads in Sanju’s nearly indecipherable block letters:GOOD LUCK, TAI!
“Oh,” I say, voice wavering.
“When they said your gift wasn’t ready,” Ajoba says. “They meant it wasn’t dry.”
I nod. More tears slip out. “It’s very sweet.”
“It is sweet,” Ajoba agrees. “But not very high-quality, so no pressure to actually use.”
I laugh. My brothers have always struggled to color between the lines, and it shows. “It’s the thought that counts,” I say. “I’ll apologize to them later.”
“And your Aai Baba should apologize to you,” Ajoba continues. I shoot him a look, likeas if. “I told them so,” he says. “Of course, I can only advise, but they should learn that you are a sister, not an extra parent. And above all, their daughter too.”
I blink fast, then burrow my face into Ajoba’s shoulder. My grandfather’s never been huge on physical affection, but he reaches an arm around to pat me on the back. His green eyes are probing when I pull away.
“Will your driving instructor be joining us at the DOL today?” he asks.
Ajoba’s voice is knowing. My eyes flit away. I haven’t spoken to Kush since our awful car ride, and it feels wrong to take my test without his presence. But I can’t bring myself to reach out just yet.
“We’re not really speaking at the moment,” I tell Ajoba.
“Ah,” he says. Perhaps in an effort to ward off even more tears, Ajoba squeezes my hand. “It will all work out, shona,” he says. “You’ll work it out.”
I squeeze his hand back and try to make myself believe the words. A peaceful quiet settles around us, till Ajoba breaks it.
“If you’re not going to eat,” he says. “I will.” He takes a large bite of sabudana and releases a satisfied breath. “I’ve outdone myself,” he decides.
I laugh and follow suit. The khichdi is as delicious as ever.
Once we’ve eaten our fill, Ajoba takes me to the Gilmore DOL. It’s a short ride, but I’m not sure I’ve driven with him since before his stroke, and faint nostalgia rises at the realization. He kisses my forehead in good luck when it’s time, and jerks his head to the white benches outside the building to let me know where he’ll be waiting.
“You’ll drive me home?” he asks as I walk in, and I knock on the wood of the door to prevent the jinx.
Thirty minutes later, my chest is light when I exit the DOL. I feel like I’m walking on air; it’s as though a yearslong curse has, at long last, been lifted. Ajoba lifts his head at the sight of me.
“Hi,” I say. His eyes stay wary, trying to gauge my expression. A smile breaks across my lips. “What do you say?” I ask. “Want shotgun?”
I drop Ajoba off at home before heading out for a drive. During my test, Valdivia at last replied to my frantic, apologetic email from yesterday, formally granting an extension request. Goodthings clearly do come in pairs, and my relief is immeasurable. I know I’m getting far more grace than I deserve, so I fully plan to dig into the project for the rest of the day, but there’s a necessary stop I need to make first.
I roll into Simran’s driveway at just past eleven. I know from checking her location that she’s home, and Saira and Sharmila should be at their gallery by now, so she’s all but certainly home alone. Still, I feel mildly apologetic to the neighbors when I park and start to honk. And honk, and honk.
What feels like ages later, when I’m starting to feel fearful that I’ll receive a ticket on my very first day as a driver, Simran’s head finally appears in the window. Her hair is a knotted mess, and she’s clearly just woken from her slumber.
The glass flies open. She squints at me. “Rani?” she calls out, incredulous.
“Get down here!” I call, watching with amusement as her eyes spark at the realization.
She claps a hand to her mouth. “Shut.Up.” Her face disappears in the window, reappearing at the door moments later. She hurries to the passenger side, still dressed in sleep clothes.
“Noway,” she says, voice all wonderment, as she slides into the car. “Has hell frozen over?”
I shrug. “I passed a flying pig on my way here,” I say.
“I never thought I’d see the day,” she says, hushed.
“Few did,” I agree.
She beams. “My girl,” she gushes, reaching over the console to squeeze me tight. “You did it.”
