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Reeva smiled. “Well done for not telling me. You’re a very good girl, Alisha.”
“You’re notallowedto call me a good girl.”
“Seriously? Why not?”
Alisha looked up at her aunt. “Is sexist.”
—
Reeva went downstairs,trying not to think about the fact that a five-year-old had just schooled her in sexism. She’d always prided herself on her liberal attitudes, and yet Sita’s parentingwas officially putting her to shame. She didn’t even fully understand why it was sexist to call her niece a good girl—she’d say good boy if Alisha were male—but she had a feeling that it would not be a wise idea to bring this up with Sita. Especially before she’d had a coffee.
“Here she is,” said Sita. “The missing masi.”
“It’s only nine a.m.! I was watching the girls.” Reeva pressed the button on the coffee machine, yawning. “And besides, I needed a lie-in after last night. How are neither of you hungover?”
“Genetics,” said Jaya. “And youth.”
“I don’t have the luxury of hangovers,” said Sita. “Motherhood doesn’t allow it.”
“Uh, I spent the whole morning taking care of your kids,” said Reeva. “You can’t play the motherhood card.”
“I pushed two kids out of my vagina. I can play the motherhood card for the rest of my life.”
Reeva rolled her eyes and accidentally made eye contact with Jaya. Her youngest sister made a face back, grinning. Reeva turned straight back to her coffee, busying herself with the oat milk. She was not ready to act like Jaya was forgiven just because they’d had a night bonding over Sancerre and cucumbers.
“Anyway,” said Sita. “What’s the plan today?”
“Ooh, maybe we could go get lunch?” suggested Jaya. “There’s a super-cute brunch place down the road. I ran by it yesterday.”
“You went for a run?” asked Reeva.
Sita sighed loudly. “I meant what’s the plan in terms of finding out more info about Dad. You know, the reason why we’re here?”
“Oh, well, we could do what Reeva did yesterday and go stalk Leela?” said Jaya.
“I wasn’t stalking her! Let’s just keep hunting forinformation. Like, uh, I don’t know—maybe Dad had a journal or something.”
“Yeah, because men in their sixties are really big on gratitude journals,” said Sita. “Be real.”
“You never know,” replied Reeva. “Mum suggested he was the type to have written us a letter.”
“Which we would have found during our house hunt if there was one,” said Sita.
Reeva sat up straight. “Hey. Where’s Dad’sphone? And his laptop?”
“He doesn’t have a laptop,” said Jaya. “He has an actual computer. It’s very 2005. It’s in my room. I tried to open it and look at his e-mail, but he was logged out and I couldn’t get in. And his phone’s locked, remember? We obviously tried to open it when we arrived, but we don’t know the pin. It’s in the hallway drawer now.”
“We should try again,” said Reeva decisively. “If we need clues, we should be hacking his tech. Not going through drawers and harassing his friends. Why are we being so old-school about this?”
“Uh, because none of us know how to hack tech,” said Sita.
“Well, let’s try.” Reeva ran out of the room into the hallway and began rummaging in the drawer.
“You know we already tried this,” called out Sita. “It didn’t work.”
“We’ll try again!” Reeva triumphantly pulled out an old iPhone and walked back into the kitchen waving it over her head. “Got it.”
“It’s going to be dead.” Sita sighed. “Stick it on my charger. Here.”
