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“You’re not trying to help me at all; you’re just making it all about you, as per usual!”
“How am I making it about me? I’m crying because Ifeelfor you. I’m an empath, Reeva. It’s actually a gift.”
“Uh, bullshi—”
Suddenly Sita spoke. “Nitin and I are over.”
Reeva and Jaya both spun around to stare at her.
“Over what?” asked Reeva. “Conservatories? Private school?”
Sita looked down at the linoleum floor with its faux-wood design. “Our relationship. It’s done. We hate each other. We sleep in different beds. We’re basically separated. But we’re still living in the same house because, well, we don’t want anyone to know. Not even you two.”
“Oh my god,” breathed out Jaya. “I can’t believe it. You guys are, like, my example of what a happy marriage looks like.”
“Not any longer,” said Sita. “Maybe you should try the Obamas instead.”
“For all I know, they’re secretly over too,” cried Jaya.
Reeva shifted around in the bathtub so she could face her sister. “Wait, Sita, are you serious? You guys are really over?”
Her sister nodded glumly in response. “It’s been two years.”
Reeva’s eyes widened. “What! That’s ages! Why are you guys still living together if you’re so sure it’s over?”
“You were not kidding about the no-sex-for-years thing,” said Jaya. “Damn.”
“Look, it works for us,” said Sita. “It’s how we’re doing things. We’re fine.”
“Wait, so you’re not planning on divorcing properly and living apart?” asked Reeva. “But... I can help you! You’ll get everything. Hundy-p, as Jaya says.”
“I’m not taking my husband to the cleaners.” Sita scowled. “I don’t want anyone to know. I have no idea why I just told you both. But when I saw your baldness I thought, fuck it. If you can share something that bad, I can share this.”
“I’m glad my baldness is helping, but I don’t get why you want to keep it a secret. It sounds so horrible having to live together if you’re not together. How will you ever date again?”
Sita crossed her arms. “I don’t want to date. It’s what we’ve chosen to do. So let it be, okay?”
“This is, like, really sad,” said Jaya. “You’re too young to resign yourself to spinsterhood.”
Sita’s brow furrowed. “Spinsterhood? Can you try to be less sexist about this? I’m making a decision that’s right for me and my daughters.”
“But isn’t this worse for the girls?” asked Reeva. “They’ll pick up on the tension and it’ll end up affecting them more than youthink. It’ll be so much better for them if you guys are happy separated. Divorce is so normal these days, it’s not even a thing for kids. They find it weirder when people’s parents stay together.”
Jaya nodded. “It’s so true. And it’s not just white people. Bollywood is divorce central these days. Mum is MJ’s, what, third wife?”
“I don’t care,” said Sita firmly. “I’m going to keep holding the fort down so I don’t fuck up their lives like our parents did to us.”
“Uh, I think so long as you don’t tell them Nitin died, you’re all good,” said Reeva. Sita glared at her. “Sorry! I just think you guys staying together could do the kids more damage than separating.”
“I didn’t ask you for your opinion,” snapped Sita. “Can you all just ease off on this? I’m doing what I want to do, okay? Nitin agrees. It’s our choice—not yours.”
“Okay, okay,” said Reeva, taking another deep sip of her pinot grigio. “Fine. I’m sorry it’s happening. And I’m sorry you felt you had to hide it from us.”
“You hid your baldness.” Sita frowned at her. “And it’s not like we really open up to each other. Why would I have told you? We’ve barely spoken in the last four years.”
Jaya nodded sadly. “We’re not really a sharing kind of family, are we?”
“How could we be when our mother didn’t bother to share anything with us?” asked Sita. “Except for, you know, making us watch the films with her songs in them, or telling us she was marrying a Bollywood star.”
