Chapter 24 #2
Naomi’s shrill squeal provided a nanosecond of forewarning before she hurled herself across the room and threw her arms around Cynthia.
Although Cynthia, with a good four inches over Naomi, stayed firmly rooted to the spot as the shorter woman bounced on her toes, she couldn’t help but grin because Naomi’s over-the-top exuberance was exactly how she felt inside.
“I knew it,” Naomi said into her back. “You’re in loooove!”
Maybe. But Cynthia wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
Naomi didn’t need confirmation, nor did she ask for permission as she grabbed the silver necklace from Cynthia’s hands and sashayed back to the closet mirror to inspect it.
She swayed side to side with the necklace held up against her neck while loudly, and obnoxiously, humming “Love Will Keep Us Together” by Captain she wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed the moment into her heart. Her arms grew slack, however, when her mother appeared in the doorframe.
“I heard laughter,” Sipra said by way of greeting. She looked from Cynthia to Naomi—dressed in Cynthia’s clothes—and then back to Cynthia.
Cynthia caught the discomfort on Naomi’s face and stood. “Mom, this is my friend Naomi,” she said.
“Pleased to meet you,” Naomi said as Cynthia shot her mother a warning look.
Sipra ignored her daughter and strode toward Naomi, who fidgeted under her assessing gaze.
After a brief moment, Sipra shook her head.
“This won’t do,” she said, opening the closet doors.
“This shade suits you, but color contrasts are trending.” She pulled out a violet outfit and tugged the dupatta and pants off the hanger. “You should pair it with this.”
Naomi raised her eyebrows at Cynthia. “And why didn’t you inform me of this trend?”
Sipra waved a dismissive hand. “If it’s not black or white, my daughter doesn’t care for it.”
Accepting the items from Sipra, Naomi headed for the door. “I’ll go change in the bathroom. Be right back.”
Cynthia frowned at her mother. “Did you interrupt us just to make me look stupid?” She couldn’t quite locate why she was so offended except that her mother’s casual dismissal had stung.
“You don’t care about fashion,” Sipra pointed out, “but I’ll leave if you want me to. I heard laughter upstairs and just thought…”
The downturn of Sipra’s eyes and the hint of longing in her voice took Cynthia by surprise.
It would’ve been easy to shoo her mother away, as she had done so many times before when Sipra’s brand of advice and helpful suggestions grated on her nerves.
But a tiny wisp of something that felt like guilt but echoed of loneliness fluttered against Cynthia’s sternum, and she swallowed her irritation instead.
“Maybe you could find some accessories that will work with the new color?” she said by way of apology.
Sipra brightened and offered a pseudo-apology of her own. “That necklace you picked is beautiful. But she needs earrings. And a bindi.”
Cynthia joined her mother at the dresser and watched as her mother snapped the organized, glass-topped boxes open and shut with practiced hands that left neat, pin-straight rows in their wake.
When she didn’t find what she was looking for, Sipra moved on to the next drawer with a determination that kept Cynthia silent beside her.
“Aha!” Sipra said quietly, pulling out a small black box. “These.” She opened the case to reveal two small, bell-shaped earrings.
“Are those mine?” Cynthia commented. “I’ve never seen them before.”
Sipra smiled sadly down at the earrings. “I bought these for you when you were sixteen. You pitched a fit because you didn’t like dangly earrings, and thought these were too old-fashioned-looking.”
Cynthia reached forward to finger the fine silver but found herself pulling away.
She had no memory of scorning the gift, but she could picture her teenage self yelling and pushing them away, for no other reason except that doing so might bring her closer to her father.
He’d loved her best as a tomboy, after all.
But it hadn’t worked then and it wasn’t working now.
“Obviously, I wasn’t as mature as I thought I was,” Cynthia murmured.
With a little laugh, her mother closed the case and placed it in Cynthia’s hands. “Neither was I. We had a huge fight about them.” She shook her head and clasped Cynthia’s hand with both of hers for a long second before letting go.
Cynthia examined the earrings. “They’re beautiful.”
Her mother’s lips lifted in a soft smile. “Did I tell you that your old friend Henna Sharma is getting married? Maybe I’ll get her a pair for her wedding.”
“Who?”
“Henna Sharma.”
“I have no idea who that is, Mom.”
Sipra sucked her teeth impatiently. “We visited them once when you were nine. Hen na Shar ma.”
Cynthia couldn’t help rolling her eyes as she placed the earring box back in the drawer. “That’s hardly a friend.”
“Well, her mom is a friend of mine and called me with the good news a few days ago, and I’m thinking of heading down for the wedding a week or so early to help with the preparations.”
It wouldn’t be the first time her mother would make this kind of trip.
Traditional South Asian weddings were weeklong events and required a village of willing women to pull it together.
With many immigrant families living overseas with their relations so far away, friends often pitched in to help celebrate the happy occasion.
Although it had been a while since her mother had broached the topic of marriage with her, Cynthia pressed her heels into the floor, steeling herself for how this conversation would predictably go.
But Sipra surprised her. “You should come with me.”
“What?”
“They live in a different province. It could be a nice little mother-daughter trip.”
“We’ve…we’ve never done something like that before.”
“I should’ve tried harder when you were younger,” Sipra said with an apologetic shrug. “I think sometimes I pushed too hard in the wrong direction.”
“Well, I pushed back.”
“Different but the same.” Her mother shrugged.
As Sipra turned to the dresser, Cynthia took the unguarded moment to study her mother’s profile.
Throughout her childhood, her likeness had always been compared to her dad, from their ambitious, competitive personalities to their tall, slender height, and thick black hair.
Cynthia hadn’t minded the slight aquiline dip of her nose or the square shape of her nails because they matched his .
But as she watched her mother sort through the drawer with a sharp eye and decisive touch, Cynthia wondered if she’d overlooked the subtle, yet meaningful, similarities that were reflected in her mother, too.
What else had she missed, ferociously chasing one impossible dream her entire life?
“I’m going to call your father and see when he’ll be home for dinner,” her mother said, shutting the drawer. “Tell Naomi I said goodbye, okay?”
Cynthia managed a nod, but she couldn’t help the unsettled feeling stirring in her chest as she watched her mother depart with her trademark walk: graceful and confident. Almost regal.
In that short exchange, it felt like her mother had been trying to tell her something—multiple things, maybe—but Cynthia wasn’t exactly sure where to begin deciphering the coded messages.
It might have been one of the most civil conversations they’d ever had, as brief as it was, and yet loaded in a way that left Cynthia no less tense than their usual interactions. Or sad.
She was saved from falling down a dangerously murky rabbit hole by Naomi walking back in, looking much more vivid and eye-catching with the violet bracketing the mint-green dress.
“So?” Naomi didn’t bother looking in the mirror; her eyes were focused on Cynthia as she waited for her approval.
Cynthia nodded as she tried to swallow past the confusing lump that had taken residence in the base of her throat. In just a few minutes, Sipra had recognized the exact right thing to bring everything together. She’d run circles around them.
Maybe she always did and no one ever noticed.
“You look perfect,” Cynthia told her friend with a smile while wondering why a small part of her wanted to cry instead.