Chapter 8
here were no blogs and self-help books on what to do when a parent you hate dies.
Kaavi had spent some time searching, but no such luck.
She always thought she would rejoice or throw a party when her father died, yet that was the complete opposite of how she felt now that it had happened.
She felt lost. Still angry but heartbroken.
She couldn’t understand why she would feel heartbroken over the monster dying.
She switched off the TV and was going to the kitchen when the doorbell rang.
She groaned. It had better not be Sen. He’d already called her umpteen times today to check if she was okay. Neel hadn’t called once.
She opened the door, ready to give Sen a tongue lashing, when she came face to face with Neel. He brushed past her.
‘Please tell me you’ve got something greasy to eat.’
She looked at him quizzically. ‘Aren’t you at The Grand Meyer? Don’t they have room service?’
‘Yeah, but it’s all tiny gourmet nonsense. I’d kill for a proper burger.’
‘I’ve got nothing,’ she said, stepping aside. ‘You know me. My body’s been trained to survive on crackers.’
Neel groaned. ‘It’s 8 pm in Rally and every place is closed. What kind of town is this?’
‘A community town. People here actually eat home-cooked meals … at home,’ she said, grinning.
‘Then we’d never survive with our cooking skills.’
‘Hey,’ she shot back, heading to the kitchen, ‘I once made mutton curry.’
‘No, babe. You once thought you made mutton curry.’
‘I thought it was pretty good.’
‘Then why didn’t you finish it?’
‘I wasn’t very hungry that day.’
‘Convenient,’ he muttered.
‘So now what? Where are we going to find burgers? What’s the nearest town where there’ll be somewhere open at this time of night?’ he asked.
‘That would be Durban, Neel.’
He blinked and then nodded slowly.
‘Are we seriously going to drive all the way to Durban for greasy burgers?’
‘Yes, Kaavi. Haven’t you heard? I’m starving.’
‘Oh, Neel. So dramatic.’
‘I am starving. Come on, let’s get burgers in Durban.’
‘Where exactly do you plan on finding burgers?’
‘Any drive-thru’s fine.’
She stared at him. ‘You want to drive an hour for a drive-thru?’
He stepped closer. ‘Kaavi, you’re in your comfy pants. I know there’s no way you’re dressing up and going to sit in some restaurant. Let’s do the drive-thru. Plus, the drive gives us an hour to talk.’
‘Fine, let’s go. Let me grab my shoes and my bag. Did you walk here?’
‘Nope. I drove the rental car. That’s how low my energy is, Kaavi. I’m that hungry,’ he whined.
She laughed. ‘Neel, you’re so dramatic. Meet you downstairs?’
‘You sure?’
‘Yep.’
The door closed behind him. Kaavi stood still for a moment, then exhaled.
That’s what she was afraid of, the talking.
What was she supposed to say to Neel?
Neel was starving and had a serious craving for a burger but not enough to justify an hour’s drive to Durban. Still, Kaavi didn’t need to know that. It was part of the setup.
When she opened the door that evening, he didn’t ask how she was – not because he didn’t care, but because he knew her. Ask Kaavi how she’s feeling, what she’s thinking, and she shuts down, runs or builds walls.
So he came up with a different tactic: a road trip. An hour in a small rental car with nowhere to run. No distractions. Just the open road and a chance to get her talking.
She got in, buckled up and he pulled off without a word. A few minutes in, she glanced over at him.
‘It’s good to see you wearing shorts,’ she teased.
He smirked, glancing down at his gym shorts and sneakers.
‘Looks like Rally is growing on me. But I don’t think I could ever get used to being this laid back, if you know what I mean.’
Kaavi leaned back into the seat. ‘I used to think the same. But I really needed to get away from it all.’
She paused, then asked, ‘By the way, don’t you miss being in your office?’
‘I do, but right now I mostly just miss my mom’s homemade lunch every day.’
He quickly glanced over at her. ‘You know my parents work with me, right?’
Kaavi smiled. ‘Yeah, I remember you saying that. Your parents are accountants, plus your mom makes sure everyone eats.’
‘Exactly, and if you skip lunch, she acts like you’ve personally offended her.’
Kaavi laughed. ‘I like that about her.’
‘They like you too. Speaking of moms, how’s your mom doing?’
Kaavi shifted in her seat, fidgeting with her wedding ring. She didn’t bother hiding the fact that she noticed him glance at it before his eyes were back on the road. Yes, she was still wearing it even though whatever was happening between them had no name.
‘My mom’s okay, I think. We talked … really talked, about everything that happened. And I think we understand each other better now.’
She paused, watching the road.
‘I had to realise she was protecting me, in her own way. And maybe if we’d just sat down and had a proper conversation years ago, it could’ve been easier. But we didn’t. We didn’t have the space or the means. He was always there.’
Neel nodded silently.
‘Even when she came down for Sen’s wedding, it was all just celebrations and noise. We never really saw each other. And these last couple of years it felt like we were just two passing ships. We knew we were mother and daughter, but somewhere along the way, we stopped really talking.’
‘How are you?’ he asked.
Kaavi managed a small, tired smile. ‘Three words but it feels like a loaded question.’
She stared out the window for a moment. ‘Neel, I don’t know how I am.
I mean, look at us. We’re driving to Durban for burgers and my father just died a few days ago.
Are we allowed to do that? Should we be doing that?
I feel conflicted. Should I be with my mother instead?
Should I be on Sen’s couch, crying into a pillow?
‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what people expect from me.
I’ve tried, Neel. I’ve tried figuring it out.
I’ve searched the blogs, looked for books and even called my therapist. And none of it tells me what to do with this feeling.
Is this even grief? Is this what grief is supposed to feel like? Or am I just numb?’
Then she faced him fully. ‘Tell me what you think, Neel. I actually want to know. Honestly.’
He didn’t take his eyes off the road but spoke firmly, so she listened carefully.
‘I think everybody grieves in their own way. There’s no formula, no checklist. But I think, in your case, it’s harder because you’re not sad that he’s gone and that’s okay. It really is. You don’t have to pretend. No one’s going to judge you for saying you’re not sad your father died.’
He paused, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter before adding, ‘But I think forgiveness should be a part of your healing process.’
‘Forgiveness. There’s that word again. If I knew how to forgive my father, don’t you think I’d have done it already?
Everyone says it’s holding me back. That I need to let go.
But what does that mean? What am I supposed to do?
Light a candle? Write a letter? Shout it out?
I’m angry. I’ve been angry for so long. And even my therapist doesn’t know how to help me move past it. ’
She looked at Neel. ‘Am I just supposed to say it out loud? “I forgive you” and then suddenly I’m free? Is that how it works? Because if it is, I’ll try it. But I don’t know how to mean it.’
She turned back to face the window. ‘I don’t know how to stop being angry at someone who never gave me the space to be anything else.’
‘What if you didn’t forgive him? What if you just lived your best life instead? Maybe that’s your revenge. Not the anger. Not the pain. Just you being free. Being happy. I know it’s a long shot, but honestly, I can’t think of anything else that makes more sense.’
Kaavi leaned back in her seat and smiled, the first real one in days.
‘Neel, for someone who spent most of our relationship trying to talk me out of my clothes, you’ve really got this therapist thing down.’
‘Oh, Kaavi,’ Neel said, half-smiling, ‘I’m still going to try and talk you out of your clothes every chance I get. But I’m also going to listen and give you advice and be there for you.’
Kaavi didn’t respond.
He didn’t say anything more after that. He just kept driving, hands steady on the wheel, eyes ahead.
Because the truth was, he was making promises neither of them knew how to keep.
What relationship? There wasn’t a label, not anymore. Just history and hope hanging between them. Each one waiting for the other to speak first. She thought the ball was in his court. He thought it was in hers.
Kaavi held a scoop of flour, poised over the mixing bowl, when her mother’s voice came sharply through the speaker: ‘Stop! You have to use the sieve.’
The phone was propped against the air fryer, camera tilted just enough to catch the counter. Her mom was on a video call, guiding her step by step through her chocolate cake recipe.
‘Does it really matter?’ Kaavi asked, eyeing the sieve with mild annoyance.
‘Of course it matters, Kaavi. That’s how the cake comes out light with no lumps. Baking’s not just throwing things together. It’s patience.’
Kaavi muttered something under her breath but did what her mother said, sifting the flour into the bowl.
‘Is Neel around?’ her mother asked.
‘Nope,’ Kaavi replied.
‘What do you mean? Does he work in an office in Rally or … I’m so confused by you two. In the first place, what are you even doing back in Rally, Kaavi?’
Kaavi kept working, adding ingredients and stirring the batter slowly.
‘I don’t know, Mom. Neel hasn’t asked me to go back to Johannesburg. He says he’s staying in Rally for the month and he hasn’t said anything about whether I should return with him or not. But now that I think about it, maybe he’s just waiting for me to sign the divorce papers.’
‘Divorce papers? What divorce papers? You never said anything about divorce papers,’ her mother’s voice shot through the phone.