Chapter 45
Two months later, I call Alex.
“Wanna come over for dinner?” I ask.
“You still want to see me?” he replies.
We haven’t talked since Brett was arrested.
It feels both long and short at the same time.
Too short to be speaking to someone who betrayed me so deeply, but far too long to go without speaking to my best friend.
I saw in the news that Alex was also arrested on felony fraud charges.
I imagine he could use a friend right now.
I want to hate Alex, but he never set out to hurt me.
He kept a major secret from me, but he would never, ever try to harm me intentionally.
When I got arrested, he did everything he could to help me.
He thought he was doing right by me. Yet I’m also still angry.
He betrayed my trust. I don’t forgive him.
But I also can’t help but miss him. It’s complicated, but if we ever want to repair our friendship, I have to make the first move.
“I’m still angry at you. I need to know if I can ever forgive you. In order to do that, I need to see you. Come over.”
“Is Ammi cooking?” Alex asks almost shyly. Over the years, Alex has taken to calling my mom Ammi too.
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there.”
After I hang up, I call Amaya.
“Any interest in dinner at my parents’ house?”
“We’re celebrating?” she asks.
I just wrapped up the grueling process of testifying in the grand jury against Brett Ryan.
It’s the first step in his prosecution; his actual trial won’t happen for months.
Unlike my grand jury process, which was set to happen just days after my arrest, Brett’s lawyer did something I’m not sure I legally understand to get it delayed.
“I mean, I know you have a lot to do and are still rehabbing that arm, but you still need to eat.”
“You don’t have to convince me. I have been dying for some good home-cooked Sri Lankan food since my parents left. And I do need to eat.”
—
Most people would not be able to have a whole meal ready to go in the one-hour notice I gave, but most people are not Ammi, who has been cooking for large crowds of people her whole life.
She is especially adept at making sure people who have never had Sri Lankan food try it.
People who say they don’t like spicy food, and especially people who say they don’t like curry, are simply challenges for my mother.
She prides herself on converting even the most skeptical, believing that some food—her food—is universally delicious.
Nearly everyone on our street in Queens has had Ammi’s chicken curry at least once.
As I look at my home and notice the siding falling off, I worry what Amaya will think.
I love my home, despite the constant complaints I’ve had about it over the years.
I’m proud my family worked hard to buy it, with no generational wealth and no help.
The home isn’t perfect, but I belong here.
Anyone who needs a hot meal and a mother to love them is welcome.
I see Ammi is busy in the kitchen stirring multiple pots simultaneously.
The work that goes into the Sri Lankan feast she is preparing is enormous—she was likely cooking even before I called her.
A mother’s intuition. The smell of the food hits my nostrils immediately.
I can recognize each scent individually: garlic, turmeric, coriander, mustard seeds, curry powder, onion, curry leaf.
They all meld together into a beautiful harmony.
“Oh, this calls for a celebration,” she says as I walk into the kitchen.
She hugs me tightly, the stress of the past few days melting off her face, making her look younger.
This time, I wasn’t the one in trouble, but my having to go back to court still made Ammi anxious.
One good thing about the process? I also saw Alex exiting the grand jury room one day.
My heart tightened at seeing him. I knew I had to reach out.
“Siriwathi. I am so proud of you,” she says, smiling.
“Why? I didn’t do anything,” I say in genuine surprise.
“You did. You got yourself out of this on your own. I know you think we’ve been harder on you than your brother.
It’s just that I know how hard it is to be a Brown woman in this world.
” Ammi’s face softens. “We just wanted to protect you. And I doubled down after your brother got sick. We couldn’t save him, but I’d be damned if we lost you too.
” Ammi is crying, a rare occurrence for a woman who has carried the weight of this family on her for decades without flinching.
“Ammi…I didn’t realize. I thought you just loved him more. He was a boy and going to be a doctor and…”
“I love you both with every ounce of my heart. And we don’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for this family.
You’ve kept us going these past few years, and I think Thathi and I are ashamed at how reliant we’ve become on you.
You’re our child. You shouldn’t support us—we should support you, and we will.
Ajith isn’t coming back, but we must find a way to enjoy life. ”
I feel a strange gurgle in my throat again and dig my nails into my palm.
“Thanks, Ammi—”
We’re interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Alex has arrived.
I greet him at the door. He looks gaunt, like the one time he was hospitalized for food poisoning and couldn’t eat solid food for weeks. I fight back an urge to shove a sandwich into his hand.
“I’m so sorry, Siri. I—” Alex begins before I interrupt him. He’s already starting to tear up.
“Let’s not do this here.” Upon seeing his anguished face, my stupid bleeding heart melts a little. “We’ll talk more later. But for today, can you please just try to act normal?”
Alex wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Yes, I can. Of course.”
We stand in silence for a second, looking at each other. In this moment, I know we’ll be okay…eventually.
“Come on in,” I say as I wave him in.
Alex’s crumpled expression is replaced with his million-dollar smile as he strides toward the kitchen.
“It smells delicious here. Did you happen to make your famous chicken curry?” Alex asks my mom with a wink as he makes his way inside, bags of fancy wine in tow. Alex never comes to my house empty-handed.
“I always make your favorite,” Ammi says with a smile as she leans in to pinch him on the cheek as if he were a child. He smiles in delight.
“You’re the best, Ammi. Thank you for everything.
” Alex smiles, and I know this isn’t just about food.
I groan outwardly. Inwardly I think it’s cute how charming my mother finds Alex and how much he loves her.
I spared Ammi the details of Alex’s involvement in my case, not wanting to taint her beloved memories of him.
It would kill Alex to know that a woman he views as his surrogate mother was disappointed in him. Somehow, I feel like I owe him that.
“When is your friend coming?” my mother asks.
I walk into our small kitchen and dining room and notice the paint peeling from the walls and the cracks in the ceiling.
There are family photos and plates of food filling up the tables.
I look at my college graduation photo on the fridge, growing yellow with age.
Just then, Thathi steals a kiss from Ammi.
A half-completed thousand-piece puzzle sits on the coffee table.
The doorbell rings again. It must be Amaya. I open the door to see her smiling, a paper gift bag in her hand.
“Ko ma tha?” Amaya says. How are you? in Sinhalese. The simple phrase makes both of my parents smile in delight.
“Welcome to our home.” Ammi beams as if welcoming in an honored dignitary. I think for a second. She is more than that. She saved my life.
“This is for you,” Amaya says, handing the bag to my mother.
“Oh, thank you, you didn’t have to bring anything,” my mother demurs. I know Ammi well enough to know the complete opposite is true. Not bringing something to someone’s house is a definite sign of rudeness in her eyes and the subject of hushed fodder once all the guests leave.
Ammi opens the bag. “Oh wow. Where did you get these?” A few bottles of Sri Lankan condiments sit in the bottom of the bag like precious treasures. Chili paste with dried shrimp, onions cooked down to a brown caramel hue, and spicy coconut sambol.
“My ammi brought them back when she went to Sri Lanka this year. My Sri Lankan cooking still needs a lot of work, so I thought that they would be put to better use here.”
“That’s so generous of you. I haven’t seen this brand in years. We haven’t been able to go back in quite some time,” Ammi says.
Clearing my name hasn’t made me forget about our other problems, just made them seem more insignificant comparatively. Somehow, I’ll get us back to Sri Lanka soon.
“Well then, I’m glad they’ve gone to a good home,” Amaya says.
“I suppose this means that you have to come over for dinner more often,” Ammi replies with a warm smile. I’m grateful Ammi isn’t wishing that Amaya were a cute single man, preferably a doctor, who wants to marry me. She’s just happy I have another friend.
“I won’t ever say no to a delicious home-cooked meal. Siri said you’re the best cook.”
“She flatters me, you’ll have to see for yourself.”
Soon all of us are gathering around the table, spooning colorful curries and rice onto our plates.
Everyone is genuinely enjoying each other’s company, and even Thathi seems to be doing well.
My father disappears and returns with a bottle of dusty wine that he has kept for a celebratory occasion—one I’d hoped would mark my graduation or engagement.
As no milestone came, the bottle sat in the dark.
Getting murder charges dropped didn’t fit neatly into any milestone celebration that garnered a greeting card, but it’s still deserving of wine.
“We are thrilled to open this special bottle of wine today. We are so happy and thankful to Amaya”—Ammi smiles at her—“and as always to Alex, Siri’s brother.
” Alex looks embarrassed. I know the compliment makes Alex feel even worse about his betrayal, but I feel hopeful our bond can survive this.
“When Siri got arrested, we thought maybe another one of our children would leave us. It was unbearable to even think about. Thanks to you two, she is home with us again.”
“And thanks to Siri herself,” Amaya announces. “She is an excellent investigator.”
“Uh, thank you,” I respond. I guess I’ve gone from a very false understanding of how the criminal legal world works to having the confidence to ask questions and follow leads—things that seemed impossible only a few weeks ago. I also tackled a gun-wielding assassin. Just call me Enola Holmes.
“Any words from the woman of the hour?” Alex asks.
I’m embarrassed about all the attention, but I know I want to say something.
“I used to feel like my life was as bad as it could get, which seems crazy now. Little did I know I would end up with a dead man in my back seat and thrown in jail. Everyone has setbacks and hard days. Real life isn’t an Instagram highlight reel, but I am so damn lucky.
” I gesture to my parents, Amaya, and even to Alex.
“And this whole experience has reminded me to appreciate every second of it.”
“Hear, hear!” Alex echoes. Everyone cheers and clinks their glasses.
“Your brother would be so proud of you,” Ammi says, tears in her eyes.
“You’ve been through so much. Yet, you persevere. You go to work every day and take care of every single person around you. You work so hard at your job and do it so well. We couldn’t be prouder to have you as our daughter,” Thathi says, and gives me a hug.
I feel tears prick my eyes. It’s not often my father is sentimental, and it feels good to hear that my parents are proud of me. Deep down inside, I think I knew this all along.