Chapter 59. Micah
MICAH
I yawn inside my hand, gazing out at the large garden in the courtyard. The sun still hangs low in the sky, but when I went out with my coffee moments ago, the air temp had already reached broiling. Typical for August.
The swing set in the middle of the courtyard sits void of its pint-size citizens. Another hour and its swashbuckling Saturday morning subjects will be overthrowing the nobility out there with the sprinklers running.
“Can you hear us, Micah? Nivaan, where did you go? How do I turn on my video? Nivaan!”
I return my attention to my computer screen. “Lower corner.” I steady my voice. Inside my heart thumps, my palms perspire. I’m taken aback by the pair’s vivid attire as I tuck in my plain gray T-shirt.
“Oh!” My mom’s mother pushes up her glasses. “You look so much like Mia, similar shaped eyes . . . though not the same color.”
“Hair too.” My mom’s father, composed like a deity in his royal blue collarless dress shirt, nods.
“For so long, you’ve only been a picture, a little baby in Beck’s arms. Now you’re real.” She bounces in her chair.
“Doctors Dhaliwal—”
“Please, Kavya and Nivaan.” She readjusts her purple and gold sari over her shoulder.
“I apologize for not contacting you sooner.”
They look at me with expectant faces.
My mind blanks. “Sorry . . .”
“Tell us about yourself,” Kavya starts, her voice gentle. “You’re twenty, right? You go to university?”
“No . . . I work at my granddad Gabriel’s advertising agency.”
“What?” She frowns. “Education is most important. You must go to university. Study several degrees. We told Mia. She didn’t listen. So very smart, that girl. Full scholarship to Barnard, then she forgot who she was.” She flicks her hand, her face heavy with distant thoughts.
Nivaan stares straight ahead.
“We were too strict, perhaps.” Kavya pulls in her lips. “Mia being our only child, we envisioned many great things for her.”
Nivaan touches her hand.
Her shoulders drop some.
“Meeting my dad and following him on the road wasn’t what you had in mind for her.” I nod a few times.
“You fall in love. Okay, so . . . you fall in love.” Kavya’s eyes expand. She throws up her hands, releasing a strained laugh. She points at her screen. “But get your education. So important, Micah, we must insist.”
Nivaan blinks a couple of times. Guess he agrees.
The stirring of warmth in my chest catches me by surprise. “Thank you for insisting.” I smile. “Nice to hear it coming from you.”
“You’re one-half Dhaliwal family, don’t forget it.” Kavya’s face softens into a warm, lipless grin that reaches her eyes. I imagine my mother’s smile in hers. “We’re sorry you didn’t know our Mia. She was . . .” She stops, brings her curled fingers to her lips.
“Our life,” Nivaan says in a low whisper. The whites of his eyes redden.
Her bottom lip contorts. “Yes, our life.” She clasps his upper arm. “Our sweet beti.”
The back of my throat aches. Their love for my mother makes her real.
“After Mia died, your father asked if we’d raise you, said you’d be in better hands since we both work in medicine.” She shifts in her seat.
I cover my mouth. He tried to get rid of me even earlier than I thought. “I never knew that.”
Her eyes fall to her lap. “We were heartbroken, angry . . . and a bit stubborn.”
My chest tightens. They didn’t want me. My father. My grand-parents.
She looks back at the screen, her face pinches.
“Understand, Micah, we were afraid of ourselves—afraid to live with the memory of her and not have our daughter. How could we celebrate your birthday and mourn our only child at the same time? But to not know you meant giving up the only piece of our daughter that was left.”
My eyes smart. I look away. “I’m sure it was confusing.”
“Your father’s sister called when you got the bad fever in the Philippines,” she continues. “We asked Beck if he would let you live with us. But your father said he couldn’t bear to give you up.”
I clench my jaw. “He did it anyway when he sent me to live with my granddad in New York.”
“Beck blamed himself for Mia’s death and again when you got sick.” Kavya shakes her head. “He was afraid to lose both of you. Respecting his wishes, we didn’t contact you until you were ready to meet us. Your email made us very happy.”
If only I’d done this sooner. “Tell me more about my mom.”
“When you come for a proper visit to see your nani and nana.” She grins. “You’ll meet more family then, hear all the stories. We’ll put you in a traditional kurta. So handsome, don’t you think, Nivaan?”
He doesn’t blink this time.
“Where in India are you?” I sit up straighter.
“We came over from New Delhi before Mia was born,” Kavya says. “We live in Frankfort, outside of Utica, New York.”
Guess we didn’t need to chat this early. Good to know.
“Between our families,” she adds, “you have fifty-five cousins.”
“What? No way.”
“Diwali is soon, our festival of lights. You come for that.” Her tone leaves no room for contradiction.
I nod. “I’d like that.”
“Introduce you to a fine Indian girl.”
“Whatever you say, Kayva.” I chuckle. College, marriage. My mom’s mom doesn’t waste time.
“Please, Nani. And you call him Nana.” She directs her thumb toward Nivaan like a hitchhiker.
“I like your spunk.” I smile. “Especially Nana’s.”
My grandfather’s shoulders shake a little. His toothy grin is goofier than I expected.
I bust out laughing, enjoying the moment, sensing it’s just the first of many to come.
I take a deep breath and release it. Might as well put everything on the table.
“I didn’t plan to tell you this yet . . . but . . . four years ago I was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Not sure how familiar you are with it . . .”
The call ends before I want it to. The sides of my head pulse like I’ve just sprinted through Central Park.
All these strange, jumbled emotions course through me; it’s like a big, lumbering weight’s been lifted from my shoulders.
My grandparents, so warm and open to having a relationship with me, listened without judgment and then promised to study up on my condition and consult additional specialists.
Looks like I have a couple more doctors in my corner.
Alongside all this goodness and positivity, I can’t ignore my stupidity that I didn’t reach out sooner. I’d convinced myself that they didn’t want me, but the story I’d fabricated in my head was nothing but bullshit. All this time, my mom’s family was out there, waiting. Loving me from afar.
Fifty-five cousins.
A jittery laugh escapes my lips at the prospect of meeting them. I’m terrible with names. I’m never going to be able to keep them straight. Tears blur my eyes.
I look over at my mom’s picture. “Thank you, Mia . . . Mom. Thank you for giving me life. I’m only sorry you couldn’t stick around.”
My heavy head drops into my hands and I bawl like a baby.