"That's it. That's Jackson Market." Ramani pointed at a sign, the words arching in a friendly, old-fashioned way, half-hidden under a bushy trellis. She turned in her seat, frizzy, loopy brown curls forming a halo around her head.
"We can walk there later. "
Serene didn't bother answering. Ramani faced forward again and Serene stared at the back of her mother's head as a wave of utter and complete despair wracked through her body. She had to pinch the bridge of her nose to prevent the tears that threatened to come. She'd cried enough over the move. Nothing was going to change the trajectory her life was taking. Serene could have come to LA with her mother earlier but had elected to remain behind with Aarav, her stepdad tasked with wrapping up the last of their life on the island.
Aarav gave up insisting he was Serene's father years ago. She was supposed to be his; that was the plan. But the genetics of the donor dad––the one her parents chose to impregnate Ramani––gobbled up any likeness to anyone but him, his sperm like a cloning machine. Of course, Ramani and Aarav knew that Serene would come out looking different. They were both white while her biological father was black. Serene had seen pictures of a tall sinewy young man with a soft baby face supported by a square jaw and large, dark, extravagantly lashed eyes. He'd not been much more than a child. Seventeen. And Ramani, thirty-two. Serene’s biological father was renamed, Jai, by Baba Rae, the guru of the commune Shangri-La, where they once all lived. Jai meant Victorious. But he wasn't victorious. According to Ramani and Aarav, Jai tried to insert himself into their family. Unsuccessful in his attempts to be a part of Serene's life, he'd left Shangri-La, changing his name back to Joseph. Joseph's parents got involved and Ramani received a letter to appear in court. She never did. Instead, she and Aarav slipped away from the commune one night. They caught a flight from Oakland to Maui, escaping the clutches of the baby thief, Joseph, and his parents, who wanted to take custody of their rightful and precious indigo child. This was another story Ramani liked to retell Serene through the years. Serene needed to grow up some, pick apart the elements of the story and examine them before the truth took shape. Her parents had taken advantage of her father, a young, naive teenager.
"I always wanted a little brown girl, and now I have one," Ramani used to like to tell Serene.
She'd stopped saying it two years ago after Serene snapped, "Do you know how fucked up that sounds?"
There had been a younger brother, too. Cedar. He arrived as a happy surprise, birthed down the hill from their house in the middle of a pasture. But Serene tried not to think of Cedar. After the accident, she tried to block out the memories. It was too difficult, for instance, to think of playing tag with Cedar, their bare feet flying over long damp grass from a recent rain, or reading to Cedar, or defending Cedar from bullies over his white skin, without thinking about the accident.
"It's there, to the left," Ramani said, pulling Serene out of her reflections. Darpan stood in the driveway of a white stucco two-story Spanish-style bungalow, shirtless and stretching, showing off sandy-colored underarm hair. He wore flowy black wraparound ashram pants and was barefoot, his blond hair pulled back in a can't-be-bothered ponytail. He waved as Aarav pulled into the driveway.
"Hey, man," Darpan said as they filed out of the car before giving Aarav a brief hug. They were a scraggly looking crew. Aarav wore his best cardigan, a knit rainbow-colored affair that carried a faint whiff of mold, the signature scent of their shack-like house on Maui. Ramani and Serene were both in shorts, t-shirts and flimsy black slippers.
"Come have a look at the awesomeness we were blessed with," Darpan said, springing up the three smooth, wide cement steps to the front door. A flicker of irritation passed over Aarav's face like a faulty light, a brief dark look followed by a forced smile when Darpan opened the door and beamed a moon-faced smile at him, guileless blue eyes lit with barely restrained joy. They stepped inside. There were still some boxes stacked neatly in the living room, but mostly everything had been put away. Natural light streamed through the many windows. The furniture was Ramani's parents' furniture, most of it vintage 1950s and 60s stuff. A large red and white Persian area rug with some stains covered the center of the dark wood floor in the living room. Another woven rug was rolled up and pushed to the side against the wall. Pictures had been hung, some of them obviously chosen by Darpan. Bruce Lee in mid-kick. Mickey Mouse smoking a joint. These were interspersed with Ramani's collection of gurus, old men with solemn-looking expressions. A cabinet stood in the dining area. Through its glass doors, Serene studied the display of china dishes decorated with sprays of delicate pink roses, a pile of framed pictures stacked carelessly amongst the china––pictures, she assumed, that hung on the walls before Darpan and Ramani redecorated. Aarav looked it all over silently. Ramani gently touched his arm and pointed to an altar under a corner window.
"I set up your meditation area, but we can move it if you don't like it there." A large framed picture of Bhagwan Shri Rajneesh hung over a low table covered in a filmy bright yellow material. An incense holder sat atop the table. It held a slim stick of incense and a sage stick bound in colorful yarn. Beside it was a bronze Tibetan singing bowl. Aarav gave a curt nod of acknowledgement to
