“That would be nice,” Masi said. “When did you learn to sew?”
“In seventh grade,” I said. “And I also did a summer course two years ago at the School of Fashion Design—the one on Newbury Street? I’ve done alterations for this fashion consignment store I work at for a while now too. And I should probably tell you I’ve been using your fabric for my Etsy shop. Just in case that’s an issue.”
“What’s an Etsy shop?” Masi asked.
“It’s a website where you sell handmade items,” I said.
“Can I see it?” Masi asked.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll send you a link.”
“Just tell me the address,” Masi said. “I want to see it now.”
I felt a twinge of irritation breaking through my guilt. Did she have to be so demanding?
“If you Google ‘Etsy’ and ‘Megha & Me’ it should come up,” I said.
There was silence at the other end.
“That’s the name of your shop?” she asked softly. “Megha & Me?” She’d lost the combative tone. “That used to be us growing up. Megha and me.”
“I didn’t realize… that,” I said. “Did you find it?”
“Wait…,” she said. “Yes, I see it.”
“I didn’t really use a lot of your fabrics,” I said. “Just recycled bits and pieces from the clothes I’d outgrown. It seemed such a pity to throw them away. I hope that’s okay.…”
“It’s fine, Mini,” Masi said. Her side of the phone fell silent; all I could hear was static crackling.
“Do you still want a picture of the lehenga?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about it now,” Masi said. “I’ll see it at the wedding.”
I nearly dropped the phone. “You’re coming?” I said.
“I’m invited, aren’t I?” Masi said. “I got a card and everything. Nice card, by the way—did you design that too?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “When are you, um, arriving?”
“On Tuesday,” Masi said. “And how come you were with Vir?”
She knew him, I guess.
“He asked me out,” I said. “We’ve been… dating.”
“Where did you meet him?” Masi asked.
“He’s DJ’ing Vinnie’s wedding,” I said, not wanting to get into the whole long story.
“You’re paying Vir Mirchandani to DJ Vinnie’s wedding?” Masi sounded incredulous.
“Yes,” I said.
“Mini, do you have any idea how much that kid is worth?”
“Masi, I know his family is wealthy,” I said. “But kids take jobs even when their family is well off. It teaches work ethic. What’s wrong with that?”
Masi sighed in exasperation. “Nothing at all, Mini. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
“She can’t come now, Vinnie,” I wailed. “She’ll spoil everything!”
Vinnie was no help. “It’s time you stopped trying to keep her out of everything. And anyway, it’s my wedding and I want her here helping.”
“What help can she possibly be? And I haven’t kept her out!” I said. “She’s the one who’s always kept herself out. She didn’t even come when Mom—”
“Mini,” Vinnie said sharply. “That wasn’t her fault!”
“How can you say that?” I asked. “She was always flying around the world—she could totally have come. You’re the one who ended up doing everything.”
“I didn’t,” Vinnie said.
“You did! You even dressed Mom. God, Vinnie, I don’t know how you even…” I fell silent, overcome by memories.
“It wasn’t hard,” Vinnie said at last. She was always solidly dependable in an emergency. “I wanted to be a doctor, remember?” Funny, we had not talked about any of this—ever. Why it came up just now, I have no clue. But I couldn’t stop.
“You put Mom in that long dress she wore when she and Dad first met—I remember. How did you find it? How did it even fit her after all those years…?”
“It fit because Masi made sure it did,” Vinnie said quietly. “She sent it.”
“Masi sent it?” I asked. “I… it was always here.”
“Masi went to the old house in Karol Bagh,” Vinnie said, “and dug through all the steel trunks in the storeroom. The ones that hadn’t been opened since Nani died.”
I have a vivid memory of those trunks. Large black-painted iron trunks that had been over the length and breadth of India on Nana’s army postings. They said LT. COL. P. S. RAGHAV in crisp white letters. Mom’s whole childhood was stored in them. Masi had to dig through them?
Vinnie was still talking. “And she found the outfit and she had it altered so it would fit and she couriered it here a month before it happened.”
“She did?”
“Yes,” Vinnie said. “Mom told her that’s what she wanted to wear at the end. You think Masi didn’t do anything—how do you think it feels to mail your sister clothes for her funeral?”
“But she didn’t come…,” I said.
“Mom didn’t want her to,” Vinnie said. “She didn’t want a big deathbed scene. She just wanted one more normal day at home with us, reading Percy Jackson, training Yogi with you, and talking about plans for college with me. As normal as she could make it. And another. And another. As long as she could. So Masi didn’t come. But she talked to her every night after we went to bed.”
I was probably fast asleep by then, and no one ever told me.
“And when Mom was so drugged at the end because of the pain, the doctor said someone should tell her it’s okay to let go—even if it didn’t feel like she could hear. Masi did it. She talked to her all night that last night before she died. Mom could hear her, I know.”
I had tears streaming down my face. “I didn’t know,” I said. Masi had just gained a whole lot of respect in my mind.
Shut. Up.
That’s why he didn’t want me Googling him!
How could he? Really—how could he?
I didn’t even mean to pry—the trusting lovestruck sap that I was. I was just curious about how I looked in the picture Masi saw on that fashion blogger’s website. Can you blame me? I’ve never been on any
