At any rate, the domino effect of family obligations and rivalries began, and Lakshmi came to live in Sunnyvale. How ironic to find that a doted-upon son would, in adulthood, kowtow to a cold wife. But the daughter didn’t dwell on ugly history. Daughters had forgiveness in their bones. Up into the dry California sky went the resentments that might have been spoken about Dadar, about Parag the neighbor, about Vivek, about how Lakshmi had allocated love.
Lakshmi arrived in California just as Pranesh instigated divorce proceedings. Over the years, Anita’s father had grown angry with Anjali for doing too little domestically, for why should a man like him be married to a woman like her, except for the sake of the household? But these days, she was not cooking, she did not work, they had nothing to say to each other. And sufficient money had led Pranesh to a conclusion that would have been unheard of some years earlier: he could afford now to exit the inconvenience of his marriage.
He nabbed the best lawyer in the region and met with many others, barring them from working with Anjali. Pranesh’s attorney was arguing Anjali’s irrelevance to her husband’s company, litigating her out of a decent settlement. And the stress was taking its toll—“as you might have noticed,” Anita said.
Anjali initially tried to pass off the fact that Pranesh was living in Portola Valley as temporary—she told Lakshmi that he wanted a retreat up in the hills, with fewer distractions, to begin ideating a new company. Lakshmi knew better. “I have seen things change in Bombay,” she informed Anjali. The relatives in Navi Mumbai had a divorced son; the daughter was not even married to the man she lived with. Lakshmi was not unwise to the changing of the times. Perhaps she surprised herself with the expandable scope of her motherhood, how it swelled to make space for things previously unacceptable.
Lakshmi summoned her granddaughter to Sunnyvale, where Anjali had remained. （Anita’s mother’s sole victory in the divorce would be getting to keep the house she’d never wanted, in the suburb she’d always hated.） Anjali was asleep when Anita arrived. She poked her head in to see her mother breathing shallowly, her sharp wristbones and vertebrae visible through her oddly papery skin.
“There is something very wrong with your aiyee,” Lakshmi said sternly, bustling over the stove. Anita tried to make the chai, but her grandmother scorned her attempts.
“She’s depressed,” Anita said, taking her tea.
Lakshmi clicked her tongue to dismiss the Western psychobabble. “What is wrong, see, is this. I made a very big mistake. I fixed up your uncles’ lives. Got all their studies in order. Gave your uncle Vivek all kinds of special boosts. All this you know.” Anita nodded. “But I did not arrange anything proper for your mother. She needed some kind of boost, too. Understand?”
“Ajji,” Anita said. “Isn’t that all in the past? You can’t fix it now.”
They were quiet for a while, drinking their chai, and then Anita began to wash their emptied mugs. From behind the sink, she could see the Sunnyvale cul-de-sac, cousin to the Hammond Creek cul-de-sac, only with squatter houses and more citrus trees. The sight gave her hot pangs between her ribs. Her mother had spent so many years here, in this place meant for certain types of families, certain types of lives. Was there no way out for Anjali Dayal—no, Anjali Joshi? No other way of being on offer?
“What could you do now, Ajji?” she said.
“I would not have given your mother the same-same kind of gold drink I gave your uncle,” Lakshmi said. She came to stand by Anita. Together they surveyed the street. “What I should have given was a good gold tonic to ensure her marriage and home life were happy.”
The blatant inequality of the statement made Anita roll her eyes. But she couldn’t deny that those things—marriage and domestic life—were exactly what were going wrong for her mother now. It was far too late for Anjali to attend IIT. But maybe it was not too late for her to be, in some way, settled. Adjusted.
“What sort of gold does that come from?” Anita asked.
She thought she heard her mother shifting in the bedroom. Anjali would be furious to imagine beginning the cycle again.
“Good happy-home happy-life blessing? Where else? From wedding gold,” Lakshmi said. “Actually, gold given just before a wedding. When everything is all, how to put it, promise. Absolutely fresh wedding gold, understand?” Anita’s eyes widened. Lakshmi went on: “You have this bridal event you are planning, isn’t it? That is what has given me this idea. There you will have good jewelers, with all kinds of handmade pieces and what all? Yes? Come. Let us talk about helping your mother.”