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Until she made me suffer.
I would survive this, I decided. Whatever all this was, we would all survive it and I would spend the rest of my life making it up to all the people I loved who I had unintentionally damned.
* * *
The tension in the air was palpable. It made me hold my breath as I hoped this scene wouldn’t hurt as much. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take.
Were they really here? Were Alicia, Imani, Sarika, Olivia, Gran, and Abuela all in these little hells specifically created for them? If they were, who had made them? The witch? That she could make a hell for them so specific made chills run down my spine.
Just how much did she know about us? She knew the inner workings of our minds. Though I didn’t know anything about witchcraft or the powers they had, this felt so thorough.
Myra stood in front of Sarika. I hadn’t seen her since we were kids. She had moved back to India when Sarika was in college to take care of her sick mother and decided not to come back to Toronto. Her long dark braid was neat, her clothes perfectly pressed. Her powder blue dress shirt was tucked into the waist of her tan pants as she stood toe to toe with Sarika.
I had never seen Sarika look so nervous. Her father sat behind her on the couch, his face the stern one it always was. In all the time I knew Sarika, I don’t think I’d ever heard him speak. His parents sat beside him.
“We talked about this, Sarika. We gave you ample time but you just play around,” Myra shook her head. “Krish is a good match. He comes from a good family.”
My heart sank. Oh, Sarika.
“Mom, you know I have no interest in marriage.”
“I didn’t either at your age, but you live here on your own. You know baba is coming home with me. He can’t care for you when we are—”
“I don’t need someone to take care of me, mom. I can’t keep having this conversation with you.”
“We will keep having this conversation until you stop being so difficult.”
Mr. Devi was silent but his mother spoke up. “Why don’t you want a husband?”
Sarika’s eyes glassed over. “Maa, you know why.”
This was a conversation we’d had many times. Carefree Sarika was afraid of the day she would no longer be able to shrug off her parent’s attempt at marriage and would have to confess to them that she had no intention of marrying because she had no intention of marrying a man.
Her mother’s face hardened, her eyes looking over at the family on the couch.
I walked up behind Sarika. I hoped if ever this day came, we would all be here with her. That we would hold her hand and give her all the strength she needed to be who she was in front of the only people in her life she hid herself from.
“We won’t talk about this now.” Her mother shook her head. “You’ll meet with Krish.”
“No, Maa. I won’t.” Her voice was this quiet thing.
Anger transformed Mr. Devi’s face as his fist slammed hard against the arm of the sofa. His parents jumped, their faces turned to look at him. “You will meet Kirsh,” his deep voice demanded, accent thick. “Or we will say goodbye. We don’t approve of anything else.”
He may not have laid it all out, but it was clear what he meant. He knew, just as her mother knew and they were drawing a line in the sand. Sarika either had to do what they wanted or be disowned.
My heart ached as I stepped up behind her and tried to rest my hand on her shoulder.
I hated this.
Her throat bobbed as she took a slow step back.
“I…” Her voice sounded so incredibly small. “I…”
“You can do it Sarika.”
“I’ll meet Krish.”
The scene around us transformed and the familiar room dripped away to a yard with high dark wood fences. The decor was ornate, colourful fabric canopying overhead. She looked beautiful in her Lehenga but the look on her face shattered my heart. She looked empty, the smile on her face too wide and her eyes distant.
