Page 78 of Yard Sale

“For the record,” Thierry said before I could hang up, “we didn’t have this baby because of Oliver’s diagnosis. I, uh…I had a thing. Two years ago. I can’t have more kids, but Anne felt like she wasn’t done. One of our good friends donated for us.”

Now I felt a little worse, but how the fuck was I meant to know any of that when Thierry told me nothing? When he’d been my parents’ lap dog for so long and had only existed in my life to do their bidding?

“We should talk later,” I told him.

“Yeah.” He sounded tired now and sad. And maybe that was going to be good for him. “Call me tomorrow. Let me know what Oliver wants.”

I hung up without any real goodbye and made my way back into the house. After my chat with Oliver, we all let Aravind’s aunties feed us, and then Oliver took his mug of masala chai to the room and put himself to bed.

I’d gotten a few minutes to say hello to Manisha again—and god, it was good to see her—before I was dragged outside by my phone call. Now it was over, and the house was a little dark, and I was only able to find my way back to the sliding door through the memory of using it so much this past week.

My chest ached for everything that was happening. For my nephew’s pain, which triggered my own, and for the loss of peace that Aravind and I had. That was maybe unfair because he seemed genuinely excited to have his family around, and I did want to be part of something that was kind and gentle.

But I also already missed being able to do whatever we wanted, wherever we wanted.

“Are you alright, beta?”

It was Manisha, and it took me a second to realize she was talking to me. I’d heard her use that word before with Ferris. It was obviously something full of affection, and it felt weird to deserve it.

“Ah, yeah. Just…family stuff.”

“I understand. Come sit. I can make you more tea,” she ordered.

I found a chair but waved my hand. “I don’t think I can do more caffeine.”

“I have chamomile. Now, don’t argue. It’ll be good. It’s healthy, and it’ll help you sleep.”

I smiled at her as I leaned my elbow on the table. My fatigue had settled deep in my bones, and all I wanted was to crawl into bed with Aravind, but I wasn’t even sure if we were doing that. Maybe I was about to be relegated to the couch.

“Where did Aravind go?”

I heard her click the kettle on, then a mug hit the counter. “He went with Soma and Ankita to the shops before they closed. They needed a couple of things, and I had a small list.”

Drumming my fingers on the table, I asked, “Do you want me and Aravind to take the sofa so you have some room?”

She laughed. “Don’t be silly. My house is next door. We needed something that would fit myself, Ferris, and Quinn. Plus, my husband and Logan will be coming down for the weekend.”

I had to assume Logan was Ferris’s brother. I didn’t know them, but I’d heard people talking about how little Ferris looked like his siblings. I knew that feeling, though for different reasons.

“Are you alright?” Manisha asked again. The mug hit the table, and I curled my fingers around it. It was too hot, but the pain was grounding.

“I’ve been better. My family’s awful, and it was fine when they were just taking it out on me, but Oliver’s so…so young. And it really sucks to know that he’s being shut out the same way I was.”

Manisha pulled a chair out and sat. “Because of your blindness?”

I shrugged and took a sip, letting the fragrant herbal brew soothe the back of my throat. “Yeah. There’s other stuff too. I’m not my dad’s biological son, and he made sure I knew it every day. Even before they told me the truth. I just didn’t think they’d take out their bullshit on a kid.” I froze. “Sorry for swearing.”

“I have two jocks for sons and one who spent his college years in a fraternity before going into professional hockey. I don’t mind a little swearing,” she said with a laugh.

I smiled at her. “I’m, uh…I’m glad to see you. It was nice when you were around this season.”

She huffed. “You boys never know how to take care of yourselves. It’s a wonder you don’t all waste away.”

“We have nutritionists, you know.”

“Yes, but they are all idiots. Telling you to eat hard-boiled eggs plain and chicken with no spices. And no rice? What kind of diet is this? It’s like they want your brains to fail and your muscles to collapse in the middle of the game.”

“Well. I did play better when you were around,” I told her with a smile. “Too bad your chola boot can’t prevent knee injuries.”