Chapter 1
Pulling up to the curb, Nadira stopped the car and put it in park. The loud constant squeal from somewhere in the engine grew louder as the car idled. Switching off the noisy car, Nadira sat back in her seat with a deep exhale. Slowly she dragged her eyes to the beige and brown front of her family's townhouse, mentally preparing herself to go inside.
She did not want to go inside. She wanted to drive away as far as her tank of gas would let her. Then what, she thought with a humorless laugh, become a drifter?
There were two cars sitting in the driveway, so already she knew that both of her parents were at home. The leased matching Mercedes sedans were symbols of wealth her parents doted on, they kept the cars meticulously cleaned and polished and the insides still smelling new. Their gleaming black surfaces contrasted heavily with the dated beige two-story townhome that had seen better days.
Getting out of the car, Nadira grabbed her backpack from the backseat and shut the door. The soft click of the door indicated it didn't close fully, but she was far too tired to try and throw her weight behind the heavy metal to make it shut properly. Like the house, her mushroom colored Mercedes was built in the eighties and never failed to remind her with a daily wailing squeal that it wanted to be put out of its misery. Smiling to herself, she silently thanked her hand-me-down car for another successful journey home as she walked towards the front door.
The smell of cooked meat and spices greeted her as she hung her keys on the hook near the front door, and immediately her stomach growled at the aromatic greeting. Every day her classes started at eight in the morning and ended at four in the afternoon, and since she was taking more than a full load at Berkeley college five days a week, along with a half hour commute, it gave her very little time to stop and eat lunch. Not that she had the money for a meal anyways, she thought bitterly. With her backpack slung over her shoulder, she walked down the short entry hall and turned right into the kitchen, relieved to find it empty. Scanning the kitchen quickly, Nadira could feel her heart plummet and dread seep into her bloodstream, completely washing away the feeling of hunger. There were far too many pots on the stove for this to be a normal Tuesday night. Walking forward, she hesitantly lifted a lid on one of the silver pots and felt her heart sink even more at the sight of her mother's signature Biryani dish. Growing up, Nadira quickly learned that her mother's traditional spiced rice and chicken dish only ever meant one thing—they were having company.
"Nadira!" her mother's commanding voice rang down from the stairs down the hall.
Having an idea what her mother wanted, Nadira quickly opened the fridge and grabbed an old container of leftovers, and stuffed it in her bag before replying back.
"Yes, I'm home," she called back politely.
Rounding the corner into the kitchen, Candrii Razdan's dark eyes examined her daughter with eagle-like scrutiny. Nadira resisted hanging her head at the inspection, she knew already what her mother would see when she viewed her eldest daughter. Jeans that were too big, cinched tightly around her waist with a belt, a blouse that was in-style maybe a few years ago draped across a gaunt frame with bags under her eyes.
Candrii's eyes flashed with annoyance before she walked past her towards the stove. "Your father wants you to finish working on your grandmother's room today and expects you to finish getting it sorted and packed. But," her voice snapped like a whip as she turned back to give her a reprimanding look. "I want you back in enough time to get cleaned up and dressed for your sister's arrival. Nazma and her husband, Kedar, will be coming back from their honeymoon and will be here around eight."
All of that left no time to work on her homework, but she didn't dare bring that up. Nodding, she smiled benignly at her mother and walked back towards the front door. Taking the other set of keys off the hook, she walked out the front and headed next door. Like all the other townhouses in the neighborhood, the attached matching beige unit was in dire need for a new coat of paint. Unlocking the door, Nadira stepped into the quiet, musty-smelling house.
Closing the door behind her, she felt herself immediately relax in the solitude of the quiet house. It had always been like this for her here, even when her grandmother was alive. Having been widowed for the majority of Nadira's life, her grandmother's house had always been a place of quiet refuge for her, the only place she could truly be herself without any judgment.
Walking into the kitchen, she was thankful that the microwave was a built-in unit that doubled as a ventilation range hood. If it had been detached, it would have surely been claimed by one of her various uncles already. Popping in her stolen leftovers, Nadira leaned against the counter and surveyed the empty kitchen that overlooked the empty living room. Just months ago, this house was filled with beautiful furniture, ornate silk embroidered tapestries, and a homey warmth all exuding from one woman. Now the house sat dark and vacant, its furnishings picked over and the walls bare. Every darkened corner, dusty bare shelf, and echoing sounds of her footsteps served to remind Nadira of her loss. The microwave beeped, pulling her from her thoughts. Wrapping the hot Tupperware dish in a towel, Nadira grabbed a large serving spoon, the only thing still left in the drawer, and headed to the master bedroom. Identical to her house, the master-bedroom was located downstairs while the other bedrooms were upstairs. Setting her bag and food on the floor, she pulled the remaining boxes of jewelry towards her. With only costume grade jewelry and trinkets still left from her mother's careful selection of the finer pieces, Nadira pulled the printed emails from her aunts and cousins from her bookbag and continued sorting the pieces to each person's claim.
Between spoonfuls of leftover Rojan Josh, a red curry lamb dish she had made herself earlier in the week, Nadira listened to some music from her phone as she sorted. Reaching the last printed email, a request for her grandmother's items from another cousin, she bagged up a few bracelets and rings and wrote her cousin's name on the bag with a sharpie. Sitting back with her arms braced behind her in support, Nadira surveyed the remnant pieces of jewelry no one wanted. Laying forgotten against the dusty velvet liner of the jewelry box, a few beaded necklaces lay tangled around a couple of mismatching bangles lost from their tribe and one pendant necklace.
Taking the last bite of her food, Nadira resealed the container and stored it back in her bag. Turning back, she paused as she caught a warm glow from the jewelry box. Blinking, she stared harder at the remnant pieces still in the box. She could have sworn she saw something glow. Reaching out, she plucked up the pendant piece and carefully untangled it from the rest of the pieces. Looking closer, she realized it wasn't as plain as she initially mistook it for. About the size of a walnut, the amber stone pendant was dull and muted. Holding it up towards the light coming in through the drawn windows, Nadira squinted as she noted the deep red and orange tones infused together, making a dim cognac color. Lowering it from the light, she held it in the palm of her hand as she traced the metal frame surrounding the stone. Carvings covered the little stone from front to back while the bronze metal framing was inlaid with its own repetitive design. The cord she mistook for simple and cheap earlier was actually a finely woven fiber braided so tight she wasn't sure she could break it even if she put all her strength into it.