The Shape of Family Page 2

  Here, Jaya could finally grow her flowers in the earth, a way of rooting herself to this land she’d claimed for herself and her family. She and Keith had loved this house when they first saw it, a brick two-story on a quiet tree-lined street. They were both drawn to the sprawling backyard, though for different reasons. Keith saw the swimming pool as a symbol of success. He envisioned hosting summer parties and manning the grill while the children swam. Jaya prized the yard for the enormous canvas it provided to create a garden of her own, one that would include flower beds, rosebushes, herbs and vegetables, even a dwarf citrus tree that occasionally yielded limes. Karina was just a toddler when they bought the house, and Jaya had felt a deep energy connecting her to a place for the first time in her life, a feeling that had grown over the last decade. They could afford a bigger home now, in a nicer neighborhood, as Keith always reminded her when they drove past open houses on Sundays, but Jaya didn’t want to leave this one.

  Now, she scooped a trowelful of potting soil into each of the small holes dug by Karina, followed by a spoonful of bonemeal. “So, have you decided what you want to do for your birthday dinner? We could go to Benihana, or the Spaghetti House,” Jaya suggested. “Maybe we can try that new ice cream place afterwards? Or do you want cake?”

  “Mom, I don’t see why I can’t babysit for the Crandalls tonight. My birthday’s not until tomorrow. Why can’t we do dinner then?”

  “Because your father’s traveling tomorrow. His flight’s at three o’clock,” Jaya explained. “Besides, it’s better to go out for dinner on Saturday, isn’t it? No school to get up for tomorrow.”

  Karina rolled her eyes and jabbed her spade into the ground for a new hole. “It’s not fair. I should be able to do what I want with my own time on the weekends. Izzy spends all day at the barn. Why can’t I babysit for a few hours if I want to?”

  Jaya looked up at her daughter and sighed. It was the same argument. Karina had started walking one neighbor’s dog on the weekends, then another’s. Now she wanted to babysit, it seemed, every Friday and Saturday night, cutting into their family time together.

  “What else am I going to do with my time?” Karina said. “I’m already getting good grades, so you can’t use that excuse.”

  “Karina.” Jaya tilted her head to one side and smiled, hoping to defuse the indignation she could see brewing in her daughter. “Why are you so eager to do this? For the money?” She tried not to taint the word. The values bred into Jaya by her parents were crystalline: her first priority had been her studies; the second was dance. Nothing else was supposed to come into the equation as a child. In their culture, working for money was only for adults and beggar children.

  “Everyone else at school does their own thing on the weekends. I just want to spend my time the way I want,” Karina said. “And yes, earn some money—”

  “You know we’ll give you spending money for whatever you need,” Jaya interjected.

  “That’s not the point!” Karina banged her spade onto the ground so hard it bounced some feet away and landed near a shrub.

  Jaya looked away from the anger manifesting in her daughter, dug her gloved hands deep into the bag of potting soil and heaped it out in front of her. Keith felt differently about this. He thought it was good for kids to have a job, to learn responsibility and the value of a dollar. Perhaps this was another aspect of American culture that she just didn’t comprehend. “I’ll talk to your father about it, okay?”

  Karina got up to retrieve the spade and returned to stabbing it in the ground, spraying soil all around her. Jaya reached for the tray of dusty millers and began wobbling one of them out of its sheath. They had started planting flowers on Karina’s birthday as a special ritual years ago, a way for Jaya to share something with her daughter, as she had shared dance with her own mother. Jaya had studied the Bharatnatyam form of classical dance from the time she was five years old, right up until she left for university. It was her mother’s way of ensuring she stayed deeply tied to Indian culture no matter where they lived. When they were in Delhi, Jaya studied with a leading teacher, but abroad, Jaya was taught by her mother, herself a dancer.

  In every home in every country where Jaya’s family had lived, there hung a series of five identically framed photos of her mother standing in full costume, in various dance poses: making a flute with her hands, her long fingers forming a flower, and so on. Each time they moved to a new house, these photos were the first items to go up. The whole family participated in the ritual of seeking out the right spot for them when they arrived in Ireland, Portugal, Kuwait. Jaya came to rely on those pictures, a symbol of constancy in their ever-changing homes, a sign of her mother watching over her. Jaya used to survey those images of her mother, with dramatically flared eye makeup and elaborate silk costumes, and wonder if she would ever grow up to be as beautiful and graceful. She had loved sharing something special with her mother. Unlike Karina now, who was like the little bunny in the children’s storybook, always trying to run away from her.

  “I’m not a baby anymore, Mom. I’m not a . . . kid like Prem. I can do things for myself. You don’t let me do anything. It’s not fair.” Karina stood up and dropped her spade to the ground. “I don’t even like this,” she muttered. “I hate gardening.” She shook her head and turned to walk into the house.

  * * *

  After finishing up the planting herself, and frankly grateful for the respite, Jaya entered the house to find Keith at the kitchen table, poring over his phone, as he’d been doing obsessively the past few weeks. He looked up at her, a deep furrow between his brows. “They’re saying no bonuses this year. None, can you believe that? After busting my tail all year, they’re going to take away my bonus.”

  “It’s just one year,” Jaya said.

  “And what if it’s not? First Bear, then Lehman. Fuck!” Keith said. “What’s next? I mean, Brian had no idea what was coming down at Lehman until the last two weeks. No bonuses this year means we might be next. I might not even have a job next year.”

  “Well, we can deal with that if it happens,” Jaya said, maneuvering around the stack of uncleared breakfast dishes in the kitchen sink to wash the dirt from her hands.

  “I’m going to give Robbie a call. He might have something for me.”

  “Robbie Weiss?” Jaya said, looking over her shoulder. “The guy who started that bucket shop?” She found a brush and began scrubbing the crusted maple syrup from the dishes.

  Keith nodded. “He co-founded a small firm, Duncan Weiss. They focus on middle market. We’ve worked on a couple of deals together. He told me to call him anytime I was ready to jump ship. I might be able to get him to pay my bonus if I come over before the end of the year.”

  “But you just said there are no bonuses,” Jaya said, raising her voice over the running water and the clatter of silverware in the sink.

  “Dammit, Jaya, do you have to do that right now?” Keith barked. “Are you even listening?”

  Jaya turned off the faucet and spun around to face him with the dish scrubber in hand. Who else is going to do it, and when? she wanted to say, but forced herself to stay calm. Keith had been a bundle of exposed nerves since the financial markets crashed a few weeks ago. It was like someone had snatched the man she knew and replaced him with an overanxious imposter. “What are you saying, Keith?” Her tone came out accusatory despite her efforts. “You want to leave your firm because of one bad year to go to a . . . crappy upstart? To work for a guy you called, I believe, ruthless?”

  “I am trying to make a living and provide for my family,” Keith shouted. “The financial markets are in ruin and I’m trying to take care of you.”

  “Well, I don’t need you to take care of me, not this way,” Jaya snapped.

  “What other way is there? You know my bonus is 80 percent of my income. We can’t even cover the mortgage on my salary. And certainly not yours.”

  “I can go full-time,” Jaya said. “We can get benefits through my job and cut ba
ck on our expenses until you find something—”

  Keith laughed. “That’s not going to make any difference, Jaya, and you know it.”

  “Can you just put your ego and male chauvinism aside for—”

  “Okay, that’s it!” Keith stood up, his chair scraping hard against the kitchen floor. “I need space to clear my head, before I say something I regret.”

  “Too late!” she called after him as the front door slammed. Jaya stood in place as she heard the rumble of the garage door and the squeal of tires. Turning back to the dishes in the sink, she thought she could hear a bedroom door close carefully upstairs.

  3 | keith

  APRIL 2009

  “Poodle breeds are notorious for their intelligence and ease of training,” Karina read from the book in her lap in the back seat.

  Keith glanced over at Jaya in the passenger seat. A small smile played on the edges of her mouth as she stared forward through the windshield. He looked back over his shoulder to his daughter. “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” Without looking up, she continued, “They are lively, active, fun-loving family dogs with a sense of the ridiculous.” Karina closed the book and elbowed Prem. “See? Perfect for you.”

  A reflexive laugh escaped from Keith before he could stifle it.

  “Hahaha, very funny,” Prem said, with his signature snort. “Well, yes I am, thank you.”

  “We are just looking,” Jaya said, removing her sunglasses to wipe the lenses. “No promises.”

  It was Saturday, one of the treasured days Keith had to spend entirely with his family. During the week, between long days at the office, client dinners and travel, he saw them only in passing. After the initial shock waves of the financial crisis had passed and it was clear no more investment banks were collapsing, business was gradually starting to return to normal. Keith was glad he’d decided to stay at Morgan Stanley. Jaya was right: there was value in being at a name-brand firm in difficult times, where he’d built a reputation amongst his colleagues. The stock market was rebounding and the firm was on track to pay decent bonuses this year, easing tensions for him and at home. Jaya’s return to full-time work seemed to make her happier as well, and she spoke enthusiastically about her projects. Things were a little more chaotic at home, but Keith tried to carry more of the load on the weekends since Jaya handled everything during the workweek. It felt good to have balanced the seesaw act of marriage and parenting over the past year without either of them crashing to the ground. He reached over and took his wife’s hand as she gazed out the window; she turned to him and smiled.

  The breeder in Watsonville, who had been recommended by the wife of one of Keith’s colleagues, a woman who had the requisite free time for such research, was a reputable source for goldendoodles, Karina’s top choice for a puppy. Her lobbying efforts to get a family dog had intensified over the past few months, culminating in a persuasive essay she wrote for English class, which Keith had to admit was quite compelling.

  When they turned onto the long country lane leading to the farm, Karina began bouncing in her seat with excitement. Prem let out a long wolf howl. The rambling ranch house was surrounded by a large fenced-in yard. As soon as Keith parked the car, Karina and Prem jumped out and ran toward the kennels on one side of the yard, where a man in work clothes stood.

  “Be careful, wait at the gate!” Jaya called out. As someone who hadn’t grown up with pets, his wife had an instinctive fear of animals. Keith hadn’t quite understood it when she’d explained: in Indian culture, dogs and other animals were considered dirty and would never be let inside the home. The only dogs she’d seen in India were the strays on the street, which she’d been taught to avoid as a source of disease and injury. Keith had grown up with dogs and loved them, so it took some effort to appreciate her view. Most of the time, he and Jaya were grounded by the values they held in common—hard work, planning for the future, creating opportunity for their children—but from time to time, there were these small reminders of their cultural differences.

  Now, Keith noticed Jaya taking deep breaths, trying to keep her fear in check for Karina’s sake. He had always admired this about his wife, how hard she worked to overcome her own fears. On September 11, 2001, two days before he was scheduled to fly to New York, Jaya had been heavily pregnant with Prem. As the news unfolded, she became hysterical, haunted by the notion that only a small accident of chance had kept Keith out of the towers that day. She didn’t want him to fly, not just that week or the week after, but for months. It had surprised Keith, the appearance of this deep fear, a single imperfection in Jaya’s otherwise unperturbable facade. His wife’s self-possession was the defining characteristic everyone noticed. Years of living around the world and interacting with diplomats had given her a degree of confidence to fit into any social situation. He admired this quality, but it also left him feeling somewhat insecure in comparison. With his modest upbringing, Keith had struggled to learn about good food and wine, to develop the language of someone more cosmopolitan. Here, with this fear of Jaya’s, was one small weakness with which he could help his wife, at last.

  It took Jaya over a year to get on a plane herself, to visit her parents in Switzerland so they could meet Prem for the first time. She gripped Keith’s hand tightly during takeoff, but he saw the resolve in her eyes before she closed them and rested her head back against the seat. He was filled with pride over how she could conquer something when she put her mind to it.

  Now, Keith took Jaya’s hand again and they walked together to meet the man who came to unlatch the gate for them. They introduced themselves and shook hands, the breeder first wiping his on his jeans.

  “You guys want to see the new litter?” the breeder said to Karina and Prem. “Five days old. Cute as can be.”

  They followed him into the house, where a large crate on the living room floor held a mass of curly golden fur. As he drew closer, Keith could make out five very small puppies sleeping nuzzled into their mother, who warily eyed the humans as they approached the crate. The breeder knelt down and lowered his voice. “They were born on Tuesday. This is Daisy’s first litter, so she’s extra protective.” He unlatched the crate and gently reached inside toward the closest puppy.

  “Why aren’t they outside with the other dogs?” Prem asked.

  “They can’t be around other dogs until they get their shots,” Karina said. “Just in case they’re exposed to something.”

  “That’s right.” The breeder looked impressed as he glanced up at Keith and Jaya. “Someone’s done her homework.” He held the puppy close to his chest and nodded toward Karina, who knelt down and took the tiny bundle from him as if she’d been handling puppies all her life. The smile on Karina’s face was beatific. Even Prem was watching his sister with wide eyes.

  “Three are spoken for, but I’ve got one girl and one boy left, if you’re interested. That’s the boy.” He pointed to the puppy on the floor. “And here,” he said, reaching into the crate with both hands and pulling out a tiny fur ball, “is the girl.”

  “The runt?” Karina asked, looking up at the breeder, who nodded back. Karina took the tiny puppy and held it close to her chest. “She’s the smallest of the litter, so it’s hard for her to compete for food and attention.”

  The breeder nodded. “The runt can be a little harder to care for and might have some issues. But Daisy hasn’t rejected this one, so she’s been growing.”

  Karina was whispering to the puppy, nuzzling the dog’s head with her nose and smiling from somewhere deep within. Keith felt his heart catch in his chest, with this glimpse of the joyful child inside his often brooding teenage daughter. He glanced over to Jaya and saw her eyes brimming with tears. She met his gaze and smiled, and one tear spilled down her cheek. He squeezed her hand. The puppy reached out her pink tongue and began lapping at Karina’s face. She giggled and the rest of them followed suit. Prem now had his chin down on the carpet, trying to get eye-to-eye with the other puppy, his face within biting or
clawing range. Keith expected Jaya to warn him, but she just crouched down to the floor behind Karina. “What do you think, honey?” Jaya said. “Would you like to adopt one?” Keith’s heart swelled with pride.

  Karina nodded without looking away from the puppy in her hands. “This one.”

  “The little one? Are you sure?” Jaya asked.

  Karina turned to them and Keith caught a hint of the same steely resolve in her eyes that he’d often seen in Jaya’s. “Positive,” she said.

  “Normally, we let them go at eight weeks, but I would recommend twelve weeks for this little gal,” the breeder said. “How’s that sound?”

  Jaya completed the paperwork and wrote out the deposit check. When they left the house a few minutes later, Karina was light on her feet with a limitless smile.

  “Why is it called a goldendoodle?” Prem asked. “I mean, if you cross a golden retriever with a poodle, you could also call it a goldie-poo.” He paused, thinking. “Or a poo-retriever. Ha!” He snort-laughed. “A poo-retriever, get it?”

  Karina rolled her eyes and jabbed his shoulder as they climbed into the car.

  “So, I’m not picking up any dog poo, okay?” Prem said. “Karina can train that intelligent dog to do it himself.”

  “Her self. She’s a girl, dummy,” Karina retorted. “And I already said I would walk her, feed her and brush her teeth. So, what should we name her?”