Free Blue Jasmine by Kashmira Sheth Page B

leaves,” Jennifer suggested.
    â€œIt’s not the same, but maybe with marigolds they would look pretty,” I said.
    â€œAnd smell good,” said Ria.
    We walked silently for a while.
    â€œI can’t wait to go see my grandparents. They always have snow for Christmas. I also get to see my brand-new cousin who’s only ten days old,” Ria said.
    Jennifer looked over at me and smiled. She knew that all our talk reminded me of my family and our festivals.
    Mommy was shelling a pomegranate when we got home.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Ria asked.
    â€œA pomegranate,” I said.
    â€œWhat’s a pomegranate?”
    â€œIt’s a fruit. You’ve never had it?” I asked.
    â€œNo.”
    Ria and Jennifer tried pomegranate for the first time. “It’s . . . it’s like having mini Juice pockets pop open in your mouth,” Ria said, laughing.
    Jennifer didn’t like it as much. “I like its color. Now I know why in some catalogues they have my favorite shade of red sweaters labeled as pomegranate,” she said.
    After they went home I thought about how they’d never had pomegranate before and how I’d never seen a live Christmas tree in anyone’s house before.
    â€œSeema, there’s going to be a dinner party at the Mehtas’. We’re invited,” Mommy said the next day as soon as I came home from school.
    â€œI don’t want to go.”
    â€œThere’ll be many children there and you’ll meet them all. Their daughter Asha is in your school. Remember Pappa gave me a list of Indian people a while ago? I invited a few of the women for lunch today and one of them was Mrs. Mehta. She asked me to bring you and Mela.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me about it?”
    â€œI was going to tell you yesterday, but you were so busy talking about Ria’s and Jennifer’s Christmas plans.”
    â€œI’m sorry. Mom.”
    That night I thought about how every day, as soon as I got home I talked about my day and never asked Mommy about hers. If Mela interrupted I got mad at her. It wasn’t right. I made up my mind to listen to Mommy and Mela more.
    That Saturday we went to the Mehtas’ house. I dressed up in a long skirt and top with a matching sheer scarf. My outfit was pomegranate red with white-beaded embroidery. The embroidery reminded me of Mukta’s handkerchief, and I took it out of the drawer and looked at it. I promised myself I’d write her a letter the next day.
    The familiar smell of ginger, red pepper, cumin, and turmeric wafted through the air as soon as we entered Mrs. Mehta’s house. The music from the movie Aradhana was playing in the background, and most of the women were dressed in saris.
    Mommy had been right about the children. There were four other girls my age, and two of them went to my school. I’d seen them before. One was Asha and the other was Priya. They talked in American English and I was ashamed of having an accent, but they were so friendly that I soon forgot about it.
    All the Indian children in America called adults “Uncle” and “Auntie,” and after one party I had many uncles and aunts. The house was filled with their voices and laughter. Mrs. Mehta, or Supriya Auntie as I called her now, had made so many dishes that there was no room to put potatoes on my plate. I thought of not taking any, but they were so tempting, with their diced red and green pepper and chopped-coriander garnish, that I piled them on top of my rice.
    While eating I saw Mommy talking and laughing with the others. Her face was as radiant as if it were washed with moonlight. It made me realize how deeply Mommy had missed our family, our friends, and our home.
    It was late when we got home and I got up at eleven the next morning. I had so much homework to finish that I forgot about writing a letter to Mukta.

seven
    O n the first day after the winter break Ms. Wilson introduced