Everything I Didn’t Know

“Do you want some pecan pie?”

I blinked back into consciousness, facing a thick slice of spiced pie in the hands of my

older cousin. Her eyes crinkled in the corners in a kind smile and she nudged the plate towards

me.

“Yeah, sure,” I replied, taking the plate. She flopped into the seat next to me, watching as

my younger brother taught our cousin how to play Just Dance on the television.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” I said, cutting the pie in half and taking a big bite.

“I’m excited for tomorrow. It’s going to be so nice to have the family all back together.”

Rhea twirled the sparkly engagement ring on her finger round and round.

I felt my stomach constrict and immediately set my plate down. “Mmmhm.”

She tilted her head at me, dark green eyes filled with benevolence. They contrasted the

dark lashes that framed her face and her skin that was the color of deep umber. Though she was

only a year older than me, she had always been the prettier cousin, the more successful one, the
cousin who excelled at everything she did without so much as a bat of an eye. We had entered

this world as if we’d come in it together, being less than a year apart in age, but soon branched

out into our own separate paths. By the end of high school, things had drastically changed.

Instead of staying up all night together eating overbaked cookies and planning future vacations,

she was sneaking out past midnight to meet boys.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked, breaking me out of my deep reverie.

“No,” I told her, avoiding eye contact. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Andi, I don’t want this week to be ruined for you. If there’s something you want to talk

about, I’m here to listen–”

Before I could reply, her glimmering fiance came over, a pearly white smile taking over a

large part of his face. Floppy sandy brown hair and pale white skin wasn’t usually Rhea’s type--

she preferred South Asian men who shared the same culture as her and could handle eating food

seasoned with garam masala--but she’d been enraptured by Nicholas since the moment they’d

met at university. Since I was a child I had borne witness to Rhea’s extensive romantic history,

from the love notes she wrote in her third-grade class, to her first real breakup at thirteen, to her

senior year of high school where she had a “no strings attached” summer. These were all

different phases of Rhea’s life that I had watched like an audience member at a movie. I had still

never dated anyone and here she was, engaged to be married barely a year out of college.
 “Hey, Andie. Enjoying the pie?” Nicholas said, sitting beside Rhea.

“Why is everyone obsessed with this pie?” I muttered.

Nicholas just laughed. “My grandma’s recipe. I showed Rhea how to make it yesterday,

she didn’t tell you?”

Rhea playfully punched Nicholas in the shoulder. Their displays of affection were sugary

sweet, but oftentimes I craved that sort of attention, that happiness that resulted from having this

one singular person be such an important part of your life. This feeling came in waves, but I

ultimately knew that there was nothing I cherished more than my own company. Perhaps that

was a defense mechanism, but at this point of my life I couldn’t handle having someone be the

center of my world.

“My brother’s coming down Saturday morning,” Nicholas said, letting out a big sigh.

“My mom didn’t even have to bribe him this time.”

“Ohhh!” Rhea widened her eyes at me and wiggled her eyebrows. I shook my head at

her. Nicholas didn’t need to know about my crush on his brother.

“Also, your aunt’s told me to tell you two they need help in the kitchen,” Nicholas

explained to us. They’re making samosas and pan—pan poorah, I think?”

Rhea let out a laugh and I looked away to avoid smiling.

 “You mean panipuri, honey,” Rhea said, rustling Nicholas’s hair. “Lets go, Andi.”

I followed her to the kitchen where two of our aunts and both our moms stood in the

kitchen. We grew up in the United States but our parents immigrated from Mumbai, India.

Though India was the epicenter of Hindu culture, our moms were raised Catholic and attended an

all-girls catholic school as kids. Because of this, they had very strong opinions on Hindu Indians,

and didn’t care for the arranged marriages, casual racism and colorism and the treatment of

women in the culture. I’d always wished that they would’ve taught us Hindi, but another aspect

of their westernization is that they rarely spoke it in the house unless they were around each

other.

“Chikoo,” Rhea’s mom called to her, waving us over. “Come help with the filling.”

We were handed two bowls and we started to put the ingredients together–potatoes, peas,

onions, ginger, cumin. Samosas were one of my favorite foods but I couldn’t handle my spice so

I always had to have them mild. My intolerance was one of the many things that made me feel

alienated from my culture, aside from the biggest factor being that my father was French, not

Indian, and grew up speaking Louisiana Creole in New Orleans. After my parents had divorced I

rarely got to see him anymore. He was the part of me I had subconsciously tried to keep hidden,

but it was hard to do when I physically stood out among my Indian family.
 “When do you move into your new place, Rhea?” my other aunt asked from the kitchen

sink.

“August thirteenth,” Rhea replied. “I’m really excited. Seattle’s a great city.”

“So impressive. Google is a big company, you’ll make so many connections,” my aunt

said, beaming.

“That’s the plan,” Rhea said with a laugh. “I’m already a position above where new

employees usually stat.”

The more I listened to this conversation, the more tense my hands became from gripping

the spoon so tightly. I hated hearing her praises from the rest of our family, as usually.

“Andi, what are you studying again?”

The dreaded question. It’s also one that I have answered several times.

“Screenwriting.” I said, my eyes glued to the bowl.

“Hm,” my aunt said. “You didn’t do an internship this summer? You graduate this spring,

no?”

“I took some time off, remember?”

 I felt my mother put her hand on my shoulder. “I told you, Gladys, she took a couple

months off last fall.”

“You should push through, you know. It’s hard to go back to your studies if you take too

many breaks. Rhea, you had your first internship the summer after your first-year.” My aunt said,

nodding her head at my cousin.

“It might help to start looking,” Rhea offered with a shrug.

“You can’t live at home forever,” my aunt said to me and I stopped mixing the

ingredients.

I felt my chest tighten and my pulse quicken. Red hot anger was bubbling up to the

surface. My hands felt shaky and I wanted to scream and yell. I pictured myself telling her off,

yelling that not everyone has to go down the same path and I’ll be okay no matter what I do. I

also imagined myself throwing the food in her face, flipping the table, and slamming the door

shut as I left the house. I imagined myself going out to get hit by a car and my aunt having to

deal with the guilt.

I made eye contact with my cousin. She looked at me as if to say, “she doesn’t know

what she’s talking about,” and suddenly we are kids again.

 When were were younger we often took walks to the forest by her house. She lived in a

modest suburb where neighbors actually held block parties and knocked on your door asking to

borrow sugar. I remember being mesmerized by her two-story house and how it seemed that

everyone knew who her family was. My family lived in a cool climate in a ranch-style house,

and I didn’t have the luxury of using a long windy staircase to go up to my bedroom. As I got

older I realized it didn’t matter that much, but there was something magical about her whole

world. The forest was where we went to escape whenever we wanted to feel independent, away

from our mothers. It wasn’t too big of an area and existed in the core of the neighborhood,

halfway between the busy intersection and her house. There was a pond just off the side of the

middle school and three large boulders we’d jump on to get across to the other side. We sat there

one day soaking in the sun and planning for the big summer party her parent’s friends organized

every year. Everyone would be there, including a couple of Rhea’s old middle school boyfriends

whose parents remained good friends with hers.

“I’m going to wear my sparkly red dress with my new ballet flats,” she’d told me,

drawing a heart in the dirt with a stick. “What are you wearing?”

“Uhhh,” I hesitated. Little did she know I’d been anxious about the party for the past five

days. I didn’t like to wear dresses, especially around her. She always looked like a shining star

and I was just a cosmic disaster. I could never compete with her, no matter how hard I tried to

emulate her style and confidence. “I dunno. Maybe my pink shorts.”

“It’s a party. You gotta wear something fancier. We’ll find something for you later.”
 I just silently nodded. I couldn’t imagine life with a plethora of fashionable clothes in my

closet, clothes that came from my fashion designer parents who’d been together for nearly

twenty years. My parents had been constantly fighting during that time and this was the first

summer where my father was no longer in attendance during our trip to Rhea’s house. I tried to

not think about it and so I often forgot. But I didn’t realize the damage it was really doing until I

got older. I wasn’t really forgetting, but rather blocking out all the hurt and pain, and those

feelings pool together like droplets of spring rain, until there eventually comes a downpour that

you can’t escape.

Rhea touched my shoulder, bringing me back to reality. “You okay?’ she whispered.

“I’m gonna get more pie,” I said, wanting to escape this entire conversation. I left the

kitchen, leaving behind my overstirred mixture and the judgements of my aunts.

-------

I remember the first time I truly felt afraid that I would never be as perfect as Rhea. It

was the winter of my junior year of high school, Rhea’s senior year. She had been applying to

colleges all school year–NYU, Columbia, Princeton, Northwestern, UPenn—and decisions

would be out any day.

 ------

The next evening after spending most of the day avoiding my family, Rhea finally

cornered me as I pulled into the driveway, her arms crossed and her eyebrows drawn together.

“Andie! I’ve been calling you all day. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been running errands,” I said, turning off my engine. I had planned to avoid

tonight’s festivities by driving to the beach but now I was stuck here.

“You couldn’t have answered me? I would have come with you after. I had to do prep all

by myself.” Rhea told me.

“You didn’t need my help. Plus wasn’t Nicholas there, anyway?” I said.

“That’s not the point. I would’ve liked to spend time with my cousin. We don’t get to see

each other often. I know you have a lot going on and things have been kind of off, but I’d really

like to enjoy the time we have together.”

“Why are you so concerned about me?” I said with an exasperated sigh. “Go enjoy your

shiny life back in Seattle with Nicholas. It doesn’t matter.”

I knew what I was saying was out of spite. Out of tiredness, jealousy, and envy. My

cousin emulated everything I had wanted to be. She had a million friends, always knew the right
thing to say to people she just met and didn’t have the unstable thoughts I did daily. Sometimes I

blamed my parents’ divorce for how I eventually turned out, constantly being bounced back and

forth between the two of them. I used to dream about Rhea’s mom and dad, my Auntie Sylvia

and Uncle Darren, adopting me. I’d live in their two-story house and see Rhea every day. I’d

make a ton of new friends, get a boyfriend, become a social butterfly and excel at all the

extracurriculars Rhea was in that I’d join. Life would be what I had always dreamed of.

“What are you talking about? Rhea questioned. “Andie, is there something that I’m

missing here?”

I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t need her to know even further how messed up my life

was. I didn’t want to say the thing that was on the tip of my tongue, that burned the longer I kept

it in me.

“No,” I choked out. “I just...everything is always centered around you. It’s always your

way all the time, not to mention that I’m always compared to you. But it’s fine, whatever.” I shut

my car door and began to walk past her but she put a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

“Hold on. We have to talk. I don’t know what you’re trying to say. Is this about

Nicholas? Did he do something?”

I furrowed my brows. “What? What does Nicholas have to do with anything?”

 She blinked, her face falling. “Nothing. I mean...I don’t know. You’d tell me if

something happened, right?”

“What would have happened?” I asked, stepping forward. Her eyes were wide and sullen,

her mouth tugging downward.

Rhea sat down on the ground, folding her knees up to her chest. I sat beside her, feeling

like the worst person in the world. It was completely caught off guard by this entire conversation.

I thought by telling her everything I’d bottled up over the years I’d feel better. But I knew my

approach was all wrong. This was the type of thing I knew would eventually set me off, leading

to a catastrophe of events for the next three weeks.

“Can you just tell me what has been going on?” she said in a small voice.

I sighed. I felt a barrier between us crack a bit. I felt like we were on a slightly more level

playing field now, at least with our emotions. But also part of me couldn’t trust that I could be

vulnerable with her, even as her eyes softened and her body became small.

“Rhea, you remember last summer right? At the Cruz's bonfire, when I had to leave.”

“Yeah, of course,” she said, her face falling. “I was worried about you, you left so

suddenly.”
 It was the annual summer bonfire, my junior year of college. There were a lot of different

families that came by, some from ten minutes away, others entire states away, but it had always

been fun. Rhea and I would always sneak away inside the house to steal a bottle of fruit wine and

emerge minutes later obviously tipsy. We’d eventually soak up the alcohol with samosas and

mango cake, but it was always a fun time. Last summer was the year that my Dad had moved to

Utah. I’d barely seen him regularly as is but now he would be in a different state. I was hurt but

also indifferent. Our connection had severed, breaking any strong emotional ties that I used to

have. But the pain was still there, like a dim glow in a dark room.

I nodded, focusing my eyes on the ground beneath us. “Going to the bonfire that year was

different. I had felt off for weeks, but I didn’t want to ruin the party. I never like to show my

emotions. But I went, for you. You were so excited for me to meet Nicholas for the first time.”

“Yeah,” Rhea said, her voice hoarse. “I remember.”

“The night was going fine, I was managing. I felt slightly better after I got there with you.

Then I went inside to go to the bathroom. And when I passed the stairs, I started hearing voices

coming from the living room. The only reason I stopped was because I heard my father’s name

and the words “affair” and “new wife.”

“Oh Andi.” Rhea’s voice was full of sympathy. She pulled me in for a hug, wrapping her

arms tightly around me. I wasn’t a hugger--everyone who knew me knew this--but in the

moment it felt like a safe haven.

 We broke apart after a few minutes and I felt the urge to bite my tongue instead of

explaining the rest of what happened that night. But I looked into Rhea’s green eyes, sparkling

with endearment, and I knew that it would be okay.

“Something in me shut down or blocked out my ability to process it. All of a sudden it

was like nothing mattered anymore. There was this energy running through my veins like I had

lost touch with reality and needed to jump out of my own body. After I said bye to you and

Nicholas I ran all the way back to your house.”

“Andi, that’s like four miles!” Rhea exclaimed.

“Five,” I said. “I came home to a dark house and immediately started to sift through all

my belongings. I put on that red dress we bought at the mall I swore I’d never wear and blasted

music through my headphones. I decided that I’d walk to the woods and sleep there that night.

Something told me that that was the escape I needed. I was on my way to leave and then I passed

your pool. I think I felt...ecstatic? Like I was so happy that the pool was there and without even

thinking I jumped in with all my clothes and I swam for half an hour.”

“Did you take one of the wine bottles with you?” Rhea said with a laugh. “I remember

seeing you the next morning before you guys left for the airport and you looked totally

hungover.”
 “I was sober, Rhea. Completely. I looked like hell because I hadn’t slept the whole night.

And any pain I had felt the night before--the past few weeks even--suddenly vanished. For the

next few weeks, I had forgotten all about my father and changed my entire outlook on life. I

spent thousands of dollars on new clothes in a short span of time, changed my hair, got my

piercings, started being flaky at work...and then a few weeks later I thought about my dad and no

longer had the energy to leave my room.”

“Oh Rhea, that’s…”

“Not normal, yeah. Triggered by an unpleasant event the first time, but always there, it

was always inside of me,” I said. “I always thought my depression was just me being lazy, like I

could change if I wanted to. But turns out everyone is different, and I have been teetering

between feeling low and high for a while. But anyway yeah, that’s what happened. I’m fine now,

I’m in therapy and managing it with medication. I just didn’t want to add yet another thing to the

list of things wrong with me and perfect with you.”

Rhea shook her head. “Andi, my life is not perfect by any means.”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “You’re notoriously bad at spelling. Life must be really hard.”

“It was,” she said firmly. “I used to make myself throw up twice a day.”
 I stopped laughing. I looked up at her and she was looking at me, a serious expression on

her face. It wasn’t sad, it wasn’t angry. It was just a look that told me you need to listen.

“My mother kept my “discrepancies” very hush-hush all throughout my life. The time

your mom sent a gift basket to my house and you all signed the card, I wasn’t in the hospital with

strep. I was at a psychiatric ward.”

“Are you serious?” I gasped. I remembered that time a few years ago. My mother had

been on the phone with my aunt a lot during the week but she’d said Rhea was just ill with strep.

I had texted Rhea to see if she was okay but she never replied, not until a week and a half later. I

had just assumed she was on bed rest and was sleeping for most of the day. When she responded

the following week, she acted perfectly fine. She’d even posted a picture with her friends getting

ice cream.

“I...cut myself with scissors. In the school bathroom. I had a panic attack in class and felt

like I couldn’t breathe, like I didn’t really exist. So I caused myself pain to know that I was

alive.”

I was speechless. I didn’t know what to say, I never did in these situations. I was always

the listener, the person people went to talk about their problems. I’d always been secure in the

fact that I was stable and everyone else around me had issues. Well--everyone but Rhea--or so I

thought. I look at her again, this time in a new light. Her brown skin was pale under the dark

lightning. Her eyes seemed bloodshot like she’d lost sleep. Her long dark hair, highlighted with
caramel, was frizzy and had flyaways. Suddenly, she didn’t look like my cousin anymore. But

there she was, my cousin. Maybe how she’d always been, I had just put her on a pedestal

assuming she was something she wasn’t.

“In college, the throwing up replaced the cutting. And then I met Nicholas and everything

changed. I told him about everything and he supported me the whole way through, taking me to

group meetings and encouraging me to find healthier coping mechanisms. There were times

where my judgment was clouded and I believed that he would leave me, so I’d self-sabotage.

That’s why I mentioned Nicholas when you had something to say. My brain told me that he had

cheated or something. But he loves me, honestly loves me. It’s unfathomable.”

My own cousin, surprised that someone could love her, all of her. Normally I would’ve

felt a pang of anger; how could she possibly think that a guy like him wouldn’t be head over

heels for her? But now, I see her no longer as an idea, but as a person just like me. Hair glowing

under the moonlight, calloused fingers, one wearing a diamond engagement ring. Staring closer

at it now, it’s not as blinding as I made it out to be. In the middle is the tiniest blue dot--a

sapphire--for her birthday. A personal touch. Her skin is smooth, but a few bumps dot her face.

There are slight bags under her eyes, her lashes are long and coated with mascara. She has

dancer’s feet, always curved or in first position. She smells of rosewater and cardamom, a scent

that reminds me of home. Summer nights in mid-July where we’d run through the forest without

any cares or worries. The insecurities were still in the back of my mind as a child, but now I see

that the image I created of her was nothing more than a distant memory of somebody I thought

existed. She is brilliant, smart, successful, and confident. But she also suffers through pain and

doubt, is anxious and unsure of herself. She has given me so much and has pushed me to take
risks and step out of my comfort zone, not controlling but believing, believing in me. She isn’t

perfect and she’s human. We’re more alike than I thought.

“Rhea,” I say, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?” She looks up at me with wide eyes.

“Do you think there’s any more of that pecan pie left?” I raise my eyebrows. A grin

spreads across her face and she grabs my hand. We flee back into the house like kids, closer than

we’d ever been.