“Thanks,” I said. “I swiped them from my mom’s jewellery box.”
“How’s your mom?” Ammu asked. “I don’t see her around tonight.”
“She’s...not feeling well,” I said, making quotation marks in the air.
“Oh,” Ammu said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said.
“Nothing serious, I hope?” Ammu prodded further.
“The truth? She was too drunk to leave the house,” I said, shrugging. “She drinks all day, these days. She’s anxious, depressed, etc. Nothing new.”
“Poor Asha Aunty. She used to be such fun when I came over to your house as a kid,” Ammu said. “Remember the time we carried all that mud through your living room,” she blew a plume of smoke and laughed, “to make a garden on your balcony.”