SYNAPTOGENESIS

The scent of spices permeated the air as Jay tossed the chopped pumpkin into the pot with unnecessary flourish.

“Stop that. You’ll burn yourself,” Ma admonished him. She was sitting on their two-person sofa, already in her pyjamas with her hair gathered in a neat braid.

“Excuse me,” Jay responded with mock offence. “You’re talking to Master Chef Relyk. Barrick’s one and only, home-grown maker of exotic dishes from the world over.”

Ma laughed, though her attention mainly remained on Maxim Blaze, the host of her favourite dating show, The Selection Room.

Jay let her be as he prepped dinner. No evidence of her episode this morning remained, but he was still wary – he hadn’t even taken a shower yet in case something happened in the five minutes she would need to remain by herself.

Beads of sweat tracked down Jay’s back. Cooking always ramped up the heat and stuffiness in the apartment due to the lack of windows and the cramped space. It was your standard compact apartment and the kitchen Jay was in took up one corner. The two-seater Ma was sitting on and the wall-mounted television served as the lounge area. Once the dining table was folded out from the wall, it would eat up what remained of the space.

A soft click from the door announced Yara was home.

“Welcome home, little sis,” Jay greeted her without looking over. He tagged on the ‘little sis’ deliberately, code that Ma was feeling better.

“Hey, Anna,” Yara replied, the familiar honorific for an older brother she had used since they were children, now a way of letting him know she understood. She closed the door, her eyes drifting to the lounge.

“How was your day, Beta?” Ma asked, pausing her show.

He saw the tension ease from Yara’s shoulders with the endearment Ma used for both of them when she was herself. “It was good.”

“You both work so hard. I’m so proud.” As always, Ma included him in her sentiment as well, though Jay was a mapless in the eyes of the world.

“Sure, Ma,” Yara said, walking towards her bedroom door on the left. “Did you have a good day?”

“Good. That’s good,” Ma said absently, returning to her show.

Yara dropped her backpack and jacket in her room and returned.

“Plates or bowls?” she asked.

“Bowls,” Jay replied, taking out the rice he had popped in the microwave earlier.

Yara got the dinnerware out, falling into their usual evening routine.

“How was the first day of the free mapping program?” Jay checked to make sure the rice was cooked softly – Ma didn’t like it when it was too hard, while Yara hated it when it got overcooked.

“Busy. So many children getting maps for the first time.” Yara pulled out the table and unfolded the chairs.

“Any from the Basements?” Jay asked, his back to her as he heaped the rice into three individual bowls.

“Why do you want to know that?” Her retort was sharp. She disliked any reference to the Basements, almost as though she believed the mere mention of it might tempt him to a life of crime.

“Someone has to solve this world’s big problems.” He turned to her with a cross-eyed look.

But Yara continued to stare him down, so he shrugged and added, “I see them hanging around in their little gangs near the Basements entrance when I go shopping.”

“Anna!”

“I know. Don’t go near the big, scary Basements,” Jay conceded. “But if some of them got those free maps, who knows, they might straighten themselves out. So, anything interesting happen today?”

Her glare didn’t completely abate, but she accepted the change in topic. “We were fully booked. There was even a line outside.”

“Really? Don’t people usually go to one of the fancier centres?” Jay regretted the words when her shoulders stiffened. It had slipped out without thinking. Keeping an eye on Ma all day had taken its toll.

“Our maps are the same as the ones at the fancier centres.”

“Yeah, but maybe the shiny floors have like a…what do you call it when people think something works but it’s a dud?” Jay portioned the curry into the bowls. There was still plenty left for lunch tomorrow.

“Placebo effect.”

“Yeah! That!”

“That’s not how maps work,” Yara said.

Jay sensed something was off. “But?”

“There was this one kid today who responded oddly.”

“In what way?” Jay kept the question casual as he spooned the remaining curry into a storage container.

“He was so full of life when he came in, but then…I’m probably overthinking it. These ready?”

That spiked Jay’s interest, but he simply nodded. Yara helped him take the bowls to the table. He had learnt long ago not to ask questions too directly, or she wouldn’t answer. That was all he was going to get today.

“Dinner’s ready,” Jay announced.

“That smells delicious,” Ma said, moving to the table, slipping into the same chair she had sat in for as long as he could remember.

Jay took the chair next to Yara, leaving the one next to Ma empty – it was where Pa had always sat.

Ma scooped a spoonful of curry into her mouth. “So good. You work too hard, Beta.”

Yara stiffened next to him, but continued to eat in silence.

“Yara’s been moulding young minds all day. All I did was cook a meal,” Jay said.

“Nonsense. You do all this and then work all night at that dangerous place.”

“Must be really difficult standing by the door and turning away drunks for a few hours,” Yara muttered.

Jay’s grip on the spoon tightened, but the smile never left his face. “It’s a skill avoiding projectile vomit, you know.”

“You’re being rude.” Ma’s words were directed at Yara.

“He’s talking about vomiting while we’re eating, and I’m the one being rude?” Yara gritted out.

“That’s on me,” Jay said, trying to diffuse the situation. “Nothing’s going to get between me and my food.”

“You don’t know how hard he works.” Ma glared at Yara.

“I know plenty,” she fired back.

“The danger he puts himself in for this family–”

“All this arguing is going to sour the food I worked so hard to make,” Jay whined, interrupting Ma before she said anything they would all regret.

Ma huffed, but returned her attention to her dinner. The atmosphere became awkward, the scrape of the spoons against the bowls grating on Jay’s nerves. He shovelled the food into his mouth even though he had lost his appetite. From the corner of his eye, he watched Yara push the pieces of pumpkin around her plate. Since Ma became ill, her food preferences shifted towards her Indian roots. On top of that, she refused to eat meat on most days. Even with the variety of recipes in his repertoire, having curry most nights had its limits.

“Jeez, it’s like a temple in here.” Jay couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “What’s a man have to do to get some conversation going?”

“I took Yara to the temple once,” Ma said, surprising them both.

“You did?” Jay asked, trying to recall the event.

“It was after you got your first map,” Ma said to Yara, her earlier animosity forgotten. “Your Patti insisted.” She rolled her eyes, her animosity for her husband’s mother still evident so many years after her passing. “So we get to the temple, and the priest immediately starts telling me, ‘You shouldn’t be dressing that little girl in sleeveless dresses when entering gods’ house.’ And your Patti is right there nodding along.”

“Of course,” Jay agreed.

“And then this one,” Ma looked straight at Yara, “she says, ‘Mr. Priest, Sir, why do the gods have a problem with my sleeves when you don’t have a shirt on?’”

Yara burst out laughing. “He was so mad.”

Jay remembered the conservative priest who always had a traditional white dhoti wrapped around his waist, wooden beads hanging from his neck, and ash streaked across his forehead.

“Your Patti, too,” Ma joined in the laughter.

“You were such a little brat after your first map. That poor priest probably never recovered,” Jay added.

Yara laughed harder. “Stop, you’re making me cry.”

The tightness in Jay’s chest eased. It was like the old days, when Pa would regale them with stories from his childhood, making them all laugh till tears were spilling from their eyes.

But even with mirth bubbling over, Jay sensed something was off. He looked across the table.

The laugh choked in his throat.

Ma’s eyes were fixed on him, all trace of humour gone.

Yara’s laugh rang too loudly in the room, but he sat there, frozen, caught in Ma’s gaze, until silence descended.

“Who are you?” She glanced at the empty chair. “Where’s Neil?”

A quietness blanketed Jay’s mind, but the smile still danced on his lips. “He’s out at the moment, Samera. I’m Jay.”

“My son’s name is Jay…”

“Yeah, he’s great. Would you like some ice cream while you wait? I have vanilla and extra vanilla.”

Ma nodded absently.

Jay kept smiling as he fetched the ice cream. Yara’s expression was stoney as she got up and quietly cleared the table. An irrational annoyance welled up inside him; at Yara for being unable to understand that Ma wasn’t doing this deliberately and contrarily at Ma for the extreme mood swings and memory lapses that the neurologist said were more typical at the later stages.

He took a deep breath, counting backwards from ten. Ma’s condition was worsening more quickly than expected. He had been secretly taking her to the Basements for treatment in between her sessions with a registered neurologist. Last year, she had needed two extra sessions, but they had already been once this year. Her official session wasn’t until September. He needed to take her before she deteriorated too much. The worse Ma became, the more noticeable the sudden improvement would be to Yara, and she would start asking questions he couldn’t answer. But the Basement treatments didn’t come cheap. He needed money, and he needed it fast.