by Sonali Dev
Whenever Shobi’s work conflicted with something Ashna needed—unable to demand it because that wasn’t her—Shobi told herself she would have time to fix it. But Bram sought out the gaps between Shoban’s shrinking time and Ashna and stole her affection away. When other children had only the natural distance between generations to chart, to Ashna’s lot fell navigating the grotesqueness between her parents.
By the time Bram laughed in Shobi’s face, the perpetual tang of alcohol on his breath, and told her that the one thing she would never have was her daughter back, it was too late. The most precious thing in Shobi’s life had become too tenuous and slippery for her to hold on to.
After the hunting incident, Ma-saheb couldn’t get the authorities to bury the charges a second time. The only solution the family could come up with was to remove Bram from the country to avoid arrest. Shree was able to extract him to America amid a media circus. Ashna became the butt of teasing at school, and a target for hungry paparazzi. Once that happened, Shobi lost all avenues to win. She had to focus on damage control for Ashna, even as she struggled to hold her foundation together, because far too many people depended on it.
She tried to reason with Ashna, explain to her that Shobi couldn’t leave with them, and she couldn’t keep Ashna with her either. Shobi promised to make their time together make up for their separation. She didn’t account for the fact that to Ashna the abandonment would become the sum total of their relationship, or that the only way Ashna would know how to handle it was by completely withdrawing and insulating herself from Shobi.
Before she knew it Ashna stopped holding her, stopped calling her mamma, stopped hearing anything that came out of Shobi’s mouth. It was amid that tornado of Ashna’s rejection and withdrawal that Omar returned after making his way out of the lies his father had told him to save his own skin. It wasn’t much, but in some ways, it was everything.
Chapter Thirty-One
The last thing Ashna had expected was to return to him today. But it felt natural. Essential.
At first she had walked aimlessly, without knowing where she was going. Past the restaurants her aunt called “hip” that were the beating heart of Palo Alto, the giant Whole Foods that was perpetually crowded, the Philz Coffee that made her feel like she was soaking up the coffee aroma with her skin. Little things that had made this place her home for so long. A home that had terrified her and excited her in equal parts when she had first come here.
“It’s going to be fun,” Baba had said to her. “We’ve always had fun together, haven’t we?” Baba had encouraged her to play soccer instead of cricket. He’d taken her hunting, something her mother hated. Shopping trips to Milan. Oysters in Catalonia. Macarons in Paris. Decadence had been his weapon.
Decadence that had filled Ashna with guilt when her mother railed against it as she draped on her white cotton saris and went to war in places so neglected no one had even heard of them. But at least it had made Shobi stop and take notice. Missing her mother had been a live thing inside Ashna for as long as she could remember.
“We’ll make it a fresh start. Your mother wants us to be miserable. We’ll be happy. That’ll show her.”
Even at ten Ashna had known these were not things one parent should say about another. A part of her had hoped that if Baba got them out of his system maybe he wouldn’t be so pathetic around Mom. In her presence, all he could do was drink and whimper, and no one stood up for him.
Ashna circled the block and went into Curried Dreams. It was closed today. Which was why her aunt and her mother had been at home. Ashna went into the janitor’s storeroom and retrieved her cleaning cart. Mina Kaki had hired a cleaning service. In just a few months, how much everything had changed from when Mandy and Ashna had soldiered on with nothing more than hope to fuel them. The restaurant was spotless, but Ashna washed and wiped everything. She remembered the expression on Mandy’s face when Ashna had let her go. Before she had asked to be let go.
Her legs felt shaky as she made her way to Baba’s office. She had never been inside the room after they had cleaned out his remains. She tried to push the door open but she couldn’t do it.
The last day Baba had been alive played in her head. He’d found out about her and Rico and demanded that Rico come and meet him. The feeling of inescapable doom had pulled over Ashna like someone sliding a plastic bag over her face. She had begged Rico to stay away from Baba and gone to see him herself. At first she’d tried to explain how much Rico and she loved each other.
Boys like that only want one thing. In his case two. And neither one of those has anything to do with loving you . . . He is not like us. Life is hard enough with someone who’s your social equal . . . I’d rather die than let you shame our heritage just because you’re panting over a son of a whore who lives in a servant quarter.
Rage had exploded inside her, a nuclear blast wiping away a lifetime of placating him, determinedly seeing him as someone he was not.
You’re sick. It’s not just the drinking and vomiting, you’re sick on the inside. How did I ever stand being near you?
She didn’t care that he looked like Ashna had kicked him.
It’s because your mother couldn’t stand being near you. You had no choice. This boy is going to do it too. He’s going to leave you like your mother did.
Ashna had run out of the room, but it had felt like dragging herself out because he’d cut off her legs.
You’re just like your mother. Selfish.
She sank down by the door. Maybe she’d sleep here tonight. For one terribly long moment the thought was comforting. Then Ashna jumped up.
But she still saw herself on that floor, rolled up in a ball. A part of her had been lying there, outside his door, for twelve years.
It was time to get up and move on.
Breaking into a run, she made her way out of the restaurant and started walking. She walked and she walked. The sun was long gone from the sky, leaving suburbia in a blanket of lights. She found herself on Caltrain headed to the city. By the time she got off at the Fourth and King station, memories had clogged up inside her like sludge, a backed-up drain that wouldn’t move.
How could so much anger for your parents live inside you, even as you hurt for them? Wasn’t hurting for someone a sign of love? How could she love someone capable of such hateful things?
Why had she blocked out Baba’s cruelty until now? For the last few years of his life he had barely ever emerged from behind the haze of depression and alcohol. All Ashna had wanted was to help him, to save him. To show her mother that care was what people needed, and time.
How colossally stupid she was.
She’d completely ignored the fact that Shobi had shown nothing but care for all the world. She’d given all her time to it.
So much Ashna had blocked out. A year after moving to Palo Alto, when the high of the restaurant’s success had made Baba seem the happiest Ashna had ever seen him, she had asked him if she could move back home to Sripore. He’d taken his rifle out of its case and looked Ashna straight in the eye.
“You’ve already lost your mother. She doesn’t want us. If you leave me like she left us, I’ll have no choice but to kill myself. Then you’ll have no one left.”
Ashna had been ten.
Mina Kaki had found her terrified and unable to get out of bed the next day. Her aunt had tried everything to get Ashna to tell her what was wrong. But Ashna hadn’t been able to. Mina had called Shobi to ask her to come out and take care of Ashna.
Ashna had picked up the extension and overheard their conversation. “Can you manage things with Ashi one more time, Minu? I have to be in Ratnagiri. We’re inaugurating our biggest school yet. It’s going to serve all of Konkan. Too many people are counting on me.” At least Baba wanted her badly enough that losing her would kill him.
Finally, Mina Kaki had been the one to “manage things.” She’d moved Ashna into school in Woodside. HRH and she had given Bram no choice, insisting Ashna needed her cousins
and the feminine influence of her aunt and grandmother. Now Ashna wondered if he hadn’t been relieved to be rid of her.
If her aunt and uncle hadn’t moved her into their home, what would Ashna have done?
And yet instead of going to the Anchorage, tonight Ashna was headed to a hotel where a promise waited for her. A promise that she could be strong.
After walking God knows how many miles to the hotel where she had dropped him off hours . . . years . . . ago, she stopped outside the huge plate-glass doors. She had no idea what his room number was. She didn’t have his phone number.
She was about to turn around, because collapsing outside a Ritz-Carlton was a little too over-the-top for her, even with the current drama in her life.
“Ms. Raje!”
When was the last time she’d been this relieved to see someone?
A question best left unanswered.
“George! Hi.”
The older man gave her a kind smile. He was still in his uniform. “Are you here to see Mr. Silva?”
She nodded, hoping he couldn’t tell she’d been crying.
He was wearing sunglasses, and it hid what was in his eyes, which felt like such a kindness. The idea of the world seeing her, anyone seeing her right now, felt violating.
Except one person, apparently, because she was willing to break into his hotel room.
“Can you tell me his room number, please?”
He didn’t laugh at her or seem suspicious. His face remained entirely without judgment.
“Twenty-one hundred,” he said quietly. If he was afraid he’d get in trouble, he didn’t show it.
Ashna would fight tooth and nail to make sure he wouldn’t get in trouble.
“Thanks, George. Can you please . . . um . . . not let him know I’m here? It’s . . .”
“It’s a surprise. Mr. Silva is a very lucky man.” He held up a key card. “If you follow me, I’ll get you all set with the elevator.” He went into the hotel lobby and she followed him, trying to make up for her bedraggled state with poise. Thank you, Mina Kaki, for teaching me that.
They made their way to a bank of elevators under a row of what had to be the brightest chandeliers Ashna had ever seen. Her grandmother would be horrified at their brightness. The chandeliers at the Anchorage and at Sagar Mahal were always adjusted just so.
When the elevator opened, George followed her in, swiped the card, and then stepped out.
“George.” Ashna stopped him and gave him a quick hug, then pulled awkwardly back into the elevator. “Thank you.”
His smile was encouraging. “It’s going to be all right, Ms. Raje.”
It sure didn’t feel like that, but she hoped he was right.
It was one of those elevators that deposited Ashna directly into a lobby with a single wide ornate door. The urge to turn around warred violently with the need to see him.
She got out of the elevator and walked to the door.
And knocked.
And waited and waited and waited.
Then turned around and went back to the elevator.
A door opened behind her.
“Ash.”
God, his voice.
Turn around.
She felt him move closer. His heady smell enveloped her. Dear Lord, he’d been in the shower.
His breathing was right behind her. The heat of his body. Tears streamed down her face. Her eyes were probably swollen. Her hair was still wet inside her bun; she had meant to dry it at home.
All that walking had left her skin slick with sweat. She probably smelled like a skunk.
“Ash? Sweetheart?”
It was the stupidest thing, but the way he turned both words into questions sliced all the way through her. A sob made her shoulders jerk, and she pressed a hand to her mouth.
His hands were on her arms, so gentle it only made the tears worse. He turned her. Despite everything swirling inside her, the sight of him punched her in the center of her chest. A seventy-mile-per-hour kick she blocked with her whole body.
He leaned forward, his eyes meeting hers. The mossy green centers pushing out the gold all the way to the edges, the mismatch in size magnified. They drank her in before he spoke. “I thought opening the door in a towel might be a bit too obvious.” His hair was down, and it fell in damp waves around his face down to his shoulders.
“So you pulled on middle-school-boy shorts?” Through her tears a smile escaped. He was wearing bright yellow basketball shorts that hit his knees and covered his scar.
Other than the shorts, his entire body was as bare as the day he was born. Every inch of him was tanned and ripped and gorgeous. Exactly the way all those YouTube videos of him working out promised. But all Ashna saw was a leaner, softer version. An eighteen-year-old body that had held her exactly right. So right that nothing had ever matched up.
She closed her eyes.
Hands cupped her face. His released breath at the touch sounded as ragged as her own.
She opened her eyes and took in the full blast of his relentlessly focused gaze.
“Do you mean it?” Her voice was a whisper.
He swallowed, his thickly stubbled jaw tightening. “Mean what?”
“Everything you say to me with your eyes?”
He groaned, the depth of his soul bared by the sound.
Then he was bending to her and she was stretching up to him.
The first touch was feather light, the barest skimming of lips against lips. Then a zing so powerful strength drained from her legs. She reached for him, clutching his arms, his shoulders like a lifeline. His hands angled her face, fitting her mouth exactly so. Invading and cajoling and opening. All at once. Everything at once.
Hunger rose inside Ashna like a tidal wave. She gnawed at his lips, pushing-pulling, met his tongue. Sweet relief, wet and thick in her mouth, filling her up all the way to the back of her lungs. No air, no breath, just the taste of him everywhere. Everywhere.
And his hair. God. His hair in her hands. Flowers she’d clutched at the temple had felt less like worship. She threaded her fingers through the strands, fisted them so hard they dug into her palms, tugged around the sensitive skin between her fingers.
All of her, she wanted all of her touching all of him that way. Tight and wrapped. No spaces. Her legs wrapped around his hips as he lifted her and carried her in.
“Rico.” She pulled away, hands still in his hair as he kicked the door behind them. “Your knee.” She slid off him, hands sliding to his cheeks, his beard at once rough and smooth and more erotic against her palms than she could ever have imagined. She stroked him even as she pulled away.
He tightened his hold on her, a full-body hug that said: Don’t leave me. “My knee is fine, Ash. I swear. Forget about my knee. Please.” Breathless. He was breathless and he touched her lips with his again. Then again. “Baby, how, tell me, how did we let this go?”
Her heart spasmed at that. She soaked up his taste. Sunshine would taste like this. A fresh summer stream with a hint of melting sugar. Crisp and sweet.
She wanted to bottle it up, blend it into a tea, drink from him until the day she died.
Her lower lip slipped from between his lips, clinging to the soft suction, his mouth resisting letting her go. He dropped a kiss on it, swollen and sensitive beyond words. All of her too aroused and tender to bear.
“Is this what you hear me say with my eyes? Is this what you don’t believe?”
“I want to believe it.” She couldn’t stop kissing him. His mouth had been her undoing. His jaw. Everything intoxicating as she touched it with her mouth, stroked it with her tongue. “I want you to make me feel beautiful.” Her lips were on his throat now, tracing the line where smooth skin turned to soft beard. Then up again to his mouth. “Please.”
His answering kiss matched her fever. Then suddenly his forehead was pressed against hers, his chest pumping with breath, his hand stroking her hair. Tendrils had come loose from her bun to dance around her face, and he couldn’
t stop stroking whatever free locks he could touch. She was a skittish filly to be calmed.
“Ash, tell me what’s going on? What’s the matter?”
She pushed away from him, their bodies disengaging for the first time since they had touched. Turning away from him, she started for the door. “Great. So you don’t want me either.”
He was on her in a second, his hand on hers as she grabbed the doorknob. His body curved around hers, his breath in her hair. “Slow down. Please, meu amor, slow down.”
“I don’t want to slow down. I don’t want excuses. I don’t want to feel like this, Rico!” She didn’t care that her shoulders were shaking, she didn’t care.
“Okay. Okay. Will you let me do something? Promise not to stop me?”
She turned around, not in the mood to make any promises to anyone. There was only one thing she wanted right now.
“I’m going to pick you up and take you inside. My knee is fine. Will you let me do that without worrying about my knee? I really need to hold you.”
“I can’t. I can’t let you carry me when your knee is hurting.”
He threw his head back and groaned in frustration, and despite herself she smiled.
Taking her hand as though it was unspeakably precious, he tugged it. “But you will come inside with me? We can talk inside? Yes?”
“I don’t want to talk.” But she followed him into the enormous living room with a giant marble bar overlooking a clear view of the Bay Bridge, lit up. For the first time in her life she didn’t care about the beauty of it, about the view, about anything but being in his arms again, being wanted. He slipped behind the bar and turned on the sculptural faucet that was almost as tall as he was. Almost as extravagantly beautiful.
“Water?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Really? He wanted to play hostess right now?
He walked around the bar and handed her a glass.
Good, because if had been a plastic bottle she would have thrown it clean across the room.
She placed the glass down on the bar, refusing to be gentle, refusing to be managed. Glass clattered against stone.