by Sonali Dev
“You’re very good at this.” Shobi picked up the two steaming cups Ashna filled and took them to the living room.
Ashna followed her with a plate of biscuits. “Turns out I like flavors and how they make people feel.”
Before sitting down next to her mother, she extracted the jewelry box from her pocket and put it on the coffee table.
Shobi looked at it. “You said there’s a ring in there?”
Ashna opened the box and watched recognition dawn on her mother’s face. “I dug it out of the garbage after Baba threw it away all those years ago. I used to dream of you thanking me for saving your marriage. I was so stupid.”
Shoban blew into the steaming cup. “That’s not stupid at all. It’s incredibly sweet.” She took a sip, and it seemed to loosen her shoulders. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m sorry for everything I put you through.”
Ashna snapped the box shut. “Mom, I’m the one who’s sorry. And please . . . please don’t say it wasn’t my fault. There’s something else I have to ask you.”
Her mother gave her a hard look. “No one forced me to have you. You were always wanted. I couldn’t let you go because from the moment I knew you were inside me, I knew who you were going to be. Does that make sense?”
It was hard to drink tea with a constricted throat. Ashna put her cup down. “No. Not even a little bit.” But it did warm her heart. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask. But . . . thank you.”
“What did you want to know, then?”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me that you saw Baba the day he died?”
The surprise on Shobi’s face was stark, but instead of getting flustered, she stayed calm and sure. “I didn’t want you to hate me even more. I thought you’d blame me for his death.”
Ashna picked up her cup again and took a sip. “I wouldn’t have blamed you. Not because I was ever generous to you, but because it wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I was the one to blame. I was the one who pushed him over the edge.”
“No, you weren’t.”
They looked at each other over the cups of tea.
“There’s so much you don’t know,” they both said together, as though this were a Shakespearean farce.
“Me first, please,” Ashna said.
Shobi put her cup down and nodded, pulling her legs up on the couch and crossing them. “Fine.”
“The reason I know you were there that day, it’s . . . it’s because, well, there was a boy there that day too. You met him when Baba was yelling at him.”
Shobi’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh. Now I know why Rico Silva looks so familiar. Oh, Ashi.” She reached over and took Ashna’s hand. “No wonder he looks at you that way.”
Ashna felt the insistent warmth that always wrapped her up at the mention of Rico rise across her face. “I met him in high school. I was so in love with him, Mom.” “Was”? Please.
“You didn’t tell anyone? Not even Mina or your cousins?”
“No. I was terrified. I was such a coward. But Baba found Rico’s messages on my phone and . . . and he told me that he’d rather die that let me be with Rico. I didn’t believe him.”
Her mother scooted closer and kissed Ashna’s hand. She had warm, strong hands. Competent hands. “And you’ve spent the past twelve years blaming yourself for it and punishing yourself for it.”
“I shut you out. I shut Rico out. I felt like a cheater when I was happy.”
“Is that why Rico is here? For you.”
“I don’t know. I . . . Yes.”
“He slid across your kitchen on his knees—after surgery—to keep you from getting hurt. Please tell me you see what that is?” She squeezed Ashna’s hand against her chest. “That’s love tinged with madness, love that takes you out of yourself. That’s not love you take lightly, Ashi.”
Ashna swallowed. She couldn’t give up Rico if she tried.
“Did Bram tell you he wasn’t good enough for you? That you’d be shaming the family? That you deserved someone at your ‘social level’? Someone culturally and religiously similar to you?”
“Word for word. How did you know?”
“Because that’s exactly what my father said to me.” With a deep sigh Shobi squeezed her forehead.
“It’s okay, Mom. Tell me.”
“I love you more than anything, you have to know that. This, this having you look at me as though I am not the most painful thing in your life, I would sell my soul to never let this go. Just remember that, please, because there’s more you don’t know.”
Ashna squeezed her mother’s hands. “Tell me. I’m not leaving, Mom, and I won’t push you away. I promise.”
And so Shobi told her.
How she had ended up a Raje.
How she had become a mother and found her power.
How she had started her foundation.
How she had never looked at her own father again. Not even when he lay dying.
Finally, she told her why she’d been so angry with her father and Bram.
“Is his name Omar?” Ashna asked when Shobi told her she’d been in love with someone else. Shobi’s shock was palpable. “I overheard your fights, remember?”
Her mother apologized again, but her eyes shone bright when she talked about the man. “Yes. The day I saw your Rico in your father’s office, I had come to California to bring Bram divorce papers. That’s why I never told you I was coming, I had wanted to take care of that, then explain everything to you. It wasn’t you who pushed him over the edge. It was me.”
Or maybe it was both things happening on the same day. Or maybe it was just the fact that he could never reconcile with his life and find a way to treat his illness. A few weeks ago, her mother’s revelation would have broken Ashna. Now it made her sad, but it also helped her understand so much.
“I wish I had tried to get him help,” Ashna said.
“His family did try repeatedly to get him help. You can’t fix something if you don’t acknowledge it.” Shobi pushed a lock of hair behind Ashna’s ear. “I wish I had kept you away from all that, from him. I relied too heavily on Mina and Shree. I wish I had been a better mother. It was cruel what I let you go through. I want to tell you that it was because I didn’t grasp the level of his irresponsibility as a father, but it wasn’t on you to tell me how much his alcoholism has progressed. None of this is on you and I am so very sorry.” For the first time in her life Ashna saw tears swell in her eyes and fall down her cheeks. “Funny thing is, I was so immersed in fighting cruelty that I didn’t stop to think about my own. I wish I had done things differently.”
Ashna wiped her tears. “No, you don’t.” Her tone had a hint of teasing, which stunned her. But she felt no anger right now and it was rebirth. “You would do the same thing again.”
Her mother’s smile was tenuous. “I want to say that I would not. But it’s not simple. I do wish you hadn’t been hurt; that part I would change for anything. I would give up everything now, to keep that from happening. If you believe nothing else, believe that I’ve regretted not having you in my life every single day. But I didn’t know how to put my head down and comply.
“Growing up, we were surrounded by stories of women being married off without their consent, and it was always about how they compromised, reconciled, and found love in the end. It was romanticized so much. What an abhorrent thing to tell someone—that your love isn’t where your interests lie, or that your parents know what’s best for you better than you do. You know what’s best for you, beta, only you.”
How could Ashna argue with that, or begrudge her mother not having put her head down and complied?
“So you just went back to him? Mrs. Shoban Gaikwad Raje who was in the papers all the time. Weren’t you scared of the media, of scandal?” Even as she asked it, she couldn’t imagine her mother being scared, and if she were scared, she couldn’t imagine her bowing to fear.
Shoban gave Ashna a cheeky look that made her laugh. “Basically we snuck around. My ch
oice, not his. I realize that it’s not fair to him, but he’s never asked for any more than I could give him. We don’t hide our relationship, but we don’t share it with the media either. I’ve kept the press’s focus on my work and kept my life private. The world is filled with open secrets.” She took Ashna’s hands again and kissed them, gratitude shining in her jet black eyes. It was obvious how very much she wanted Ashna to like Omar. “When we first met, he was the only person I knew who wanted me to be me. By the time we found our way back to each other, I had become a person who could only be me, no matter what anyone else wanted. Maybe that’s the big love story. Finding that.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
It had been six hours since Ashna had seen Rico, but it felt like a lifetime. She missed him something fierce. The worry in his eyes when she’d left that morning, the determined hope, had been burning inside her. The fact that it hadn’t occurred to him to push her to stay or to try to figure things out for her made her want to climb into his arms and never let go.
The final episode was being shot live today, an effort by the network to leverage the show’s tremendous success. After spending all morning talking to her mother—about the past but mostly about the future, because Shobi was this tornado of forward movement—Ashna had left for the studio. Then she’d changed her mind and rerouted her ride to Rico’s hotel.
Her heart raced as she went to the front desk and asked them to call him. The person who had stormed in here yesterday feeling irreparably ugly, that wasn’t the person who smiled at the receptionist today.
Only, this new person was an idiot, because she hadn’t considered that Rico might not be there waiting for her. He wasn’t in his room.
It. Means. Nothing. She told herself as she said thank you and sped out of the hotel only to find that the rideshare time to destination was half an hour, because the street to the hotel was clogged up with traffic. If she called a car she would be late.
She started walking. It was a forty-minute walk to the studio. What had she been thinking coming here before the shoot? If she had remembered to ask Rico for his number, this wouldn’t have happened.
When she got to the studio, Rico wasn’t there either. Worry started to bubble inside her and she went to see if China knew where he was. She heard a scrambling behind the door when she knocked.
Inside, Song was sitting on China’s couch looking preternaturally cool, except that her hair was disheveled.
“Do you know where Rico is?” she asked, because Song and China were both frozen in place.
Song jumped up and flew at Ashna. “Don’t worry, he’s almost here.” There was an odd excitement in her eyes, even more than her usual enthusiasm. A weird sort of joy glowed from her.
“You know where he is?” Ashna asked, confused.
Song wiggled her brows and bounced on her heels. “Yes,” she squeaked, “and I’m going to explode with excitement.”
What on earth did that mean? Ashna looked at China—still uncharacteristically speechless—for an explanation.
“I have to go touch up my lipstick,” Song said with a look at China that Ashna could only interpret as heat.
“She’s not interested in Rico,” China said the moment she left.
“Oh,” Ashna said, recognizing China’s tone. It was possessive. “Oh!”
China beamed at her. “Um, yeah. Lots to tell you.”
Ashna beamed back. “Rico’s not interested in her either. And um . . . I have lots to tell you too.”
With matching squeals they hugged each other and Ashna rushed to the green room.
In another twenty minutes Ashna was waiting at their kitchen station by herself, red chef’s jacket on, hair in a bun, red lipstick, bronze eye shadow, her usual. Only, today she felt resplendent and madly excited.
There were three stations left. The auditorium seating had been doubled, for “surprise guests,” China told her cryptically.
Rico, Song, and Danny were the stars competing in the final today, but the eliminated stars and chefs were in the studio audience. Lilly, Tatiana, and P.T. stopped by to say hi. Danny was “centering himself” in the green room. The man had become obsessed with winning. Ashna was sure the network was going to pick him up as a regular.
Then, just like that, the temperature in the room changed. Something shifted inside Ashna. She heard his steps behind her and smelled his scent, and her entire nervous system spun into eddies like pinwheels exploding in the sky.
“Hi,” he said next to her.
She braced herself and turned to him. “It’s five minutes before we start shooting. Everything all right?”
“Not at all,” he said, his heart in his eyes. “I’m ruined for life.” He slipped his hand into hers behind the countertop and more fireworks went through her. “You look happy. Things go okay with your mom?”
“I’m so happy, Rico. She’s . . . there’s so much I didn’t know.” Hiding her hope was impossible, so she didn’t even try.
He dropped a kiss on her cheek, forgetting all about the cameras.
“Now that our missing star is here,” China announced, “let’s get started. Today we have a secret audience. They’ll be watching you, but you won’t know who’s there.”
“Fabulous,” Rico whispered. “More people we can’t get rid of.”
The producers had decided to get downright sadistic. They announced, with some glee, that the work surfaces were being shrunk down to one small two-foot countertop. The crew made a big show of coming in and rolling away two-thirds of each kitchen station.
“We’re live today,” DJ announced. “There will be no audience voting. The judges will rank the runners-up and announce the winner.”
Danny El gave Rico a jubilant smile and Rico gave him a thumbs-up.
Their challenge was to make a holiday dinner in half an hour and in that restricted space. Display teamwork in those tight conditions. Ashna’s heart spasmed wildly every time their bodies touched, the memories of their night together a fire inside her.
Then DJ threw them their curveball. They could choose only five kitchen tools total to work with.
“Bring it on,” Ashna said to the camera, “because I’m nothing if not a minimalist.”
The first utensil they chose was . . . wait for it . . . a knife (insert womb-melting smile here), a ten-inch santoku, the exact same style that had started them off on their second chance.
“What did your family make for holiday dinners?” she asked, turning to him.
“Lamb chops. It was my pai’s favorite thing to make.”
Amazingly, lamb chops were also Baba’s favorite thing. He had a near-perfect recipe. He had considered his recipes his life’s work. Ashna knew she should be angrier at Baba than she was, but the only emotion she felt when she thought about him was sadness.
She also knew she couldn’t follow his recipe. Not today.
“What’s the matter, meu amor?” Rico said.
“I’m fine.” She put a cast-iron grill pan on the stove. “What do you remember most about what your pai put in his lamb chops?”
“I think it was basically salt, pepper, and garlic.” He squeezed his eyes shut and focused so hard that not dropping a kiss on his earnestly pursed mouth was the hardest thing. His eyes opened, bright with memory. “Of course. Mint.”
“That’s perfect. Since we’re allowed only five tools, simple is good.”
“My mãe always made rice and potatoes with it. How about we make lamb chops and a biryani-style pilaf?”
Ashna blinked. Since when was Rico such a foodie?
He shrugged but his lips tugged to one side in his crooked smile. “What? I live in London. Of course Indian is my favorite cuisine.”
Tossing an onion at him, she asked him to start chopping, and put the rice to boil.
Then she turned to the lamb chops. The automatic reflex to follow Baba’s recipe to within an inch of its life rolled through her. But when she ignored it, the need to hyperventilate didn’t follow. Ne
xt to her Rico was fully tuned in to her body language, dividing his focus between following the instructions she threw out and the job at hand.
As he’d talked about his father’s chops, she’d imagined exactly how she wanted them to taste. An overtone of garlic and lemon and an undertone of mint. The rice would be simple, in keeping with the Brazilian tradition, but she’d liven it up with fried onions, cashew nuts, whole black cardamom, cloves, bay leaves, and cinnamon stick. All she wanted was to create something that tasted like Rico’s childhood, combined with their future together, and it felt like she was flying.
Just like with her teas, she knew exactly what she wanted to taste and she knew exactly how to layer ingredients to coax out those flavors, those feelings. It was her and that alchemy and Rico’s hands flying to follow instructions and help her make it happen.
“There’s another thing we have to make,” she said. Rico raised a brow as he stirred rice into the spice-infused butter. “I want to make tea. A festive chai.”
He smiled, heat intensifying his eyes.
Really? Talking about tea turned him on? Wasn’t the universe just full of good news today.
Smiling from under her lashes, she looked around at their two used pans. “Focus, Rico. We don’t have any more utensils to use.”
“You get the ingredients. I’ll wash the pan we used for the rice.”
She squeezed his arm and got to work.
“That smells amazing,” he said as the chai came to a boil.
When she gave him a taste his eyes did things they should not be doing here in public.
“How are we going to pour it without a strainer?”
“Is a paper napkin considered a utensil?” Rico pulled one from a roll.
Well, someone would stop them if it was. Ashna placed a napkin on each cup, gave it a poke to make an indentation, and poured.
DJ started to count down the last ten seconds. Ashna finished tearing some mint and sprinkled it on the rice. Just as he called out “Time’s up,” Ashna stepped back and tossed the knife high up in the air.