“May I say something? I know you don’t want to hear this.”
Dear God, every single time that line came out of Shobi, she followed it up with something that started a fight.
Please don’t do this today. That sense of barely holding it together that Ashna kept firmly at the edge of her consciousness closed in. Every time Shobi showed up, it pushed its way to the center of her. What kind of dumbass let someone do that to them over and over?
But of course, no one stopped Shobi from doing exactly as Shobi wanted.
“I think you’ve forgotten what it means to be happy.”
Ashna sank down to her knees next to the tub. A stray hair marred the spotless floor. She picked it up and threw it in the garbage.
“Are you going to say anything at all?”
Ashna wanted to, but her words had a way of hiding away when they sensed Shobi’s presence.
“Ashna?” She couldn’t tell if Shobi was reprimanding her or if that was concern in her voice. Not that she had any experience with recognizing concern in Shobi’s voice.
“You’re wrong, Mom. You can only forget something you knew.”
Her mother gasped and Ashna realized that she had said the words out loud.
In the moment that Shobi said nothing, relief and hope rushed through Ashna. She imagined her admission filling Shobi with regret and understanding.
“That’s not fair, Ashna.”
How could Ashna not laugh at that? Of course Shobi would make Ashna’s admission that she had never learned how to be happy about herself.
Ashna knew exactly what Shobi would say next. “Why is it so hard for you to understand your mother?” Bingo. And then . . . “You always understood your baba no matter what he did. No matter how wrong his choices.”
How many times could you have the same fight? Baba had stuck with Ashna, always. Well, until he hadn’t, in the end. But Ashna had never known Shobi as anything but a visitor who was either arriving or getting ready to leave.
Shobi had been gone a lot when they lived in Sripore, and then she hadn’t moved to America with them. Just visited. At first Ashna had tried hard to believe the visits weren’t reluctant, but over time, they grew shorter and farther apart, proving how wrong she’d been.
“Anyway, I didn’t call to have that conversation again. I was hoping maybe we could move past all that. Isn’t it time to fix things?”
Wasn’t this just precious? Now that Shobi had achieved the ultimate validation for her work, it was time to start taking stock of collateral damage.
Yes, well, Ashna wasn’t doormat enough for that. Being vulnerable in her mother’s presence was a mistake. She got herself up off the floor. The tub was full. She turned off the water. “There’s nothing to move past. I’m happy for you. And I’m proud of everything you’ve achieved.” There, she’d said what a dutiful daughter would say. “Good luck.”
“Oh, Ashna, maybe someday you’ll mean that. I have changed the lives of thousands. I’ve worked hard for it. It would be nice to have the person I gave birth to acknowledge it.”
“I’m proud of you,” Ashna repeated, trying to reach into that part of her that still remembered how proud she used to be of Shobi. The water was the perfect temperature. She dropped a capful of eucalyptus oil in. The steam rising from it turned intoxicating. She sank down to her knees again and inhaled it.
“I don’t mean repeat the lie. I mean, actually mean it. You have no idea how badly I wish you could see my life. Understand it. See me.”
“Across the thousands of miles you’ve always put between us?”
Instead of another gasp, another pause followed. A potent pause, filled with things Ashna didn’t want to hear, places she didn’t want to go with the woman who had birthed her.
Ashna skimmed a circle on the water’s surface.
“You’re right,” Shobi said, her voice determined. “Let’s fix that.”
Ashna’s hand jostled the water, disturbing the surface, splashing herself. Why hadn’t she just stayed silent? It was the only strategy that worked with Shobi.
“Actually, that’s why I was calling, I just didn’t know how I was going to ask. So I’m glad you brought it up. Why don’t you come to India?”
Ashna took her face close to the water’s surface. The tip of her nose touched the liquid warmth. The weight of her heavy bun skewed to one side of her head.
“Ashna?” Shobi pushed into her silence.
“I can’t do that.” Her whisper reflected off the water, the mint in her breath mixing with the eucalyptus. She picked out the distinct familiar scents and let her mind linger on each.
“Why? This is the perfect time to come home. Share this experience with me. They asked me to choose someone to introduce me at the awards ceremony and, naturally, I want you to be the one to do it. It’s been too long, beta. You haven’t been to Sripore in thirteen years. Come home!”
Sripore was not her home. “Palo Alto is my home,” she said quietly, “and Woodside,” she added to make sure her punch hit home. Woodside was where her aunt and uncle lived. The people who had been more parents to her than Shobi ever would.
The punch landed squarely where Ashna had aimed it and Shobi’s patience snapped. “You’re being deliberately hurtful again,” she said. “You aren’t a teenager anymore. This anger isn’t going to get you anywhere. It’s not healthy. You’re thirty. It’s not—”
“I am the least angry person I know.” The irony of her hiss did not escape her. “I have a business to run. I’d love to help you, but I just can’t.” She forced herself to regain her calm.
At least Shobi had gotten her age right this time. Shoban Gaikwad Raje had the fabulous distinction of having asked her child “So, what grade are you in?” on multiple occasions.
“Getting away from that place is exactly what you need. I can’t believe your father saddled you with—”
“Curried Dreams is my life,” she hissed again, because the only thing being upbeat would get her was a bath gone cold.
“That’s my point exactly. You need to find a life outside Curried Dreams!” said the woman who lectured all and sundry endlessly about how a woman’s work should be just as important to her as her family. “It’s time for you to break the chains that have been tying you up for years. Reset your priorities.”
Dear God, not chains! Chains were Shobi’s favorite metaphor. “Women in Chains” was the general theme of all her lectures. Once Shobi started on this topic, she’d never stop.
Ashna straightened up. Curried Dreams wasn’t what was tying her up in chains. Shobi was, and she always had with her promises of love that she kept just out of reach. Always. For Ashna’s whole life the woman had wielded those chains with ruthlessness.
Finally, in this moment, it hit Ashna why. It had been so Ashna would be here, waiting, when Shobi was finally ready to fix that neglected part of her life. Because Shobi had always set her priorities exactly the way she wanted them.
“You’re right,” Ashna said. “I do need to break the chains. Which is exactly why I’m not coming to India.”
“That makes no sense, Ashna. You’re stuck, don’t you see? You’ve been doing the same thing for—”