“Actually, she’s a trained yoga therapist and one of Northern California’s foremost stress management coaches,” Trisha said.
“When I first got back from Paris and was struggling, India was the one who helped me out. She taught me everything I know about meditation and grounding myself and working through episodes. This is very much in her wheelhouse,” Ashna said.
“I’m not having episodes,” Yash said, just as Dad said, “He’s not having episodes.” Saying it together like that seconds after he’d had an episode did not help their case at all, and the wall of sisters made sure he knew it with their glares.
“There is no point skirting the truth.” Ma fixed her son and husband with the master glare that his sisters had trained from, then turned to Ashna. “She did help you, didn’t she?”
Ashna nodded. “I wouldn’t have made it without her.”
Ma threw a look from Ashna to Nisha to Trisha. “And you girls have been friends for many years now. You think we can trust her?”
“I’d trust her with my life,” Trisha and Ashna said together, because suddenly his life was a theater production.
“She was with me at Berkeley and she punched Rick Nugen in the nose when he called me . . . well, he used a word I’m not repeating, but it was offensive to people with developmental challenges,” Nisha said.
Despite himself, Yash wanted to smile. Of course India had done that.
“Haven’t I met her?” Ma said. “Wasn’t she at Nisha and Neel’s wedding?”
“Yes, I remember she wore that lovely lilac ghaghra.” Nisha remembered every single thing anyone had ever worn in their entire life. How she had any space left in her brain after storing the entire world’s fashion choices, Yash had no idea. Who remembered what someone had worn ten years ago?
Hypocrite.
He pushed away a vision of India in what he’d always thought of as not quite blue and not quite pink. So the color had a name. Lilac.
India Dashwood in that ghaghra was probably the only thing Yash remembered about Nisha and Neel’s wedding. A memory too long past, water under the bridge. Or not. Because no way would she give him the time of day. Not after the way he’d behaved.
Another faint brush of feeling rolled through him. Was he feeling things again? A wave of relief crashed on hope so intense, he stood and started pacing, trying to hold on to it. Just as quickly as he had felt it, it was gone and he was cold again. Filled with nothing again.
It was getting a bit annoying, all of this nothing filling him.
“How do you remember the color of her ghaghra?” Trisha asked, blinking at Nisha.
“Hello! It’s Nisha. She remembers what everyone wore to her wedding, including all the aunties,” Ashna said.
Their father cleared his throat.
“You can all relax. I do not need to see a therapist. I most certainly do not need to see some woo-woo yoga self-help life-coach guru person who manufactures incense in the middle of Palo Alto and travels around the world lecturing people about how to breathe.”
The attention of the room shifted to him like a spotlight. Every brow rose. The silence was so intense he could hear himself breathing. Not in the correct way, no doubt, but who needed training on how to breathe? What kind of scam was that?
“I only know those things about her because I’ve heard Ashna mention them so many times.” Actually, he knew because he’d read about India in the Daily Post last month. It was his job to read the local papers.
Ashna frowned at him. She had never mentioned India around him until now and her narrowed eyes told him exactly how well she knew this. But she kept her mouth shut. Which meant Yash was in more trouble than if she’d said something.
“Then you’ll agree that I know what I’m talking about. It won’t hurt to meet her once,” Ashna said. Was that a threat in her eyes?
He had nothing to be afraid of. Knowing what a family friend did with her life was not a crime. Especially for an information junkie like him. Sure, he usually focused on things like the unemployment rate or global health care statistics, but India Dashwood’s work was unique enough to stick in anyone’s head. Plus, she’d ended up doing exactly what she’d dreamed of doing, what she’d talked so excitedly about that night.
“There are behavioral therapies that can help you deal with what you’re going through. A set of steps that can walk you out of your moment of panic,” Ashna said.
“Clearly you know what works. Can’t you just walk me through it?” Yes, that was the answer. Ashna could help him.
She squeezed his arm. “What works for me may not work for you. Our cases are completely different, and I’m not qualified to know what will work for you. India is.”
Avoiding going out into crowds and speaking to voters was not an option. Unless he wanted to walk away from the race and let not just the people in this room but all his supporters down.
His family watched him, worry etched into their faces.
They’d had the scare of their lives when he got shot. If it happened to any one of them, if he thought even for a moment that he might lose any one of them, he didn’t know how he would handle it.
His family had dreamed of him winning this election for as long as he could remember. Now they could almost touch the dream. Unless he messed it up.
Ashna sat down next to him and laid her head on his shoulder, a very Ashna gesture. She was the gentlest of them, the most empathetic. Just having her hold you made the world a better place. But today, nothing. Until she’d mentioned India.
“Chances are it’s just shock and it won’t last long,” Trisha said.
“But you can’t take the risk of having a public panic attack months before the election,” Nisha added. “Not when your chances of winning are the best they’ve ever been. Think about what this means. All that we’ve put into this campaign. It’s going to pay off.”
Nisha had spent more days and nights than he could count working on his campaigns, prepping for interviews and debates, strategizing responses to mudslinging in the press. She’d been tireless. This time she was doing it pregnant. With swollen feet and needing to take breaks to throw up.
“Go see her once. If it doesn’t help, you don’t have to go back,” Ma said.
“Don’t forget why you’re running. You can’t do any of those things if you don’t win,” Dad said, but Yash could no longer remember what his reasons for running were or why he had even decided to go into politics. “Your sisters might be right. Going to see this girl makes sense. So long as we can trust her.”
“We can trust her,” Yash said before he knew he was saying it. Then, because he wasn’t interested in more probing looks, he added, “I mean, if Trisha, Nisha, and Ashna trust her, we should too.” Then, without waiting for a response, he excused himself and left Trisha’s office.
Nisha followed him out. Of course she did. “You got a minute?” she called after him, and he turned to her.
He did not like what he saw in her face. “I already said I’ll see India. You don’t expect me to rush off there right this minute.”
“You’re right. This minute I need you for something else.”
“Fine, hit me.”