Cover

Dedication

For Aie and Baba for disregarding the “in-law” in

daughter-in-law from the very start, but more importantly

for doing away with all the patriarchal nonsense that

goes with it. Without your unconditional love and

support this journey would not be half as joyful.

Chapter One

Ashna Raje couldn’t remember the last time her restaurant had thirty occupied tables. The gentle hum of customer conversation drifted into the kitchen from the dining area. It was nowhere near the nightly five-hundred-person din from when her father ran Curried Dreams, but it kindled the tiniest glimmer of hope inside Ashna. She snuffed it out. Hope terrified her. Ashna didn’t credit her parents with much humor, but giving someone like her a name that meant “filled with hope” was definitely a cruel joke.

“Angry customer at table twelve, boss.” One of the servers ran to her just as Ashna finished plating an order of biryani and slid it onto the counter. “She’s demanding the crisp fried okra we served last week. I told her we took it off the menu. But she won’t listen.”

Ashna released a breath, expelling whatever scraps of hope she had left, and patted the server’s arm. “Thanks. I’ll take care of it.”

She made her way into the tastefully ornate, albeit slightly run-down, dining room, stopping to ask the two tables on her way if they were enjoying their meal. She got one noncommittal shrug and one enthusiastic “Everything is delicious!” from a couple celebrating their engagement. She stayed to hear the story of how he had proposed in a hot-air balloon, then signaled the waitstaff to bring the couple complimentary champagne and the noncommittal table complimentary gulab jamuns.

By the time she reached table twelve, the customer demanding the fried okra—which Ashna had removed from the menu and was never putting back on—looked in no mood to be placated.

“I have to have that okra,” the woman said as soon as Ashna introduced herself. She didn’t seem used to being denied things.

The man sitting next to her patted her hand, earning himself an impressive glare for his effort. “We’re pregnant,” he declared, ignoring his wife’s glare and the fact that he was, obviously, not in the least bit pregnant.

“How lovely,” Ashna said pointedly to the woman. “Congratulations.”

She was about to add that they were no longer serving the special menu when the woman threw Ashna the most tortured look. “Thank you. It’s been a rough two months. I haven’t been able to eat anything.”

“Anything,” the husband echoed, rivaling her desperation.

“James brought me the bhindi last week and it’s exactly how my mother made it when I was little. It’s literally all I can keep down.”

“Literally all she can keep down.” Another echo.