Mina tucked another loose lock of hair behind Ashna’s ear. “Who says you can have only one? You are as much my daughter as Nisha and Trisha, so that means I am your mom too.” She paused, considering her next words carefully, with the kind of tentativeness that she only displayed when it came to Shobi. “Can I tell you something, as a mom?”

Ashna swallowed, which was enough answer for Mina Kaki.

“Talk to Shobi. It might be time to stop believing the thing that’s easiest to believe.”

Someone called to Mina Kaki, and Ashna blessed the gods of timing.

“Go on.” She dropped a kiss on her aunt’s cheek. “I’ll be fine. See, I’m off to ‘do the rounds.’” With that, off she went without acknowledging whatever her aunt was trying to tell her.

Doing the rounds basically involved people telling her how much they loved the show and what a lovely couple she and Rico made. She tried to tell them that they weren’t a couple but gave up when no one had any interest in her take on the matter. Instead, she told them to tune in for Yash’s upcoming rally in Oakland next month and went back to the kitchen.

How had she ended up here? Her restaurant crowded, Rico back in her life. The mother who had done everything to stay away from her suddenly all over her like a rash. It was some sort of somersaulting déjà vu.

Whoever had told Ashna she needed to change one thing to change everything wasn’t kidding around. Could she kill the person who had suggested it, please?

She picked up the last order. Baba’s stuffed bitter melons.

The one thing no amount of changing could change was that Baba would never be here to see this. She tried to visualize him—if anything could put a smile on his face, it would be this. But all she saw when she thought about him was blood dripping from her hands. The oil in her pan started to smoke and Khalid left his station and threw the chopped onions in for her. “I can take care of it, boss.”

“I got it. Thanks.” She gave the onions a stir. The memory of Rico going at the lumping dough as though it were a workout machine brought her back to this moment.

This divine intervention or whatever stroke of luck she was having with the cooking challenges was not going to last.

“Just did the last call for lunch, we’re almost done!” Wilfrieda announced, and everyone cheered.

This wasn’t going to last either, not once Ashna had to drop out of the competition because she passed out from a panic attack on television. Not once her mother got to say I told you so and sold Curried Dreams.