Her mother wiped Ashna’s tears with the end of her sari, a gesture so absurdly campy and Bollywoodish and so at odds with who Shobi was that a watery laugh burst from Ashna. She pulled away, some awkwardness returning.

“None of this was your fault.” For the first time in her life those words didn’t feel like thorns on her skin. “And I’m glad,” Shobi added quickly, holding Ashna’s hands, “that the thought of me having left didn’t make you happy.”

“I felt many things when you left, Mom. But happiness was never one of them.” Of all the things Ashna had ever said to her mother, this was probably the most honest.

She pushed Shobi onto a stool. “Why don’t you sit, I’ll make us some tea. I know the exact brew that might make this easier.” She brought ginger and lemongrass to a boil, then added a mix of Cunoor long leaf and Darjeeling as her mother watched. Then she wrote the words Overdue Conversations on the jar.

“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?”