Suddenly, all she wanted was to get back to the studio and shoot the next episode, Rico’s presence there be damned. Even if they received more votes than all the other teams put together she wouldn’t feel guilty about it. Suddenly, any advantage that helped them win felt too small, even if that advantage came from the darned viral video.

“I really don’t have the time for this right now.” She turned to Shobi. Her waist-length silver-streaked black hair hung over one shoulder. Ashna patted her own tight bun. The huge red bindi in the center of her mother’s forehead was perfectly placed just above the spot where her eyebrows would intersect if they met.

Unlike Mina Kaki’s, Shobi’s face was faintly lined. Light creases broke the flatness of her high forehead. Parenthetical lines bracketed her mouth, her passion for her work etched into her face.

“We have to make time, beta.” She sounded so sad that Ashna wondered if something was wrong with her. Oh no, that’s what this was about.

“Are you sick?”

“I deserved that,” Shobi said, and reached out a hand, possibly to pat Ashna’s, but Ashna couldn’t be sure because she withdrew it. “I’m fine. Healthy as a horse. Getting a little thick around the middle, but that’s about it.” She was being charming, the way she was in her TV interviews.

“Then what do you want?” Now, after all these years.

“I want to help you.” Shobi watched Ashna’s face. “And myself. We deserve to at least try to have a relationship.”

“Okay, I see what this is.” Ashna rewashed one of the cups; tea stains weren’t easy to get off. “I can imagine how overwhelming this is for you. Meeting your life’s goal. I get it.”

Shobi looked confused. The one thing Ashna knew her mother to be was a straight shooter, so why, now, was Shobi choosing to play games?

“The Padma Shri,” Ashna said, scrubbing the cup. “Congratulations. That’s huge. But now you need a new goal.” She pressed a wet hand into her forehead. “That’s what this is. A new goal. Wanting to fix things with your daughter.” Shobi had finally decided to involve her in her Shobi-drama. Thank God, Ashna was too old to care.

Shobi pressed a hand to her forehead, mirroring Ashna’s action. “Winning the Padma Shri was never my goal. Helping people was.”

“Wow, so that’s the part you decided to address in what I said?” Every single time her mother showed her where Ashna fell on her list of priorities it hurt as though it were the first time. How could she be so weak?

Her mother sighed. “Don’t you at least want to try to understand what my life’s been like?”

“I do understand. I was there, remember? Watching from eight thousand miles away.” Because you left me. Over and over again.