Dating Dr. Dil (If Shakespeare was an Auntie #1)(64)

The fake applause machine echoed through the studio, the camera panned out, and someone yelled “Cut!” Prem’s fake smile fell like a Jenga tower. God, his face hurt sometimes from holding it for so long.

“Great job, Prem,” Varsha said. She pulled her headphones down to rest on her collarbone, then came over to him to remove his mic. “That was definitely different.”

“Oh yeah? How so?”

She ran a hand over her cropped magenta hair. “Darling, we asked you to talk about stress and how it affects the heart for today’s topic of conversation. You go into broken heart syndrome. That seems a bit more . . . personal than usual.”

Prem rolled his eyes. “Stress effects on heart health is a huge topic. I had to narrow it down somewhere.” And he’d been thinking about Rina’s health. She took on too much sometimes. Was she taking care of herself? Was she eating or sleeping? She’d sleep fine if she stayed with him.

Nope, he had to stop thinking about her. About being with her. In all sorts of ways.

“Look, I’m just saying that I really like the way the show is going,” Varsha said as she wrapped the mic wire around her fingers. He’d watched her do the same movement a hundred times. “Our viewers are liking the change in content this season, too.”

“Are you sure it’s not just a residual following from that insane video of me and Rina?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Varsha replied. “I’ve known you for three years, and something’s different. In a good way.”

“I hope you’re right,” Prem said. He adjusted his collar and ran a hand over the crease where the microphone had been clipped. “Maybe my old investor will also see a difference and reconsider pulling out. I need him if I’m getting the space I need for the center.”

Varsha shrugged even as she motioned to someone about the lights. “I mean, I can always send him the video files for the last few episodes. We still have his contact information for when he asked to see back episodes a few months ago.”

Prem vaguely recalled Varsha handling everything behind the scenes. It was good for Jersey City, for the South Asians who lived there, and for the TV show, she’d said. He wasn’t so sure if it would help the network that much, but he’d been appreciative of her. Appreciative of all the help that she’d given.

“I hate to ask you to help again when you’ve already done so much,” he said.

“Not a problem at all. You’re doing something good. And you’ve done a lot with this show. That’s why I’ve been here for so long.”

“Thanks, Varsha,” he said. “That means a lot.”

“You got it,” she replied. “See you next week!”

He waved, and just as he turned to go back to his dressing room to grab his bag, Yash, one of the camerapersons, called his name from across the studio over the sound of rolling light boxes and retracting cables.

“Prem, you have visitors. They said they’re family. The Randhawas? Want me to have them come up to your dressing room?”

Prem stilled. What in the world were Gori’s parents doing in New York? How did they know he’d be recording?

Before the thought finished forming in his head, he knew the answer. His mother. God, how long had it been?

Prem pressed a palm against his beating heart. Most days he was okay with just the lingering reminder of his former fiancée, but sometimes, the pain was so sharp, so real, that he felt incapacitated.

But there was no way out of this.

“Prem?” Yash called again.

He shook his head and braced himself with the same resolve that he’d had to use for years after Gori’s death. “Uh, yeah. I’ll go down to the lobby to meet them,” he finally said. “Can you let them know I’ll be right there?”

“Sure thing.” Yash left the studio through the narrow exit.

Prem paced back and forth across the floor for a minute before he stepped off the stage and left through the back hallway. After grabbing his bag, he took the long way through the building, down the cement gray stairwell and into the brightly lit studio’s lobby level. The time helped him repackage all those raw feelings back into the boxes he’d put them in after Gori’s death.

After pushing through the lobby double doors, he spotted Gori’s parents in the center of the expansive space, wearing visors and fanny packs. They were about the same age as his parents, with gray streaks in their hair and lines around their mouth. However, these two had Gori’s eyes and her laugh.

There was that pang in his chest. It was so familiar, but so distant all at the same time.

“Look at those two handsome people,” Prem called from across the room. Uncle and Aunty turned at the same time. Their faces lit up when they saw him. “What a great surprise!”

“Prem!” Aunty was the first to approach him. Her white sandals had a gold paisley design at the buckle. “Darling, it’s so good to see you.”

“You look as gorgeous as ever,” he replied and returned the hug.

“Hey now, don’t make me look bad,” Uncle said in Punjabi.

“I could never,” Prem replied and turned to give Gori’s father a hug as well. The old man slapped him hard on the shoulder, a reminder of all the hugs they’d shared after he and Gori agreed to getting married.