by Sonya Lalli
“Could someone open a window?” I said to no one in particular. The air-conditioning was on, but the room felt like a sauna. “Please?”
An auntie appeared beside me. “Already open—we have called for fan.”
I thanked her, and she disappeared from my peripheral vision.
I was becoming more restless with each passing minute. I wanted to help Shay get ready, make sure she was still okay, but the progress of my updo had stalled. Claire dropped her hands from my head to grab her coffee, and I took the opportunity to turn around.
Shay’s relatives surrounded her. Her makeup and hair seemed to be done, and she was sitting at the foot of the bed half dressed in her petticoat and blouse. Auntie Sarla was standing over her, and they seemed to be whispering loudly at each other in Rajasthani. Shay looked like she was about to cry again, and it was as if the aunties around them—steaming her bridal sari, lazily primping her hair—hadn’t even noticed.
I stood up and walked toward them, ignoring the hairdresser’s protests.
“What’s going on?”
Auntie Sarla’s eyes flicked toward me as she continued yelling at Shay. Then she stopped, and glaring at me, said, “Nothing, Raina.”
Shay stood up. “Don’t speak to her like that.”
“Auntie, did I do something?”
“What haven’t you done?”
“Ma!”
“Auntie, please tell me—”
“It’s fine,” Shay said. “I handled it.”
“Handled what?” The rest of the room seemed to have quieted. They were listening to us.
“Some of my more conservative relatives from India”—Shay said evenly—“didn’t come this morning to help me get ready, and—”
“Because of you, Raina,” snapped Auntie Sarla. “You are ruining Shaylee’s wedding—”
“Shut it, Ma—”
“Yes, shut it, Sarla.”
Nani had appeared in the doorway. For a woman so small, it was as if she was suddenly taking up the whole room. She smiled at me, and then Shay, and then her eyes pivoted back toward Sarla.
“Are you really going to start again with this now?” Nani asked Sarla.
“Your Raina is ruining—”
Shay groaned. “Raina is not ruining my wedding, you are, Ma!”
“Me?” Auntie Sarla cackled. “You have me to thank for this whole wedding—”
“I didn’t want this! You think I wanted some hyper-religious ceremony where I’m not even allowed to kiss the groom?” Shay’s eyes filled up again, and her voice had grown hoarse. “I did this for you, for Dad—and you know that—”
Auntie Sarla snapped an interjection, and her arms flailed wildly.
“English please,” I said.
Shay rolled her eyes. “Oh, she’s just mad the attention isn’t on her—”
“Ungrateful child,” spat Auntie Sarla.
“I’m ungrateful?” Shay exclaimed. “I did everything you and Dad ever asked of me. I was perfect, I’m having your perfect wedding—and still, this isn’t enough. You want the attention on me? You got it. Julien and I almost eloped last night. How’s that for attention?”
“Elopement,” repeated Auntie Sarla. “But vhy?”
“Because this goddamn thing is a nightmare! Because we already live together! Because we wanted a small wedding and I’m . . . I’m fucking pregnant!”
Auntie Sarla gasped, and echoes followed behind her. She collapsed onto the bed, and an auntie started to fan her with a magazine. She started mumbling something in Rajasthani incoherently, and Shay rolled her eyes.
“Ma. Are you okay?”
Auntie Sarla didn’t reply, and Shay squatted down beside her.
“Ma? I’m sorry, I—”
“Pregnant. Shaylee!” She sat up slowly, unsteadily, her plump face flushed like a plum. “How did this happen?”
“I sat on a dirty toilet seat.”
I snorted out a laugh. Shay started laughing, too. Auntie Sarla stood up, and pinned her glare onto me.
“This is your doing?”
“Huh?”
“You and your nani. And that dirty Manavi—whole family always causing trouble—”
“Ma, you’re going to be a nani—”
“You were bad influence on my Shaylee—”
“Don’t blame Raina for Shaylee’s actions,” said Nani.
“This is all Raina’s doing—ever since she decided to be lesbian, nothing but hassle, difficulty for everyone. And I hear now Sharon’s boy is gay, too? What did you do to him?”
“Hush, Sarla! This is not right. This is your daughter’s wedding, nah?”
“When is the time then?” spat Auntie Sarla. “When all the kids have turned gay? When Raina marries another girl? When there are two bridal saris to tie? I will not be there to help, Suvali. No one will be there!”
As the yelling around me escalated, billowed, the dullness in the pit of my stomach mushroomed, and I just couldn’t take it. I had to stop it.
“Everyone, be quiet!”
In a moment, the room was silent. Still. And everyone was staring at me. I could feel the sweat that had started to run down the base of my spine. I glanced at Shay. She smiled at me. Nodded. I took a breath, and finally I said it.
“I’m not . . . gay.”
My fists were clenched tightly, and I loosened them. My vision blurred, refocused. Still, the room was silent.
“What?” cried Auntie Sarla.
“You’re not?” said Serena.
I shook my head, and turned to face Nani. Her eyes were on the floor, and she had pressed her hands into the doorway on either side of her, but she was smiling.
“Why would you lie about something like this?” asked an auntie nearby; my ears were ringing, and I couldn’t tell which one it was.
“I just wanted everyone to stop telling me to get married, and setting me up on dates.” My voice trembled, and I pressed on. “It wasn’t supposed to go this far. And then, I just wanted people to know that it shouldn’t have mattered. I didn’t want it to matter.”
“But you’re not,” said Serena.
I shook my head.
“Well,” said Auntie Sarla. She was smiling. “This is good news. Some good news.”
“Ma,” Shay said. “That’s not the point. The point is that it shouldn’t matter even if she was gay.”
“But she’s not!”
“Yes, Ma. I know. But why does it matter one way or the other?”
“Of course it matters.”
“Are you kidding me? Wake up, Mother, it’s the twenty-first century. People screw before—”
“Shaylee!”
“—they get married. People are straight, others are gay. What concern is it to you?”
“She’s right, Sarla,” said another auntie. “My nephew in Winnipeg is of the gay now.”
“Ma, don’t you see how backward you are? That you’re . . .”
The room again became a commotion: silence replaced with horrified and bemused looks; Auntie Sarla’s intermittent sobs and screams, and shouts from back and forth across the room. It was mayhem, and I looked down at Nani in disbelief. The vivacious glimmer was back in her eyes.
“It is good these people are hassled sometimes, nah?” I heard Nani say to me as I walked over to her. She slipped her hand into mine. “It was good for me, too. To think about things—think about these things.”
I gave Nani’s hand a squeeze while we watched the commotion unfold before us.
“Sarla is a loud woman. But she is screaming for a reason.” Nani looked up at me, as if she knew that I was thinking about Depesh. Wondering how he was faring in London at that very moment, and how much he would have hated all of this. “Sarla knows she is losing. Our people are growing, changing—and that silly woman will soon be
the only one left to resist. You have helped, my Raina.”
But had I helped more than I’d hurt? I could only hope that was true.
“Raina,” Nani said, after a moment had passed. “Are you ex- pecting . . . guest?
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” she said slyly. “When I arrived, there was a very tall young man waiting just outside the door.”
My heart leaped.
“It may have been that Asher character . . .”
I tried not to give anything away, but I couldn’t help it.
“Jao.” Nani winked. “I will handle Sarla.”
* * *
I slipped outside the room. Asher was just down the hallway, pacing back and forth in front of the bank of elevators. He stopped short as I walked toward him. It was my first time seeing him in a kurta pajama. Jet black with red and gold embroidery along the chest and cuffs. A crimson scarf hooked loosely around his neck. He looked so handsome, and when he caught my eye, it was all I could do not to buckle in front of him.
Draco sat in his arms, and he looked down at it. “Julien wanted me to give this to Shaylee.”
I nodded, taking it from him. Behind me, Sarla let out another wail.
“What’s going on in there?”
“I’m not sure you want to know. It’s pretty . . . complicated.” I shrugged. “And you said you were a simple guy . . .”
He grinned, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Last night—” I bit my lip, and looked down. He didn’t want to hear about my past, my excuses—and I realized that I didn’t want to tell him. I wanted to move on. I wanted to make the most of the mess I’d created, and help clean it up—help those I’d hurt—in any way they’d let me.
And I wanted Asher. It had taken me too long to realize it, to recognize the simplicity of happiness when it was standing right in front of me. With Asher, I was ready to push past who I’d become, the mistakes I had made. I was ready—really ready to be the woman I knew I could be. A granddaughter, a daughter, a true friend; roles I’d often neglected in the past.
With Asher, I could be the woman who didn’t lose herself to love.
“Would you like to have coffee with me sometime?”
A look of surprise washed over his face, and then he smiled.
“I know you’re with someone—”
“I’m not with anyone.”
I pressed my lips together, trying to keep from smiling.
“Rebekah and I broke up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You don’t look that sorry . . .”
I grinned. “Will you have coffee with me or not?”
His eyes moved up my face. “Are you going to wear your hair like that?”
I touched my head. My hair was still half done—part curled and pinned, the rest of it hanging straight over my ear.
“It’s how the kids wear it these days.”
“And those pajamas, wow.” He nodded. “Sexy as hell.”
“I like to keep up with the trends.”
He grinned. “Is that so.”
I nodded. “I’ll take you to this trendy, hipster café I know. You’ll love it.”
“You know me so well.” He smiled, and crossed his arms. “On the other hand, I’m not sure I know you as well as I thought.”
“You probably know me better than I know myself.”
“I’ll have to teach you all about Raina Anand, will I?”
“Sure. I hear you’re a good teacher. Although not so good at basketball.”
“And where did you hear that?” He stepped toward me. “If you’re not nice, you’ll have to buy me two coffees. Three, even.”
“I have to buy them? I don’t know, Asher, I’m currently unemployed.”
“So now who’s the drifter?”
“How about . . . I’ll buy you one coffee, and dessert? I won’t even shove you into them.”
“Really? Dessert, too?” He was right in front of me, inches away.
“Anything you want.”
He licked his lips, moved in closer. “Anything?”
I could feel the heat of his body against mine. Pepper. Earth. Aftershave. I couldn’t move. Slowly, he put his hands on my hips, started to lean in.
“So coffee sometime?” I was breathing hard. “It’s a . . . date?”
“A date . . .”
I closed my eyes, and I felt his breath on my ear. My cheek. My lips.
“I’ll have to check my schedule.”
I opened my eyes. He was grinning at me.
“You’re terrible.”
“I’m a very busy man, Raina.”
“You’re going to make me pay for this, aren’t you?”
The elevator bell rang, and a moment later, the doors opened. He got in, slowly turned around, and smiled at me. “Would you expect any less?”
I had to force myself not to jump in after him. Not to rush this. I knew I had a long way to go. With Asher—with everyone in my life. But right now, as I stood face-to-face with the man that I loved, I knew that I would be just fine.
MAY 20, 2019
Shay’s bridal sari weighs nearly twenty pounds. She is made up like a Rajasthani doll, perspiring through the thick garment of a deep red bandhani design. The aunties adorn her with garlands and gold jewelry; shower her with praise, religious tokens, and blessings. While the hotel room is crowded and sickeningly hot, Nani has regained control, subdued Auntie Sarla’s sobbing. No one mentions the pregnancy.
At the end of the preparations, Shay looks like a bride—one that could be plastered on the front cover of a Hindi magazine, or play the leading lady in a Bollywood movie. Raina squeezes her hand as Shay takes one last look in the mirror. Shay looks nothing like herself—her style bent to the will of her mother, her face made up to a point of artificial beauty. Any other day, Shay and Raina would have laughed at the image, ridiculed the excess and extravagance of it all, but today they decide against it.
The ceremony takes place in the lavish hotel hall, the bride, groom, and their families seated on a crisp white altar at the front of the room. Shay and Julien are perched on the carpeted surface on either side of the priest, who is performing the rituals in Sanskrit before a small sacred fire.
With few exceptions, this is the way Raina has always seen marriage—couples binding themselves to each other with the exchange of dark red and ivory flower garlands, measured laps around the flames. Raina watches attentively, with renewed interest, as the couple carries out the rituals. They pour water over a rock, then make offerings of rice to the flames. The priest ties Shay’s chunni to the end of the thick, amber-red scarf draped over Julien’s shoulders, a pledge of their love for each other. A literal nuptial knot.
Then, he instructs them to stand up and take seven symbolic steps. Food, strength, prosperity, wisdom. Progeny. Health. And then the seventh step: friendship. After, Julien dips his thumb into a small clay bowl and dabs red powder—the sindoor—above Shay’s brow, marking her as a married woman.
Raina’s face crumples. Shay and Julien are married, and she is deeply happy for them.
The couple moves to the front of the altar. The flower girls have passed around wicker baskets brimmed with rose petals, and the guests—all one thousand of them—line up to shower the happy couple with blessings. It is a more communal ending to a wedding ceremony than a kiss, but it is tradition, and the guests come forward to toss the petals as Shay and Julien hold hands: plastic figurines on a wedding cake. The last wave of guests makes their way to the front, and the steady stream of petals dies down. Shay and Julien look at each other, as if unsure what comes next. But then in one swift motion, Shay’s eyes twinkling, she kisses him.
For a moment, the hall is soundless. Someone gasps, and then giggle
s emerge from the back of the hall. Raina’s eyes flicker toward Auntie Sarla, who appears to be in physical pain, both of her hands folded over her mouth. Raina looks back at the couple. They are still kissing—passionately, eagerly—and without hesitation, Raina starts to clap. She cheers, lets out a whooping roar, causing some of the guests to turn and stare. But Raina doesn’t stop. She hears Asher’s voice join in, and in quick succession, cheering comes from the rest of the groomsmen, plus Serena, Zoey, and Alice. Others follow, and then more, until at least half of the guests are thundering with applause. Julien grabs Shay by the waist, dips her in front of the entire room as he kisses her.
And just like that, they have created a ripple. More fodder for their guests’ gossip, morphing a tradition and making it their own.
A light lunch, and then the wedding party is herded into limos, shuttled from one photo shoot location to another. Shay and Julien in front of St. Basil’s Church, a family photo on the college grounds, and then another in the shade of Falconer Hall. Julien and his groomsmen posed beneath arches, atop rail tracks at Union Station. The last shot of the day: Shay and the bridesmaids perched on benches at Toronto Music Gardens. After, as she’s about to stand up, Raina feels two large, warm hands cover her eyes, and instinctively, she leans back against his stomach, breathes him in. A moment later, Asher peels away his hands, and a small chocolate birthday cake—stabbed through with fistfuls of thin pink candles—has appeared on her lap.
“It’s your favorite,” says Shay, smiling down at her. “But I’m a pregnant woman, so you have to share.”
Raina stands up to hug her, setting the cake down on the bench. “Thank you.”
“For the cake?” Shay pulls away smiling, and then flicks her eyes toward Asher. “Or for introducing you to him?”
Startled, Raina remembers that Shay had tried to set them up from the very beginning. That Shay had known the kind of man Raina had wanted, even before she realized it for herself.
“For both,” Raina says eventually. “And for being my best friend.”
* * *
The evening reception has already begun by the time they return to the hall. The hours blur together: food, drinking, music, and dancing. Raina is quickly immersed, but her mind, her heart, are not fully present. She notices her nani circling the room, obscured behind a fake smile, hiding how much she misses her daughter. She sees Auntie Sarla seated beside Shay at the head table, staring at her hands, as if the perfect wedding she’s created is still not enough. She sees Depesh’s parents avoiding everyone’s glances, rushing through their meal and then leaving the reception early.