Can't Always Get What You Want

by Chelsey Krause

  Miss me yet?

  My heart swells to nearly four times its size.

  Hmm. From a medical perspective, that doesn’t sound very appealing.

  Okay, let’s rephrase. I’m ecstatic.

  I never thought I’d feel this way again. In fact, it kind of scares me. What if I lost Brett? My chest tightens at the thought. I don’t think I could go through that sort of loss twice.

  Always. Want to come over? I’m so bored, I’m about two seconds from vacuuming the windowsills just for something to do.

  Ha. That should get his attention. As expected, he texts back about two milliseconds later.

  You’re home???

  Yes.

  Okay. I’ll be right over.

  Do you seriously have nothing better to do on a Saturday night than watch me clean my windowsills?

  Sounds like a tough job. I’d be happy to supervise. I can lend my expertise as a foreman.

  I stifle a laugh. What a weirdo. I love that his humor is just as off the wall as mine. It’s the one area I always wished Aaron and I were more compatible in. We were so well suited in other ways, but I felt like I couldn’t really let my weirdness fly around him.

  Ugh. I need to stop comparing them.

  Will I ever stop thinking about Aaron?

  Wow. Am I ever in luck. Are my windowsills that dirty?

  Filthy. I’ll be right over.

  I run to the bathroom to touch up my makeup and am nearly blinded by the crazy town that is my hair.

  What is Brett going to think about this? I duck into my bedroom and hastily wrap a printed scarf around my head.

  There. That should do it. I mean, it’s not exactly sexy (more of a cross between cancer patient and guy who put his turban on while drunk), but it effectively covers up my recent mess.

  Minutes later, a loud truck engine echoes on the street outside. I open the front door just as he’s raising his hand to knock.

  He’s silent for a moment, his eyes focusing on my makeshift head wrap.

  “Greetings, Swami G.” He laughs, while bowing slightly.

  “Har har. Get inside.” I grab his hand and pull him indoors. I take his coat, and can’t help but smell the collar when he turns his back.

  Hot damn. How does someone always smell that fantastic? I wish I could bottle this. I take another deep breath. Ahhhh…this is better than crack.

  Well, not that I would know what crack is like, obviously.

  “Enjoying yourself over there?”

  I whip my head up, my face pinking with embarrassment. Brett is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, giving me a smug, teasing expression.

  “If you must know, yes,” I reply haughtily.

  We settle onto lounge chairs in the garden and catch up on each other’s weekend. While I’ve been busy acting as a beautician’s science experiment gone bad, he’s been holed up in his house going over the eco community’s progress.

  He takes a long draw of beer, and sighs heavily. “I’ve been pretty stressed, actually. We’re behind schedule, and the costs keep rising. I’m starting to freak out a little bit.”

  I rub his shoulders sympathetically.

  “Sorry to hear that, babe,” I say.

  Brett shrugs, and glances at my head.

  “So. What’s with the weird getup?”

  “It is not weird. I happen to be fashion-forward. It’s trendy, very boho chic.”

  He raises his eyebrows, unconvinced.

  “Sure you’re not hiding a massive head wound under there?” Brett jokes, while tucking in a loose end of the scarf that’s somehow come free.

  And as might happen when one tugs on a loose thread of a delicate garment, the tail end of my turban unravels and falls onto my lap.

  “Umm, surprise!” I say weakly, while doing jazz hands.

  Brett’s eyes widen. “What happened to you?” he asks. He picks up a strand of my hair, and stares at the intense red color. It’s practically glowing in the early evening light.

  “Not what. Whom,” I say.

  “Whom?”

  “Samira’s Auntie Priya. She’s a bit, umm, eccentric. You should’ve seen the makeup that went with it.”

  “Okay. Walk me through the whole story.”

  And for the next few minutes, I fill him in.

  A muffled choking sound rips through the air. I look up and see that Brett is on the verge of collapsing with laughter.

  I sigh and flop onto my back on the lounge chair.

  “I have to be in Sam and Narayan’s wedding tomorrow.”

  “Me too.”

  “Yeah, but you’ll look handsome and sexy, and put together and lovely…”

  “Can’t argue with you there,” he says, smirking.

  “…while I will look like the love child of Carrot Top and Jessica Rabbit.”

  “Who wouldn’t want to have a love child with Jessica Rabbit?” he says, laughing.

  “Oh, you think that’s funny? Well, it gets a lot worse,” I warn.

  I go in the house and bring out my bridesmaid outfit. I hold the teal sari against my chest.

  “Check out this color combo,” I say.

  “Very nice,” Brett offers.

  “Nice? I look like the Little Mermaid!”

  “You’ll look beautiful, no matter what. Besides,” he continues, “every guy thinks the Little Mermaid is hot.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Oh yeah,” he says with a smirk. “Ariel is definitely the hottest Disney princess. Long red hair, seashell bikini top, rocking bod. Can’t go wrong. I can almost guarantee that when a straight guy watches The Little Mermaid, he gets a semi.”

  “Eww! That’s disgusting!” I cry, although I’m laughing. And, secretly a bit thrilled that he’s just shared this interesting (and bizarre) insight into the male psyche.

  “I always had a thing for Dimitri from Anastasia,” I admit.

  “I have no idea of who that is.”

  “It’s Disney!”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Oh, never mind,” I mutter.

  “No, no! I told you mine, now you tell me yours.”

  “Well, Dimitri could dance well, and had really cool hair,” I explain in a rush, my cheeks flushing.

  “You’re so weird.” He’s laughing.

  “Right back at you.”

  His expression turns serious for a moment. Long, calloused fingers brush over my cheek. I can’t help but lean into them.

  “We’re a real pair, aren’t we?” he murmurs, his bright blue eyes filled with some unknown emotion.

  I’d always thought that Aaron and I were the perfect pair. And yet…

  Maybe I should just tell Brett about Aaron. Just get it over with.

  Brett runs his fingers through my hair, looking at me with an expression that is just so innocent and fragile.

  Oh God, I just can’t.

  I swallow past the lump forming in my throat.

  “Yes. Yes, we are.”

  Chapter 25

  Indian Girl

  “Oh, Sam…” I raise my hands to cover my mouth. “You look so beautiful!”

  Her dark red sari is heavily detailed with gold and intricate embroidery. A large gold hoop hangs from her nose, and is attached by a chain to an earring. Her eyes have been heavily made up, adding to the “exotic beauty queen” look she’s got going on.

  “Thanks,” she replies demurely.

  What will my wedding look like? By comparison, the vision of white I’ve had in my head seems really dull and boring.

  Maybe I’ll convert to Hinduism. I could rock a red sari and nose ring.

  “I mean it. Honestly, you’re glowing!” I say.

  She leans toward a mirror in the hallway and picks off a loose flake of mascara.

  “It’s because of the pithi ceremony,” she says casually, while doing that wide- eyed, gaping expression that every woman seems to do when they’re fixing up their eyes.

  “Pithi?”

  “It’s
a pre-wedding ceremony where the bride and groom have turmeric paste rubbed onto their face, arms, and legs. It signifies being purified and cleansed before matrimony. It’s also really great for your skin, evens out the complexion.”

  She digs up a camera from her purse and shows me several pictures. Sure enough, Samira is smiling back at me from the screen, covered in bright yellow paste. It kind of looks like she’s been in a food fight.

  I stare at her for a moment.

  “So, let me get this straight: family members rub yellow goo on you, while others watch?”

  She giggles. “Yes.”

  “And, you make a hell of a mess in an effort to become clean, metaphorically speaking?”

  “Yes.”

  I survey her radiant, glowing skin.

  “Well, if it would make me look anything like you, I’ll go for it.”

  Nita bustles into the hallway. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

  I turn toward the mirror and smooth my hands over my sari. The hair on its own looked pretty intense, but coupled with my exotic outfit and smoky eyes, it doesn’t look too bad.

  And, thankfully, the fall leaves will provide a colorful backdrop to the wedding photos, so I’m hoping I’ll just camouflage. Stand by a red bush or something.

  Just then, the bathroom door opens. Ravi steps out, newspaper in hand, waving his hand over his nose.

  “I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you.”

  “Ugh! Ravinder!” Nita shrieks, while pinching her nose. “Why didn’t you just use the bathroom downstairs?!”

  He shrugs, trying to look serious, but his mouth hints at a gleeful smile. I’ve never seen a man take so much pleasure in annoying his wife. He tucks his newspaper under his arm and heads toward the garage. “When a man has to go, a man has to go,” he calls over his shoulder.

  “Argh! That man drives me crazy,” Nita moans.

  “Maybe Narayan and I will be like that someday,” Samira jokes.

  Nita rolls her eyes. “Let’s hope not.”

  “How’s your hand?” I ask Samira.

  Sam turns her right hand palm up. “It’s fine. Didn’t end up needing stitches.”

  “That’s good,” I reply.

  Nita ushers in the remaining four bridesmaids and the photographer who’s been documenting us getting ready.

  “Come on, ladies,” Nita says, grabbing Samira’s hand. Her eyes seem to be glistening already. “Let’s go get my little girl married.”

  —

  We pile into a limousine and take off to the river valley for pictures, picking up Narayan and his groomsmen on the way over. It’s a squishy fit, to say the least. And, unfortunately, I can’t move to sit by Brett.

  He’s Narayan’s best man. And, if I might say so, looks quite dashing in his pale gold tunic thing. It’s long, about mid-thigh length, and has embroidery around the neckline.

  It’s quite pretty, actually, and looks very comfy.

  “What do you call that?” I whisper to Emmie, Samira’s “other best friend.”

  I don’t want to be jealous, but I can’t help it. I’ve always felt a bit competitive with her. She’s half Indian, and related to Ravi’s side of the family. She and Samira grew up together, and are second cousins or something.

  It’s hard enough that I’m always vying for the title of “best friend” with her, but she’s a real snot. I’d rather talk to anyone else, but unfortunately I’m squished between her and a stranger, so my choices are limited.

  “What?” she snaps. She’s wearing an orange sari and a bright pink silk scarf. I hate orange. It seems fitting that she’d be the one wearing that today.

  “What the guys are wearing? You know, those tunic things.”

  Emmie rolls her eyes. “They’re called kurta pajamas.”

  I stifle a giggle. “They’re wearing pajamas?”

  She sits up a bit straighter, and sticks her nose in the air.

  “It’s not funny. It’s a cultural expression.”

  I nod understanding, but the fact that I’m pissing her off sends me into a fit of laughter. A few people look curiously at me, including Brett.

  I suggestively wiggle my eyebrows at him, and mouth the words, “You. Look. Hot.”

  Which one of the other groomsmen thinks is meant for him, and sends me a much too friendly smile back.

  Crap.

  Real smooth, Sophie.

  Once we reach the river valley, everyone scrambles to get outside. I take a deep breath of the warm, rich air. Clumps of yellow, orange, red, and purple dot the valley slopes. No matter where we take pictures, they’re going to be amazing.

  I’m standing outside the limo, and watch as Emmie makes an ungraceful exit and wobbles on her sky-high heels. Brett, who is standing beside her, reaches over and saves her from falling.

  She takes a deep breath in, her gaze sweeping over him, as if assessing whether her rescuer deserves the time of day. Apparently, he must “pass,” because a second later I swear I catch her fluttering her eyelashes at him, and giggling like a loon.

  And, cue the green-eyed monster.

  Okay, play it cool, Sophie.

  Play. It. Cool.

  I walk up to Brett, giving him my most seductive smile.

  “Hey, baby,” I coo, while planting a possessive kiss on his lips.

  The look he gives me in return makes my knees knock and my pulse quicken.

  Emmie? Emmie who?

  “Oh…” she sneers. “She’s with you?”

  Brett gives me his megawatt grin. “Yup.”

  —

  The wedding goes off without a hitch.

  Samira and Narayan decided to combine North American and Indian customs into the ceremony. I was familiar with things like exchanging rings, the “speak now or forever hold your peace” bits, exchanging vows, blah blah blah.

  But other things were less familiar.

  Like Samira and Narayan walking around candles seven times, and pouring water over each other’s head.

  At one point, they both held a coconut.

  I still have no idea what that was all about.

  —

  The ceremony space was quickly converted into a dance space, and it didn’t take long before the wine started flowing and the bass started pumping.

  I’m leaning against the bar, waiting for my drink order, when Samira and Brett walk up to me.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Kapoor,” I say.

  “Ugh, that makes me sound like such an old married lady.”

  “Yup. Old Balls Kapoor is what they’ll call you. Better get out your elastic waist pants and knitting needles.”

  She rolls her eyes and gestures toward the dance floor.

  “Get out there and dance. You can’t stand back here drinking all night.”

  “I highly disagree,” I say with a smirk.

  Just then a new song comes on, and for once it’s one that I know. I’ve heard Nita crank it at her house a million, bazillion times. I bet she’s out there somewhere, screaming out the lyrics. Thank God the volume is turned up in here.

  I excitedly jump around. “Come on, Brett! Let’s bhangra!”

  His eyes open wide. “Bang who?”

  “No, no,” I giggle. “Bhangra. It’s an Indian folk dance. Nita showed me how years ago. Come on, I’ll teach you!”

  Brett reaches his arms around me and roughly rubs my shoulders.

  “Argh, I hate dancing in public.”

  “Please?” I beg, giving him my best sad-puppy-dog expression.

  He sighs, stifling a smile.

  “Okay, fine,” he says. He runs a finger down my neck and toys with a loose scarlet tendril.

  “I’d do anything for you, Red.”

  I’m frozen. Seconds pass, and at some point, my brain reminds me that my lungs are burning and need air.

  I look at Samira. She seems frozen too. I don’t even think she’s blinking.

  “What?” he asks nervously. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Like
coming out of a coma, I swim toward the surface and forcibly shake off the shock of hearing Aaron’s nickname for me pass through Brett’s lips.

  “No!” Samira and I say in unison.

  Brett gives us an odd look, like he’s trying to figure us out.

  Ha. Good luck with that.

  He grins and juts his chin toward the dance floor.

  “Okay then. Let’s go bang away.”

  —

  I’d figured that after nearly half an hour of throwing myself into angry bhangra punch dancing (which I’ve mentally called “anger bang”), I’d feel better.

  Turns out, I don’t.

  And, I now have an entourage of teenage boys following me around, asking me to teach them how to dance “weird” like that.

  I feel Brett’s hand slip into mine. His expression is so happy, it nearly breaks my heart. I’m nowhere close to feeling happy at the moment.

  “Come meet my parents,” he yells over the music.

  “They’re here?”

  “Yeah, they’ve just arrived. They had plans earlier this evening and could only come to the dance.”

  Hmm.

  Do I want to meet Brett’s parents? Mine are around here too, somewhere. Do I have to introduce my parents to his?

  Well, it’s not like I have much choice. I’m his girlfriend, after all. Saying “Umm, no thanks, I’ll pass” isn’t exactly an option.

  That is, unless I want to look like a total douche.

  Which I don’t.

  “Sure,” I say. “Where are they?”

  —

  Turns out, Bob and Linda Nicholson are very, very nice. Down-to-earth, funny, polite, etc. The perfect future in-laws.

  A sweeping sense of panic threatens to overwhelm me as I consider just how deep I’m in with Brett. I’ve more or less agreed to “wait” until marriage, which pretty much implies that I’m going to marry him someday.

  How can I do that when part of me is still in love with Aaron?

  I suddenly become aware that Brett is leading me toward the dance floor.

  How long have I been in my own little melancholy world? I hope I didn’t embarrass him in front of his parents by not answering a question or something.

  “Oh yes, this is Sophie. She’s a bit slow.”

  He pulls me in close, and we slow-dance around the perimeter of the crowd. He looks sweaty from dancing, and his hair is a bit mussed. Very sexy.

  “Thanks for meeting my parents. That meant a lot to me, Soph,” he says, looking into my eyes. His voice is so deep and melodic, I have to resist the urge to lay my head on his chest and let his words lull me to sleep. Anything to make my mind shut off for a while.