His expression shifted, lightning-quick, from polite curiosity to surprise. “That isn’t for sale.” He hefted the painting and then carried it around the table. “Apologies. That wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“Please don’t disappoint me.” She followed as he leaned the frame gingerly against the back tent post. “A friend of mine saw that painting about a month ago, and she can’t stop thinking about it. She wanted to buy it then, but the circumstances weren’t right.”
“I have others that are similar.” He walked to the other end of the tent and started flicking through a different set. “Let me show you—”
“Sorry. My friend fell in love with that one the moment she saw it. She has very particular taste.” Marta pulled off her sunglasses. “She works in the Haight-Livingston Museum.”
Marta was sure Dhara could name those long muscles in a man’s back, the strong swooping ones that go from the shoulder to the hollow of the lower spine. They flexed as Gabriel stilled.
“She’d probably kill me if she knew I was here today, spilling her story to a stranger. But I felt compelled.” She softened her voice, not for privacy’s sake, for around them buzzed skateboarders and strollers and weekend joggers, but because she sensed the tension emanating from Gabriel. “It’s a heartbreaking story. About the same time she fell in love with this painting, she broke an engagement. She has been in pieces since.”
He turned to her with eyes full of emotions she couldn’t begin to name. Except for pain. Yes, she recognized that kind of pain.
Marta’s heart did a little lurch.
Oh, Wendy. Now I see.
And she felt a certainty come over her, as if she had just seized the ball during a championship game and could envision the path through centers and forwards to the opposite end of the court. She hadn’t been sure how she’d handle this today, willing, for once in her life, not to make a set of bullet points to guide the conversation. All she knew was that once-bookish little Marta had shot up through the world like a rocket and—because of bad timing and single-minded stupidity—she’d lost one of the best guys the world had to offer.
She didn’t want that to happen to Wendy.
“It’s a strange thing,” she said. “With everything my friend has been going through, she can’t get this painting off her mind.”
Gabriel crossed his arms and swayed a little. “Better not buy it for her then. It’ll just remind her of bad times.”
“On the contrary. It’ll remind her that she made the right decision.”
Moods shifted across his face. He searched some horizon beyond her, some point much farther than the opposite booth. “You’re Marta, aren’t you?”
She flinched.
“I guessed right.”
“Honestly,” she sputtered, “I can neither confirm nor deny—”
“She used to talk about her friends. Kelly, the computer genius. And the doctor, Diana—”
“Dhara.”
“Yes, Dhara.” He changed focus, fixing on her. “Wasn’t hard to figure. The only one of you likely to risk getting into the middle of this was the high-powered Manhattan attorney.”
She dropped her gaze as she felt for the first time in a while an honest little thrill for being pinned as both a successful lawyer and a good friend. “You’re mistaken. This girl, Martha, whoever she is, should know better than to stick her nose into her best friend’s business.”
“Dangerous, that.”
“There may be an exception, though. Like, if she’s hoping to stop one painful decision from turning into two.”
He made a little grunt and tightened his grip on his arms. “Frankly, I’m not convinced selling this painting to you will do any good.”
He crouched down before the painting again. He rubbed his bare neck as his head sank between his shoulders. For a long time he just stared, as close to the painting as a man would come to the face of the woman he wanted very much to kiss.
Lucky, lucky Wendy.
“You know, you’re right.” She took a step away from the table into the bright September sunshine. “I’m not buying it today. It shouldn’t be me who gives her that painting.”
“She won’t take it from me.”
“Maybe not now.”
“I want her to have it.”
“Why don’t you hold it for her until she’s ready to see it again?”
He granted her his profile, tight and infinitely sad. “You really think that time will ever come?”
Marta slipped on her sunglasses, thinking about how long it took to heal a battered heart.
“Give it six months,” she murmured. “Yeah, six months ought to do it.”
These days, Marta’s heart felt like a helium balloon drifting loose in her chest. The experience of Dhara’s wedding ceremony swelled it to an exquisite fullness.
Desh had arrived midday amid a raucous entourage of family and friends. He greeted Dhara’s mother at the entrance to the hall where she blessed him by marking his forehead in red. (Vermillion and turmeric powder, Kelly whispered later, as they stood on the bridal side of the wedding canopy watching the achingly gorgeous couple circle the sacred fires.) Dhara’s father welcomed Desh at the wedding canopy, offering presents before escorting his daughter down the aisle. At the end of the Vedic rituals, the grandparents—stooped and smiling—shuffled down the flower-strewn aisle so the bride and the bridegroom could touch their feet in reverence.
And now, the ceremony over, the photos taken, and the whole reception waiting in the hall for the married couple to make their official appearance, Marta stood by a tall terrace window blinking into the sunlight. She gripped the folds of her organza sari, determined not to use the fabric to dab at the tears that kept threatening the kohl around her eyes.
A tissue appeared in the blurry range of her vision. Marta grasped it and then glanced beyond to Kelly’s teasing wink.
“You wouldn’t know that I’ve been to dozens of weddings.” Marta patted under her eyes. “I mean, I had like eighteen bridesmaid’s dresses. I gave them all to a niece last year.”
“There’s nothing like a Hindu wedding.” Kelly’s jewel-blue sari set off her piled red hair to striking effect. “And this one, particularly so.”
Marta nodded her agreement. This three-day series of ceremonies and parties, the chanting of the Sanskrit, and the whole ritual joining of the families had revealed to her so much that she had never understood. Dhara and Cole’s long, cautious courtship suddenly made sense. Dhara’s battle with Cole’s addiction seemed, in Marta’s estimation, one step closer to heroism. Marta wasn’t about to set her own aunt Fidelia on a hunt for an appropriate bridegroom, but right now, crumpling her soggy tissue, she was filled with new appreciation for Dhara’s leap of faith.
“Desh really is a hottie, isn’t he?” Marta flicked open the latch of her clutch and shoved the soggy tissue within. “In a scholarly, owlish sort of way.”
“He adores her.”
“He’s star-struck. She looks like a goddess.”
“I think that’s the point. Oh God, I want a wedding just like this.”
“Here’s your chance.” Marta caught sight of a young man by a small café table glancing their way. “Ravi is eyeballing you for about the fifteenth time today.”
Kelly scanned the room until she caught Ravi’s eye. She sent him an awkward little wave. “He doesn’t recognize me. I keep looking at my reflection and not recognizing myself.”
“Don’t be silly. He remembers you from the engagement party.”
“He is sort of cute, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is. Now stop grinning and turn around, chica. Give the guy a chance to chase.”
“I don’t know.” Kelly moved to the opposite side of the window, leaning against the frame, so Ravi could see only her back. “Ravi might be a complication right now.”
“What, three guys chasing you is too much for Kelly Palazzo to handle?”
“What’s this about Kelly and three guys?”
Wendy joined them. She looked as fragile as a harem slave, the kohl she must have freshened in the ladies’ room making her brown eyes look enormous. “Don’t disappoint me, Kell. I have my heart set on you and Trey.”
“Up in the air.” Kelly furrowed her brow. “Possible but unlikely.”
“My money’s on Lee Zhao.” Marta jerked her chin in Ravi’s direction. “But I wouldn’t mind another Hindu wedding.”
As Wendy riffled through her purse for what Marta suspected was a cigarette, Marta exchanged a glance with Kelly. Dhara had specifically tasked Marta and Kelly to watch over Wendy during the three days of ceremonies. A wedding so close after the date of Wendy’s own broken plans couldn’t help but bring up difficult emotions. Now Marta searched her heart-weary friend’s fine features for some subtle sign of distress.
“Please, you two.” Wendy rolled her eyes as she pulled out a pack of mints. “Practice a little subtlety, huh?”
“We’re just worried about you.”
“Did you see Dhara? Did you see how she was beaming? You think I would have been beaming at my own wedding?” She ripped open the end of the roll and offered them a mint. “No way. I’d have been vomiting in the planters.”
“Just checking, chica.”
“This is the way a wedding should be. Every day, I’m more sure of that.”
A noise at the other end of the hall caught their attention. The doors swung open to reveal Desh and Dhara, striding in to cheers and congratulations. They’d changed clothes from their gilded reds, and now both Dhara’s gloriously beaded sari and Desh’s long tunic were a pure white. The couple was soon lost in a crowd of well-wishers.
Only when the music filled the room with swirling lights and a rocking beat did the crowd around the couple disperse to rush the dance floor. Through the activity, Marta glimpsed a radiant Dhara ducking as she wove through the dancers toward the three of them clustered by the window. Behind her trailed a tall, grinning Desh, clasping her hand tightly.
“A happy bride,” Wendy stated, “should look like that.”
And she, Kelly, and Wendy—all three of them, all at once—threw their arms wide in welcome.
acknowledgments
Novelists are thought to live solitary lives. That’s pure fiction. Like most of my colleagues, I live in a house full of children, on a street full of good neighbors, and in a working community teeming with fascinating people. My stories could never be written without help and guidance from these dear friends.
The first tip of the hat goes to the Sunday Evening Ladies, my darling critique group, whose insightful opinions are given with a dose of laughter and always make the book better. Thanks, too, to Shobhan Bantwal, a fabulous novelist who reviewed this manuscript with an eye toward Indian culture; to Carol Higgins, former volunteer EMT and current cardiothoracic nurse, who guided me through the thorny thicket of medical issues; and to Tom Donatelli, bon vivant, for nautical advice and raucous dinnertime conversation. Everything I did right is due to them; anything I did wrong is purely my own fault.
I’d also like to raise a huge huzzah to the folks at Grand Central Publishing. The foreign rights staff continues to do a mighty job selling my stories to far shores (and, yes, I’m sure we’ll convince those Frenchmen to stop laughing at my last name, eventually). I marvel at the creativity of the art department, the hard work of the marketing folks, and the energy of the sales staff. Thanks for doing such a wonderful job screaming from the rooftops.
Most of all, I’d like to express my gratitude to Alex Logan, strong advocate and editor extraordinaire. Thanks for adding this filly to your stable.
reading group guide
One Good Friend
Deserves Another
What’s your opinion of these women’s rules for relationships? How many of them have you followed? How many have you broken? Choose Your Own Man.
Make Sure Your Friends Approve.
No One-Night Stands.
Trust Your Instincts.
Never Make the Same Mistake Twice.
After a Breakup, Wait Six Months Before Dating Again.
If you were to write five rules of your own for romantic relationships, what would they be? Do you think these rules are universal, or purely applicable to your own personal experiences? How do they compare with the rules written by others in your reading group?
During the course of this story each woman makes a huge leap of faith. Kelly, when she decides to let Trey back into her life; Dhara, when she decides on an arranged marriage; Wendy, when she determines to end her engagement to Parker; and, finally, Marta, when she decides to stop bullet-pointing her way through life. In your own life, have you ever decided not to follow what would be considered the logical path, and instead “embraced the chaos”? If so, what were the consequences, for better or worse?
All four of these women could be called “straddlers”—that is, they straddle two different worlds, ethnically, culturally, or socioeconomically. Is there anything in your background that can relate to this sense of dislocation?
In the beginning, Kelly is in awe of the privileges and possibilities that growing up in a wealthy family could provide, and only toward the end does she begin to realize the many intangible benefits she received growing up in a hard-working, blue-collar family. Think about your own particularly individual upbringings. What sort of intangible benefits—or detriments—came from your early formative experiences?
Which of the four characters do you relate to most, and why?
Dhara makes, by American standards, a very drastic choice when she allows her parents to arrange a marriage for her. How do you feel about her choice? Do you think it is possible to find happiness in such a union?
If your parents were arranging a marriage for you—or if you were to go speed-dating in search of a date—what sort of easy-to-determine qualities would you look for in a potential mate? How long is your list? What qualities would make your “absolutely not” list?
Kelly makes an enormous leap of faith when she decides to become involved with the man who treated her so terribly, years ago. How do you feel about her decision? Was she right to keep it from her friends? Do you think the relationship between Kelly and Trey could mature into something more lasting?
Marta struggles with issues of emotional intimacy, using sex as the primary vehicle to express her feelings. The pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage have left deep emotional scars. Do you think it is possible that Marta will find someone with whom she’ll feel comfortable enough to finally fall in love? Or could Marta be happier, ultimately, as a single woman?
Wendy arguably has the most difficult breakup in this novel. Does she handle it well? Would you have handled it differently? Is there any gentle way, really, to end a long-term relationship?
Wendy falls for Gabriel quite quickly, and the feelings appear mutual. Is she right to destroy a long-term, well-tested relationship for a sudden, unexpected surge of feeling for a relative stranger? Do you think, considering their disparate backgrounds, that Gabriel and Wendy could have a successful relationship?
Marta wants so very much to be accepted for who she is, but it seems every arena in which she arrives—at home, in high school, in law school, and at a large law firm—she’s the oddball. What is it about her three good friends from college that makes her relax her hypervigilant sense of oddity to finally enjoy some emotional intimacy?
During the time period of this novel, Cole struggles with some very serious demons. Do you feel that Dhara should have postponed the wedding to care for the man who’d been such a huge part of her life for so many years? Or did she make the right decision, making a clean break? If she had stayed with Cole, do you think, ultimately, they would have had a successful marriage?
Trey has some fundamental character flaws that are thwarting his ability to live successfully, both in his romantic and professional life. Do you think, at his age, he will be capable of recognizing these flaws and taking the necessary steps to change his life for the
better?
author’s note
I am a mother of three teenage daughters. They are smart, lovely young women who are the source of all joy—and chaos!—in my life. I didn’t write One Good Friend Deserves Another because I’m considering arranged marriages for them. But I’ll sheepishly confess that the thought has crossed my mind.
I can’t help myself. Like any mother, I feel the possibility of their future pain keenly. I wish I could protect them from heartbreak in the same the way I once protected them from scraped knees, burned fingers, and broken glass. I know that’s impossible. There isn’t a salve in the world that can mend a broken heart.
And I’ve yet to meet a woman who hasn’t experienced one.
Here’s the paradox: When I’m out to dinner with new friends, one of the first questions I ask is how the couple met. We all have our tales. Strange are the circumstances that can lead a German sailor to fall in love with an American college student while they both happen to be abroad in Spain. Or how an engaged woman could abruptly end her wedding plans after bumping into an old boyfriend at a high school reunion. Or how a rugby player could surrender his plans to enter a New York City law school just to follow his girl to the opposite coast. A moment of madness for which this now married woman is profoundly grateful.
All these tenuous connections, odd circumstances, and life-altering risks are precisely what led—improbably, impossibly—to the solid relationships many of my friends and I now cherish. Hearts thrive on chaos, in fiction as in life. What kind of existence would any of us lead, without that glorious unpredictability?
So this mother braces herself for the inevitable. I know my future sons-in-law are out there. I know my girls will eventually find them. Until then, I will do what any mother, and any friend, should do. I will breathe very slowly, keep my counsel until asked, and hope the fates are kind.
For what I really want for my daughters is a chance to experience wonder, joy, love…and to gather some breathtaking stories of their own.
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