“I can fix it, you know,” Vir said. “Bit of wood glue, and some screws and splints—piece of cake.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. We picked up the pieces together and put them into my easel carry case. “It won’t look exactly the same, but it’ll stand, I promise.”
I kind of believed it would.
Chapter Sixteen
Vinnie never sent the email to her bridesmaids about the saris.
She had a whole week of double shifts—what were they trying to do? Turn her into a physician, or kill her?—but I had the names and addresses from the guest list so I called and emailed until they were all on board. Except for Nahid, one of Vinnie’s medical school friends who was a resident at MGH now, who didn’t love it but said she’d wear it anyway, they all approved of the sari we liked—a wine-red silk with a thin gold border—and they insisted on paying for them. In a week, the saris had arrived, and most of them came over to be fitted for blouses.
The good thing about custom blouses was each girl could pick a design that suited her. Someone wanted spaghetti straps, others cap sleeves or a simple sleeveless blouse. I was happy to give them the cut they wanted—but it took a big chunk of time out of my summer, even if I did one or two a week.
I was especially psyched when Nahid, the one who didn’t like the sari at first, said she liked how she looked in it.
“I was just afraid of all that material, you know,” she said. “Ammi tried to teach me how to drape it but I’ve never gotten the hang of it. Just don’t expect me to wear it on my own!”
“It’s easy,” I said. “If we pin the pleats at the right spot for each of you, and you practice a bit—you’ll get it. But you don’t have to. I’ll help you the day of the wedding.”
“I’ll give it a try…,” Nahid said. “I’m turning, I’m tucking, I’m flinging—okay—how does it look?”
Success! With some practice, they were all getting the sari on themselves. Whew! For a minute I thought we’d have to buy these Eazy Pleats magnetic clips they kept advertising on the bridesmaids’ sari websites I’d been frequenting! Can you believe such a thing exists? Honestly, you should be able to make a pleat on your own—especially if you actually own a sari to practice on. They teach you to fanfold in kindergarten, for heaven’s sake. Still, I admit, I had to send Vinnie a link. Let’s face it—she never got the fanfold thing in kindergarten either.
The caller ID said Private but it was Vir.
“Hey,” he said. “You haven’t been to the lake lately. What’s up?”
His voice sounded so close, so deep. “I’ve been busy with the bridesmaids’ outfits—for the wedding.”
“You’re making them yourself?” he asked.
“Just the blouses,” I said. “I’m nearly done. Just two left to complete, but the girls they are for are out of state, so it’ll have to wait. When they get here I can do an in-person fitting and finish up.”
“Have you been painting at all?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “No time!”
“Come over to the lake and finish that painting,” Vir said. “I promise I’ll keep a watch out for the poodle. I’ll even walk Yogi while you’re working so he isn’t bored.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Really,” he said. “Your easel is nearly done—the glue still needs to dry, though, and I don’t want to rush it.”
I felt a warm rush of gratitude for him for taking the trouble to fix it.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you in a bit!”
All my good clothes were in the laundry—but I didn’t want to be dressed up today. I was too tired to make the effort and it was hot, hot, HOT. It was time I stopped worrying about what I wore around Vir, anyway.
I dragged on a paint-covered T-shirt and a pair of Vinnie’s old volleyball shorts and turned over the waistband so they wouldn’t slide off—which made them even shorter. They said WESTBURY across the butt, but it was ninety degrees out—at least I’d be cool.
I didn’t have my easel back yet anyway, so I left the paints behind. I wanted to get in a sketch of the Fellsway campus from across the lake—charcoals would do. Vir had said he’d meet us by the topiary garden, so I found a shady spot where a low stone ledge ran along the edge of the water. If I sat on the ledge I was practically invisible to anyone walking along the path, and I could take off my shoes and dangle my bare feet in the cool, clean water of the lake. I planted myself there and opened my sketchpad.
After a peaceful half hour getting some stellar sketches done, I heard footsteps coming my way. Vir! I peered over the edge of the wall just as he walked up to me. But why was he carrying a towel?
“Hey!” he said. “Nice spot!”
My heart rate escalated to the point of being audible, or so it seemed. I took a deep breath.
“It’s cooler here,” I said, and held up my hands to frame the scene I was trying to capture. “And the perfect vantage point.”
“Yes, it is,” he said, and pulled off his shirt to reveal an impressively firm and muscled torso—and caused my heart rate to go from highly escalated to practically flatline.
What was he doing?
He climbed down to the ledge and took off his shoes. Then he sat down next to me and dangled his feet in the water—while I concentrated on not being asphyxiated from the proximity to his extremely attractive and also half-naked self.
“Not bad,” he said, talking about the water temperature, apparently, and waded into the lake, leaving the towel and a pile of his clothes and shoes next to me. “I’m going for a swim.”
I took a gulp of air. “Are you sure the water’s clean?” I asked.
He just laughed and dived deep. He came up ten feet out and clawed away from the edge of the lake with long, muscled arms. The water rippled away from him in circles.
Yogi waded in after him. The water at the edge only came up to his chest. That was as far as he usually went.
Vir treaded water and waved at Yogi. “Come on, Yogi!”
I jumped up. “Vir—no!”
“No?” he asked. “Why not?”
All the nerves I’d felt earlier vanished. “He doesn’t swim. I mean, only if his life depends on it. He fell in once where it was deep and sank out of sight! I thought he was going to drown, but he managed to paddle back. But it kind of put him off the whole thing.”
Vir had swum back while I’d been talking.
“Hey, chill!” he said, wading out of the lake, his wet hair plastered to his neck. “He just needs someone to swim with him. That way he’ll feel safe.”
“Well, I can’t take him to the pool,” I said. “Most beaches on the Cape don’t allow dogs in the summer. And I refuse to get into this water. It’s probably full of germs… and fish poop.”
He laughed. “I swam in the Ganga a few months ago,” he said. “In Haridwar.” He said Ganga, not Ganges, and he pronounced it right. “This looks like drinking water after that. Let Yogi try.… Maybe he’ll swim with me.”
I wasn’t sure a dog as old as Yogi could learn to swim.
“Come on, Yogi,” Vir said. He grabbed a stick floating a little way out and threw it farther. “See the stick? Go get it!”
“No.” I dumped my notepad and pulled off my shoes. “What if he’s forgotten how to swim?”
I waded out until I was next to Vir, fish poop be damned, but he grabbed my hand to stop me from going farther. “He’s doing fine,” he said quietly, “see?”
Yogi was paddling back with the stick clamped between his teeth, looking pleased with himself.
“Yogi! Good dog!” I was so proud I was skipping around in the water. “Good, good dog!” He climbed onto the ledge, dropped the stick, and shook himself—spraying us with lake water.
Vir handed me the stick. “You throw it,” he said.
I flung the stick out and Yogi went right after it again. He really had lost his fear of swimming.
“This is great!” I said. Then promptly lost my
footing and slid sideways in sickening slow motion until I slammed into Vir. “Ooops,” I said, grabbing his arm to steady myself, “I’m so sorry.”
“Can you swim, by the way?” he said. “Or do you need instruction? Because I’m kind of good at this, I think.”
He had his arm around my waist and I was inches from his chest. “I can stay afloat,” I said with dignity.
He set me on my feet at arm’s length and looked me over with a silly grin on his face.
“Excuse me,” I said, outraged. “Are you, like, checking me out?”
“Of course!” He grinned wider. “You’re pretty.”
“That’s”—I grasped for words—“that’s just messed up. How can you be so obvious? What would your mom say?” I waved an arm toward the house in the background.
“She’d be fine with it,” he said. “See, the thing is, you can check me out too.”
He struck a pose with both biceps flexed for a second and looked at me challengingly. “Well?”
The whole thing was stupid enough to make me laugh.
“You know,” I said suddenly, “I thought Vinnie would marry someone like you”—I flexed my own arm—“all ripped, and buff, and sarcastic.”
“Careful.” He steadied me as I started to slip. “And do I detect some disapproval of Manish? He isn’t perfect like me, I take it?”
“You’re not perfect!” I said. “And he’s great, he really is. I just thought you’re the type she’d go for, but instead she fell for him. I mean, he’s really, really nice, and he is so funny as well, but he’s also… not a big dog person, and musical, and not into soccer, and…”
“So… what’s your type?” From his tone I could tell he wasn’t kidding around anymore.
“I don’t know,” I said. The sun had gone behind a cloud, and a drizzle had started. The waist-deep water around us was dancing with raindrops.
He still had both hands on my arms. Which were goose-bumping, and not exactly from the rain.
“How about ripped, and buff, and sarcastic?” he suggested softly.
It felt like my heart was pounding in my ears. I was dimly aware that he was waiting for an answer, but I just stared at him. Behind him, Yogi was sitting on the ledge and chewing on his stick.
“I like you, Mini,” Vir said. “A lot.”
He looked so vulnerable. Something inside me melted, like a marshmallow in hot chocolate.
“I…” I could feel a shy smile coming over my face. “I like you too, Vir.”
He took a step toward me and put an arm around my shoulders, which I’m really positive would have felt great, probably, but the momentum of it pitched us both into the lake.
“Oh, no!” I tried to get up, but the rocks were slippery beneath my bare feet. He fell too, and when we helped each other up we were both laughing like idiots.
We got out and sat on the stone bench, the towel around us both and Yogi next to me, damp and reeking of wet dog fur. There was no need for the towel, really, since the summer sun was beating down again by then, but it felt nice to cuddle. We made plans to see a movie on Thursday after my Ace shift. And we didn’t talk about Vinnie’s wedding again. Not even once.
Chapter Seventeen
“You’re looking sharp today, Mini,” Sonal said. “What’s going on?”
I smoothed down my dress nervously. “Really?” I asked. “It’s not too much?”
It had taken some dedicated sorting through the racks at the Turnabout Shop—which I had to do anyway to catch up my hours—plus my entire staff quota for August to pay off the dress. It was a cute-as-a-button navy-blue dress, and it looked great with the red ballet flats I scored last month. It had also taken Rachel an hour—I so owed that girl—to work my hair into long, loose waves.
“No, no, your dress is very pretty,” Preet said, before asking pointedly, “Are you going out with… friends?”
Honestly, I was having Vir pick me up at work so Dad wouldn’t cross-examine me, but the Ace moms were even worse than him.
“Yeah,” I said.
“What’s his name?” asked Sonal.
“Vir…” I stopped because (a) she had tricked me into admitting I was going out with a guy, and (b) I wasn’t sure what Vir’s last name was. It had to be Chabra, right? “Vir Chabra.”
“Nice name,” Preet said. “Punjabi too.”
“Really?” I said. “I didn’t know Chabra was Punjabi.”
“Yes,” Sonal said. “Are you going to see a movie?”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“Is that him?” Kaveri’s mom peered out of the storefront. A Mirchandani Mirage was pulling up to the curb.
“That’s him!” I said. “I better go!”
“No,” Sonal said. “Let him come in. Here, do some paperwork, so you look busy.”
I stared at her as if she had two heads. “Why?”
“So we can see him,” Sonal said. “Do it!”
“Okay,” I said, and sat down at the desk and stared blankly at a fractions work sheet. This was nuts!
Vir got out of the car and scanned the shop fronts, looking for me. He knew I worked at Ace. He spotted the sign and walked to the door.
“Yes?” Sonal said, sounding completely normal. “Can I help you?”
“I was looking for Mini,” Vir said. “Mini Kapoor. She works here?”
“Mini,” Sonal said, deadpan, “there’s someone for you.” I looked up to see Vir standing in the waiting area, knee-high in little kids, with every mom’s eyes on him with unanimous approval. My heart swelled with pride.
He looked awesome in dark-wash jeans, a polo shirt, and leather lace-ups. He had dressed up too.
“Hi, Vir,” I said. “Sorry I wasn’t outside. I had to finish up here.…”
“Take your time,” Vir said.
“Are you and Mini Kapoor going on a date?” Rahul asked. The room erupted in muffled giggling. I was mortified!
“Um… yes,” Vir said. “Are you Rahul?” I had only mentioned Rahul once, but Vir remembered.
“Yes, I am Rahul Singh,” Rahul said solemnly. “Are you good at math?”
“I think so,” Vir said. “I’m starting at engineering school this fall, so I’ll be doing a lot more math. But I love it, so that’s not a problem.”
“What school?” Sonal asked.
“Um… MIT,” Vir said, and there was a murmur of approval from the room.
My face turned red and I widened my eyes at Sonal to back off.
“Mini is very good at math too. She had a perfect score in her SAT math section.”
“I know,” Vir said. “She’s great at a lot of things.”
“What movie are you watching?”
“We haven’t decided yet,” I said.
“You should see Meri Bollywood Wedding, it’s playing in Westborough,” Preet said.
“No!” I said, remembering the Mallu Masi cameo in the movie—I did not want to think about her tonight—and at the same time Vir said, “God, no!”
“Kids these days don’t like Hindi movies, huh?” Preet said.
“I like Koyal Khanna,” Rahul said. “She’s pretty.”
I had to smile at that!
Sonal nodded crisply. “Well, we shouldn’t keep you kids.”
Rahul walked over and opened the door for us.
“Have a good date, Vir and Mini.”
“Thanks, Rahul,” Vir said. “Bye, Sonal, Preet.”
He remembered their names too!
“That kid’s cute,” Vir said as we walked to the car. “So did I pass?”
“What do you mean?” I said, feigning ignorance.
“They were making sure I was worthy,” he said, “of you!”
“Nonsense!” I said, smiling.
It was a good thing he didn’t turn around to see the aunties giving me winks and thumbs-ups through the window.
“Hey, the driver’s seat is on the left!” I said. “Shouldn’t it be on the right in an Indian car?”
“It was
for an American trade show,” Vir said. “I think.” He held the door to the passenger seat open for me, and I climbed in.
“That’s so cool,” I said. “I bet my dad would like to look at it!”
“I’d be happy to show it to him,” Vir said.
“What does your father do, Vir?” I asked as we pulled onto Route 9.
“He… um, he’s into farm equipment,” Vir said.
“Farm equipment?” I asked. What was that—tractors and harvesters and stuff? “In India?”
“Yeah,” Vir said. “The agricultural sector is huge. So, is this movie hall your local hangout or something?” Okay, I got it. He clearly didn’t want to talk about his dad. “You must have gone there all your life.”
“Yeah, I saw my first movie in it when I was… three,” I said. “I had a little booster chair that the movie hall provides for toddlers and an extra-long straw to drink my apple juice with. Vinnie was ten, and she made Mom take us. I don’t really remember it, but Vinnie does. I wish I could remember it, though.…”
“I have something for you,” Vir said. “It’s in the boot. Don’t let me forget to give it to you when I drop you home.”
By boot he meant the trunk, I assume. “What is it?” I asked.
“The easel,” Vir said. “I fixed it.”
He fixed it in a week—seriously? Was there anyone like him in the world?
“Thank you,” I said.
He took his eyes off the road for a second to look into mine. “You’re welcome,” he said.
The movie was awesome, and the ending was sweet. But I was glad of Vir’s shoulder and the wad of tissues I’d brought in my handbag because there were some really sad bits too.
“Thanks for that,” I said. “Hey, maybe next time we should see a Bollywood movie? I know a theater in Westborough that screens all the new releases. Not the one the moms were recommending, something else.”
“Maybe,” he said, but he sounded doubtful. “Some of them are great, but you need to pick carefully. Would you care for some candy floss?”
“Cotton candy?” I said. “Sure!”
I guess I could add Bollywood movies to the list of things Vir didn’t want to talk about.
Sister of the Bollywood Bride Page 12