Sister of the Bollywood Bride

by Nandini Bajpai

  When we pulled up to the house, Dad was outside walking Yogi. That was so an excuse to talk to Vir—he never takes the dog out after ten at night. May as well get it over with! OMG, did Dad have to wear his high-waisted dad jeans and those horrible shiny white sneakers?

  “Dad, this is Vir,” I said.

  “We met at the car show!” Dad said.

  “Nice to see you again, sir,” Vir said.

  “Nice car,” Dad said.

  “Thanks,” Vir said. “I love your vintage Esprit too.”

  “Not vintage, exactly,” Dad said. “It’s too old to be new and too young to be vintage. Want to take it for a drive?”

  “Sure,” Vir said. And with that, they both vanished into the garage, which Dad had STILL not cleaned despite his promises. Way to go, Dad. Show Vir the messiest part of our house the first time he visits. I stomped into the house with the (also abandoned) dog. Ten minutes later I heard the vroom of the Lotus backing out.

  It was another ten minutes before they were back, and though Dad parked the car and went into the house immediately, to his credit, it still felt like he was around.

  “Thanks, Vir. I had a great time!” I took a page from Vir’s playbook and gave him a firm handshake.

  “Me too,” he said, and gave me a rueful grin and a cheery wave before driving off.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Three weeks to the wedding and my checklist was looking excellent!

  Vinnie and Manish had managed to get their license while they were in the state, and Vinnie had hired the bartenders, gone over the wine list, paid for an alcohol license from the town of Fellsway, and organized a bus to transport the out-of-state guests from the hotel to River Bend.

  She got it all done online or by phone while getting through her first month of residency—my sister is a champion. And the RSVPs were piling up. There were a few people who hadn’t responded, but the majority had checked in.

  Work was fine. I had my AP Studio Art and original artwork back and I scored a 5! I’d even added a few pieces to my portfolio—and I’d made progress on my personal essay for college apps (it’s never too early to start, as per Dad, Vinnie, and Vir).

  Speaking of Vir… things were going really, really well! Dad and he hit it off, apparently. Why was I surprised? Vir was just the Nova-watching, technology-loving MIT geek type Dad would approve of. And he knew an astounding amount of stuff about cars. When I stressed about Dad working late and paying no attention to the wedding preparations, Vir defended him and went on about Dad’s start-up, and how close they were to getting Intel Capital in the bag as far as funding was concerned. It was a little weird how they had clicked.

  “In fact, I might intern with them next summer,” Vir said. “If they haven’t crashed and burned by then.”

  “That’s reassuring,” I said.

  “I think they’ll be fine,” Vir said. “That’s my assessment. If the economy doesn’t tank and no competing technologies emerge, they’ll do all right.”

  “He’s so tightfisted about the wedding,” I fretted.

  “He doesn’t want to jeopardize your college fund—it took him a decade as a corporate drone to build it up.”

  “So, you’re defending him?” I asked.

  “I’m explaining his point of view,” Vir said.

  “Hey, what’s your dad like?” I asked.

  “He’s… fine,” Vir said.

  “Uh-huh,” I said.

  “Actually, he’s a genius in his field.”

  “Really?” I said, trying and failing to imagine a genius in the field of farm equipment. “How?”

  “It’s too boring to talk about,” Vir said. “Wanna get lunch?”

  I saw him nearly every day while walking Yogi—and that dog was such a strong swimmer now, he was fetching sticks with the Labradors!

  We hung out with Shayla, and Rachel, and everyone at Panera Bread (half my AP class was working there that summer). I took him to Westbury High School even though school was out. WHS was brand-new—well, nearly four years old. We were the lucky class that got to start freshman year in the new building.

  “It’s awesome,” Vir said. “I can’t get over how this is a government school, and it’s so amazing. It’s at least as nice as Nobles.”

  Government school? That was funny!

  “It’s called a public school,” I said.

  “Public school in England means an exclusive private school,” Vir said. “Like Eton, where my mum wanted me to go.”

  “Why didn’t you go there, then?”

  “Dad went to Mayo in India, so I did too,” he said. “That way we will always have that connection, see?”

  “I get it,” I said. “I like that Mom had a role in the new Westbury High even though she never saw it finished.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  I glanced around the familiar campus. It looked so deserted and peaceful in summer, not teeming with people as it usually was.

  “I’ll show you,” I said, and grabbed his hand. “Follow me.”

  The front doors to the school were open because of the summer camp—I steered Vir through the lobby into the quad, the heart of the school. It was surrounded on three sides by the main building, and the back was open to the town lake.

  “Okay, we’re here,” I said, and took a deep breath and pointed. “Look down there.”

  The brick pathway was made up of carved bricks with names, dates, and messages. “What is this?” Vir asked.

  “Commemorative bricks,” I said. “When they were building the school, you could buy a brick for a hundred bucks and put a message on it. Dad bought five bricks, one for each decade of her life, even though the last decade wasn’t finished.”

  “For your mom?” Vir asked.

  “Yes,” I said. Usually, I walked the other way during school and only came here alone—when I stayed late at school for something, or on the weekend—never when crowds of people were stomping all over the path. “Look—it’s these five bricks,” I said. “So this entire section of the pathway is in memory of my mom.”

  “This one is yours.” Vir knelt down and touched it with his fingers. “How come it says Mini and not Padmini?”

  “Because I was ten, and no one called me Padmini.” I sat down cross-legged on the grass by the pathway. “It didn’t feel right to Dad, it didn’t feel right to me—so we stuck with Mini. And I insisted we put Yogi on my brick too.”

  “That’s cool,” Vir said. “And it’s such a beautiful spot too.” He looked over to the town lake.

  “Yeah,” I said. “We don’t have a gravestone to lay flowers on, like other families, so I put them here sometimes. Just a single flower, but it makes me feel close to her.”

  “Let me guess—she spent a lot of time helping out at the school?”

  “She did—even volunteered while she was ill,” I said. “Lots of people didn’t want to raise taxes to build a new school, but the old one was totally falling apart, and it would have cost nearly as much to fix it. Mom was really into spreading the word, convincing people, getting the vote out—you know.”

  “Did she know how it would look when it was done?” Vir asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “She saw the plans. She knew what it would be like, and that even though Vinnie would have graduated, it would be finished in time for my class.”

  Vir slung an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in for a long hug.

  “What was your school like?” I asked him. “The one in India?”

  “Mayo College?” he asked. “It was really regimented—uniforms, strict rules, divided into houses—very old-school. But I loved the campus. It’s full of historic buildings—the first students were maharajahs, you know, and they each built their own house just for them and lived there with a whole bunch of servants. That’s why the architecture is so interesting and each schoolhouse is named for a princely state… Jaipur, Jodhpur, Ajmer… But what I liked best was the horses.”

  “You had horses o
n campus?” I asked.

  “Yeah, fifty horses,” Vir said. “We had a great polo team—I was captain, actually. I still miss my horse, Sultan. He was the best.”

  “You know, I think my grandfather went to school there,” I said, an old memory surfacing. “My Nanaji, Mom’s dad. It’s in Ajmer, right? We’re Rajput on my mother’s side.”

  “He’s a Mayoite?” he said. “That’s a random connection! Hey, my mom wants to meet you—tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

  “What!” I said, totally panicking. “I mean, yes, of course, I’d like to meet her. But what if she doesn’t like me, or something?”

  Vir smiled. “She’ll love you.”

  Behind him I could see a bunch of kids canoeing in the lake—and pointing at us. I went red.

  “I’m not comfortable with public displays of affection, Vir Chabra,” I said, pulling away.

  He frowned slightly. “What did you call me?”

  “Vir Chabra,” I said. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

  “It sounds nice,” he said, grinning. “But I use my dad’s last name.”

  “Oh, that explains why nothing showed up on Google,” I said. “Only some pediatrician in Texas and a guy in Jabalpur who collects pool tables.”

  “You Googled me?” Vir raised an eyebrow. The warmth died slowly out of his eyes—weird. In fact, he looked kind of worried.

  “Standard procedure according to my friend Shayla,” I said. Why was he so surprised that I’d Googled him? “So, what’s your Facebook handle?”

  Vir ran his hand through his hair. “You know what? This might sound weird, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to Google myself to see what’s out there before I tell you,” he said. “Who knows what crap’s up on Facebook? I hate all these social networking sites.”

  Okay, maybe he thought I was coming on too strong? Being all sneaky and stalkerish or something? This was awkward!

  “Look, whatever-your-name-is,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’m on Facebook as Padmini Lata Kapoor. Feel free to friend me whenever you want. I won’t Google you or anything until you do.”

  “Promise?” He smiled.

  “Totally!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  When Vir called and asked if it was okay to meet his mom today, I was covered in mud, sweat, and hot wax.

  There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.

  Vinnie and Shoma Aunty had put their heads together and come up with some complicated floral centerpiece. It was a tall glass column vase filled with water, with colored pebbles at the bottom, submerged orchids in the middle, and floating candles on top. Given a choice, Vinnie always preferred the simplest of floral arrangements, so I was dumbstruck that she wanted this thing, but she’d seen it at a friend’s wedding and had fallen in love with the look.

  Arrgh! Thanks for the inspiration, Mark and Hannah Richelt! I bet you had a big extended family and/or a well-paid florist to put these things together, but sadly for us, it was going to be me and my dad fussing around with candles and orchids the day of Vinnie’s wedding!

  What, I ask you, was wrong with those gorgeous Moroccan lanterns that Shoma Aunty had offered to loan us?

  Anyway, back to the centerpieces. I was nervous about meeting Vir’s mom, so I decided to try the arrangements that morning, just to stay busy. I didn’t have anything as exotic as orchids on hand, but I got some hydrangeas from the garden and dug up some regular pebbles (literally, hence the mud) and some Yankee Candle tea lights.

  Surprise! It only took ten minutes to fill up our biggest vase with water, throw in the rinsed pebbles and the cut flowers, and float some lighted tea lights on top. I did get some hot wax on me trying to position the tea lights, but OMG, it looked fabulous! No wonder Vinnie was going on about it. I took a bunch of pictures and emailed them off to her. I might still need her girlfriends’ help, but it wouldn’t take long to put them together—whew.

  The phone rang. “Vinnie, did you see the pictures?” I said. I might have looked like a hot mess, but the pictures were excellent!

  “No,” said Vir. “It’s not Vinnie—sorry!”

  “Hey.” I tucked a sweaty hank of hair behind one ear. “What’s up?”

  “You free now?” he said. “Mom wants to meet you. I can come get you in an hour if it’s okay.”

  “In an hour?” I cast a panicked look at myself in the mirror across the hall. “How about an hour and a half? I’ve been in the garden, and it was crazy hot. Let me get showered and changed!”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be there.”

  “She won’t eat you!” Vir said bracingly. “Stop hyperventilating!”

  We drove up the long drive to the Georgian-style building at the top of the hill—the dean’s residence.

  “She sounds so intimidating,” I said. “What if she hates me!”

  “My mom? Intimidating?” Vir looked genuinely puzzled. “No way. Wait till you meet the rest of my family!”

  I didn’t point out that he still hadn’t said anything about his dad or the rest of his family. But taking the high road was killing me.

  Vir’s mom was waiting outside, with an incredibly fat and fluffy cat by her side. I recognized him as the creature Yogi had chased up the hill the day I first met Vir.

  “Mom, this is Mini,” Vir said. “And this lazy thing is Roshan.” Vir’s mother didn’t look intimidating, actually. She had a curly mop of salt-and-pepper hair, and a sweet smile, and a rather stylish dress, in an academic sort of way. She held out both her hands to me. “It’s great to meet you, Mini!” she said.

  “It’s great to meet you too,” I said.

  “Let’s go on the terrace and we’ll have some tea,” she said, and opened the door for me, her pearl earrings swinging prettily. Roshan the cat followed us, rubbing up against Vir’s sandal-clad ankles.

  “You’re so pretty,” Mrs. Chabra said. Or was that Ms. Chabra? I was wearing something resembling my math tutor outfits. Skinny jeans, white cotton top with pretty eyelet lace—basic but cute. “I told Vir you were, the first time I saw you.”

  “When was that?” I asked. I didn’t recall meeting her before.

  “When your dog had the run-in with Roshan here,” she said.

  “I’m so sorry about that,” I said. “Yogi hasn’t been around too many cats and—”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “You did us a favor!”

  “How d’you mean?” I asked, mystified.

  “Vir had just gotten here from India, and he was so jet-lagged he was sleeping till noon every day,” she explained. “But after he saw you that morning, he started getting up and shaving and jogging around the lake at the crack of dawn.”

  “He did?” I gasped. “He did not!”

  “Mum,” Vir said, red in the face. So it was true? I’d never in a million years have guessed! And he had played it so cool, just smiling briefly if I did run into him.

  “Yes he did,” she said. “And then he’d say ‘I saw the girl with the dog today’—and smile till evening.”

  “I’m not sure I believe it,” I said, stunned.

  “And I love your dog,” she said. “He has such an ancient silhouette, like he stepped out of an Egyptian frieze!”

  “Doesn’t he?” I said. “Like Anubis! The Romans had dogs like him too. I went to the Pompeii exhibit last year at the Museum of Science and saw a picture of the Cave Canem mosaic. It’s a sign with a picture of a dog just like Yogi and it means—”

  “Beware of Dog,” she finished. “I know it. He’s very classical.”

  I was starting to like Vir’s mom more and more. And yet, I was still nervous.

  “Roshan is adorable,” I said. “Can I pick him up?”

  “Please! He loves attention!” she said.

  It’s absolutely impossible to be nervous with a purring cat in your lap, so I managed to relax after that—I so owe that cat.

  We talked about school, university, and politics in India and the US. Thanks to having to share
a TV remote with my dad, I was pretty well informed.

  “I heard your older sister is getting married. Congratulations!” Vir’s mom said. “How’s the wedding planning going?”

  “It’s going,” I said. “We have a tight budget, but I think we’ve managed to plan things the way Vinnie would want. She wants a small and pretty outdoor wedding, so that’s what we’ve organized. Except for the janvasam, which is going to be in the temple, we’re sticking to a Punjabi-style wedding.”

  “Your mother would like that, right?” she said.

  “Yes,” I said. “I think she would.”

  “It’s not important to have a flashy wedding,” she said. “It’s important to make sure the people getting married are well matched.” She smiled ruefully. “I should know!”

  “Well, we’re trusting Vinnie on that one,” I said. “But they seem happy!”

  “That’s great!” she said. “Vir says you have real artistic talent, and that you like design, but you’re not applying to any design programs—why’s that?” That was completely out of left field.

  “Er… I’m not really that good,” I said.

  “I’ve seen your Etsy shop—you’re good,” she said. “What else?”

  I shut my mouth and gulped. She had seen my Etsy shop? Not even my Masi had seen that!

  “Okay,” I said. “My dad wants me to get a”—I made air quotes—“‘proper college education.’”

  “What’s improper about art?” she asked. “If that’s your career of choice?”

  “He wants me to have a more comprehensive education,” I said. “Something that will ensure I’m gainfully employed. And to be honest, I’d rather stay close to home. My older sister is already going to be in Chicago for another four years. I don’t want to leave Dad and Yogi and go off to New York!”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” she said. “But have you thought about RISD?”

  “I have! And that’s the best option, close to home,” I said. “But even if I get in—which is super hard—Dad will say design isn’t enough. That I should expand my horizons, learn from the accumulated wisdom of humankind, get some marketable skills so I can actually support myself. Like RISD doesn’t have a stellar placement record for their design grads!”