Chapter Six
six
Lanie
“Why are you more nervous than me?” Jonah slid his arm over Lanie’s shoulders and she relaxed into him. Her eyes opened as he smiled down at her. “Breathe...you’re not the one due to get married here in nine months. I am.”
“What? I’m great.” Lanie played it off as her heart galloped and wave after wave of nausea crashed in her stomach like a tide. Still, she didn’t think she looked that bad, standing in the mouth of the nave at Our Lady of Divine Grace, her grandmother’s church family for the past twenty-five years. Lanie’s hand gripped the doorjamb, shaking slightly.
A moment before Jonah appeared, Lanie had been practicing the breathing technique her friend Narcisa had given her. But her belly breathing, as Narcisa called it, was less effective when she kept having to move to avoid people as she did it. She’d begun at the house in Les’s room, but time got away from her, necessitating a full-on sprint down the lane in her dress to catch up with her gran and Gemma. Then she’d tried again in the last stall of the ladies’ room, until an obnoxious neighbor—talking with one of Jonah’s cousins about how lovely Gemma looked beside Jonah and how unfortunate her American cousin was—made that room unusable too.
At that point, Lanie moved back outside to perch on the stone bench in the churchyard to catch her breath. She’d promised her grandmother no tears tonight. She had fully intended to make good on that, forgetting that what she’d been dreading about attending Gemma and Jonah’s engagement party was not the happy couple, but everyone else.
The churchyard hideaway proved short-lived anyway as Lanie learned that what Gemma and her grandmother were outrunning in leaving her behind was not time but rain. Lanie barely made it back inside before the downpour began. Which left her standing quietly behind the stained-glass doors separating the vestibule from the nave, precisely where Jonah caught her.
“You mean the wedding isn’t today?” she shot back at him. “Then what’s with all this, then?” Lanie tried to maintain a calm fa?ade, faking it.
Dozens of well-dressed people milled around the sanctuary waiting for the special Vespers service to begin.
“You know this wasn’t us. We didn’t even want an engagement party.”
Lanie leaned away and shot him her most skeptical side-eye.
He chuckled. “Okay, Gem wanted an engagement party, but not all this.”
Lanie’s mouth flattened as an eyebrow rose.
Jonah gave her a full-on belly laugh for that. “Fine, Gem wanted all of this, except for the church portion.”
Now that sounds like Gemma . The ache growing in her chest eased slightly. Chatting normally with Jonah was soothing her anxiety, as it usually did. She suspected he knew it. He always had before.
“But Amma insisted. As soon as I told her and my dad I proposed, the engagement party was a foregone conclusion.”
“I can’t blame them, I guess.” Lanie smiled finally. “You must be the Sri Lankan version of an ‘old maid’ by now.” It felt like all the blood in her body had finally begun returning to its rightful places.
“Hardly, I’m thirty-three. In my prime.” Jonah puffed his chest theatrically.
“False! Aachchi has come and lit a candle for this one every night since he turned twenty-five.” Jonah’s sister, Charitha, walked by with a fruit platter, taking it toward the multipurpose room next door where the buffet would be happening. “She was afraid she would die before she got to see her great-grandchildren.”
Lanie snorted.
“Oy, shut it,” Jonah called after her. “Please ignore Charity, she understands nothing.”
“There he is!”
Both Lanie and Jonah jumped, turning around to find Our Lady’s curate, Father Gary, flagging him down.
“Duty calls?” Lanie lamented the end of their little interlude.
“Apparently. And I should probably find out where my fiancée is too, yeah?”
Lanie challenged herself to find the humor in hearing them call each other that for the umpteenth time in a little over twenty-four hours.
“You’re okay though?”
“Everything is tickety-boo.” She deliberately said it with the amusing awkwardness of any American using British slang.
Jonah shook his head, amused. Lanie pushed the corners of her mouth upward. Her smile lasted long enough for Jonah to head off.
“And please, Dear Lord, shower Your abundant blessings upon our very own Samara Jonah Perera and his charming bride-to-be, Gemma Sade Adu Turner, and their families at this time of great joy...” Father Gary droned.
Lanie surreptitiously lifted her head and opened one eye. A glance to her left and right unsurprisingly revealed a row of heads dipped in solemn prayer with eyes closed as Father Gary spoke. But Jonah winced at the public use of his first name and Gemma did also; she hated anyone using her full name. Lanie suppressed an inappropriate smile at the clearly uncomfortable couple, holding hands beside the parish priest in the center of the church’s small multipurpose room. They were the sole focus of this ad hoc prayer circle.
Jonah, ever the altar boy, caught Lanie out of the corner of his eye. He looked directly at her and made a show of closing his dark eyes, his message coming through loud and clear. But luckily, miracle of miracles, Father Gary finally concluded his expansive blessing.
As heads rose and smiles broke out across the room, Lanie noticed her grandmother’s head remained bowed for a beat longer. But when she rose finally, like clouds parting across her face, the sunniest smile shone through.
“Well then, yes. Thank you for the lovely blessing, Father Gary,” Nishan Perera, Jonah’s dad, intoned in his best baritone-in-the-church-choir voice. Mr. Perera glanced piously around the room at everyone, but Lanie could swear he’d narrowly avoided giving a stretch and a yawn. “Shall we?”
He didn’t have to say it twice. Hands around the room unclasped as the circle broke into disparate groups.
“Hey you!”
Lanie spun to see someone right behind her. “Fatoumata!”
“Wah-gwan, Big Cuz?” Even this Ghanaian’s patois sounded better than anything Lanie could have attempted. Lanie lamented her unskilled tongue yet again.
“How are you?” Lanie threw herself into Fatou’s arms, hugging the woman tightly around the neck.
Even though she was technically Gemma’s best friend, Fatou was one of Lanie’s favorite people in England. Though they would only “like” and comment on each other’s posts on Twitter and Instagram these days, their relationship went back years and it was always as if no time had elapsed whenever they saw each other.
“I’m good, babes,” Fatou said as Lanie released her, restraightening the stylish melon-colored hijab on her head that matched the tan wrap dress, silk drape and sherbet heels she wore.
“You came alone? Where’s Arash?” Lanie asked, looking for Fatou’s dashingly handsome Iranian husband. Lanie stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. She could have used some gratuitous eye candy right about now.
“At work.” Fatou shook her head. “He sent his best wishes tonight. He’ll be coming to the wedding though.”
Lanie nodded, though she knew it was more than that. Arash was far more serious about his religion, about most everything really, than Fatou was. How they’d made that work between them when she was at her wildest was anyone’s guess, but they’d been madly in love and on-again, off-again since university.
“Well, tell him, ‘Lanie said hello and that her offer to be a side chick still stands.’”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, eh?” Fatou laughed, swatting Lanie’s arm. “Besides, he knows I’m the only one allowed a side-piece in our house!”
Lanie giggled until Fatou paused and leaned in. “This was a bit of a shocker.”
So, this was a surprise to Fatou too? Lanie frowned. “You didn’t know about them?”
“Oh.” Fatou put a consoling hand on Lanie’s arm, face solemn.
Lanie bristled a little at yet another sympathetic look but hid it.
“No, babes. They thought they were sneakin’ about, but I knew from the start. ’Cos neither of them is exactly James Bond, innit?” She chuckled. “I just didn’t realize it had gotten this serious.”
Lanie turned to the couple, still standing at the center of the room and fielding congratulations. Composed in a long-sleeved pullover, dress shirt and tie, Jonah looked every bit the mild-mannered, studious barrister he was. Dutifully, he shook every hand and hugged every auntie, uncle and cousin—real or honorary—that pumped his hands, smacked his back or pinched his cheeks.
Meanwhile, standing beside him, looking as gorgeous as ever in her hot pink and black bodycon dress, with sky-high heels that still didn’t put her anywhere near Jonah’s shoulders, Gemma clutched his elbow. Her greenish-brown eyes wandered around the room longingly. But except for a restless leg that tapped to and fro, Gemma was trying hard not to look bored.
They look good together. Lanie felt a stab of guilt for even briefly wishing otherwise.
“So, when’s it your turn, eh?” Fatou asked from Lanie’s side, sounding like another auntie and accompanying it with a good-natured little nudge to the ribs.
“Listen, just ’cuz you snagged yourself a good-looking...” Lanie started to whirl around on Fatou until she caught the woman’s face.
Fatou burst out laughing. “Hoo, you was ready for me, bwoy!” She covered her mouth with her fist and howled, nearly doubling over.
“Har, har. Don’t joke,” Lanie said dryly, shooting Fatou a blink-and-you’d-miss-it pout as she continued laughing. “It’s been rough.”
“I’ll bet. These biddies don’t spare anyone their grief.”
“Would that it was only them,” Lanie lamented.
“For true?” She patted Lanie’s shoulder. “My girl is getting no rest?”
That was the Mona Lisa of understatements. It was more like she was being given no quarter. Thus far, Lanie had fielded three You’re next s, four Don’t worry, sweetheart, your turn will come s, five Ah well, there’s other fish in the sea s, two very kindly proffers of an introduction to some distant American relative and one entertainingly progressive offer of someone’s female cousin.
And if only her sexual orientation hadn’t been so specifically Jonah Perera for so many years, Lanie might have even considered it.
After the final well-wisher had been dealt with and the long receiving line disbanded, the happy couple were finally free. Yet after a brief, chaste kiss on the lips, the couple split too, with Gemma making a beeline to Lanie and Fatou as Jonah sought out food.
“Oy.” Gemma nearly stomped over to them, catching herself before she shouted it out for the whole room to hear. “Ya ’ear ’im give out mi ’hole dam’ government? Shame, see?”
They laughed. It was no secret that Gemma despised her middle name. She was given the full name of ’80s British Nigerian R then a bottle-blonde Barbie named Marissa, who was Gemma’s former coworker at the salon; and Shanice, a friend from primary school, the one with her toddler son and a brand-new “lockdown” baby girl off somewhere with her father.
“I’ll ask Nan to talk to the priest. Just in case.” The words were accompanied by a heavy sigh. “So, you want to see it again?” The group all converged around Gemma, beaming in delight at being the center of all this attention. Not waiting for an answer, she extended her left hand to show off her big sparkling rock of an engagement ring. The way it caught the light could have blinded someone. “I still can’t believe it!” she squealed, her decibel level ever increasing. “I’m getting married!”
Lanie fought to stop rolling her eyes at the subsequent fawning. It seemed like Gemma was more excited about all the getting-married attention than the actual being-married part.
“Speaking of which.” Gemma sobered, taking up Lanie’s and Fatou’s hands then squeezing them both. “I have a question to ask my sistahs—”
“Ah, no,” Fatou said flatly before Gemma had finished.
Not for the first time Lanie wished on her best day to be as no-nonsense as Fatou on any given day. Despite her jovial demeanor, the woman gave no fucks and tolerated less.
Gemma dropped their hands and propped her fist on her hip, skewering her friend with a scathing gaze. “You don’t even know what I was about to ask.”
“I do. And no,” Fatou insisted, nodding. She propped a hand on her own hip as well.
It looked to Lanie like she was about to witness her own private reenactment of a scene from R&B Housewives . The others seemed to think so too. Eyes bounced back and forth like they were watching a match at Wimbledon.
“There’s no reason you can’t. Lolade was in Allison’s Catholic wedding last May.”
Lanie groaned. She’d artfully dodged answering Jonah and Gemma’s question all weekend only to be put on the spot now. Well played, Gem. Personally, Lanie couldn’t think of a more expensive, thankless and frequently infuriating time suck than bridesmaid duties. She still remembered sitting on the front room couch with Gemma years ago and cackling at those unfortunate sods on episodes of the old TV show Bridezillas .
“And why do you suppose Lolade isn’t here today?” Fatou teased.
“Oh, c’mon, Fatou!” Gemma whined. “Arash won’t mind.”
“As if what Arash minded informed my decisions,” Fatou said, affronted.
In their teens and early twenties, Fatou and Gemma had been wild women, clubbing and drinking as hard as anyone. But when she’d finally agreed to marry Arash a few years ago, Fatou mellowed, deciding to take her religious practice more seriously. Lanie quietly suspected Gemma had never completely forgiven or stopped giving Fatou a hard time for it.
“I didn’t mean it that way. Don’t be like that!” Gemma pouted, giving her foot a little petulant stomp against the linoleum under their feet.
While they argued, Lanie glanced away in boredom. Jonah stood by the buffet tables. As he laughed with his sister, his wavy, jet-black hair fell into his oval face, making him look boyishly handsome. His white teeth gleamed against his warm olive skin, making Lanie want to smile. His midnight eyes wandered across the crowded room, falling tenderly on his fiancée’s back as she fussed—there was no mistaking the adoration and desire in them. Lanie stomach sank. She nearly looked away, embarrassed to have witnessed that. But he caught her watching him and winked. She smiled back weakly before he returned to his conversation.
Yet again, Lanie recognized that she had to excise these feelings from her heart like the debilitating cancer they were becoming. But where was it all to go? What did she do with all the hopes and dreams she’d clung to and nurtured for so long?
“Now that the rain has stopped, I’m gonna step out for two seconds,” Lanie interrupted the ongoing squabble, struggling to keep the tears out of her voice, clearing her throat.
“You alright?” Gemma and Fatou exchanged a look.
“I’m not fragile, Gem,” Lanie barked, now sullen. “You don’t have to keep handling me!” The frustration of the past day and a half finally exploded out of Lanie.
Gemma recoiled while Fatou’s eyes widened. Shanice, Marissa and the others all glanced at each other. That had been entirely too loud. Eyes from all corners of the room fell on them. Even Jonah and Charity looked their way. Lanie’s chest ached. She’d probably just created some juicy new grist for the Merton Road gossip mill. Shanice, for one, never shut up.
“I’m sorry,” Lanie said urgently. “I didn’t mean that.”
“We know, darling,” Fatou said.
Gemma laughed with the other women, seemingly bewildered by Lanie’s outburst. She patted Lanie’s arm lightly. But the accompanying smile didn’t meet her eyes.
“You’re right, Mel. It is getting stuffy. Go get some air,” Fatou added, her eyes going soft in a way that made Lanie feel both undeserving of her sympathy and yet resentful of it nonetheless.
Still, Lanie squeezed Fatou’s arm in gratitude, muttering a tense “excuse me” before scurrying out the exit door.
Lanie sat cross-legged on the stone bench in the churchyard with her back as straight as she could manage. Pursing her lips, she inhaled through her nose, counting to four, holding it for seven seconds before releasing it. She exhaled deeply through her mouth, the air making a hollow whistling sound as it pushed up out of her lungs, past her teeth and through her lips.
She had to admit, Narcisa was not wrong. She did feel calmer, more centered. Steadier, and most importantly, in better control of the emotions that, for a few moments in there, had been so overwhelming her chest felt like it was being crushed.
But then, the shame flooded in.
Looking up into the night sky, Lanie sniffled, bracing against the cold. At this time of the evening, only the lights illuminating various windows of the sanctuary lit the churchyard. And pervasive light pollution meant she could only see the crescent moon and a handful of stars, Orion’s Belt among them, piercing the blue-black of the London sky.
“You out here crying?” a voice asked through the darkness.
“No,” she said, quickly wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
It was the brisk dampness and the fact that she was sitting on a wet bench that had her like this. She sniffled again.
“Sounds like tears.”
“Well, it’s not,” Lanie insisted, peering into the darkness at whoever was approaching. She squinted as a shadow came closer, lowering her feet to the ground in case she needed to make a break for it.
“Leslie Junior?” she asked incredulously when the figure stepped into the light and she could finally make out the hints of a face. Lanie let out a relieved sigh, sitting back down on her sweater-covered bit of the bench. She patted the seat beside her. “Careful, it’s wet,” she warned as he approached.
Gemma’s twin, Les, brushed a hand over the coarse surface as if to test it then sat anyway.
“Where have you been? Why didn’t you tell me how Gran looked? I’m staying in your room. Why aren’t you staying in your room?” Lanie tore through all the things she’d been dying to ask since she arrived.
Les chuckled. “Whoa, whoa, Big Cuz. Breathe between words.”
“Les, where have you been?”
“A bedsit in Peckham.”
“What? Why?”
Lanie looked at her cousin closely. The resemblance was uncanny as usual. Les and Gem as fraternal twins had always looked more like male and female versions of the exact same person. But with a stronger jawline, the sharper cheekbones of Les’s café au lait face and those big, bright, fully green eyes, unlike Gemma’s slightly browner ones, Les was the more striking twin. And in winged eyeliner, with purple-black shimmer on the lids that matched the ink-blue suit he wore, and a slick, deep plum lip gloss, Les looked as fetching as his sister tonight.
Lanie smiled, thrilled to see him.
“I’m thirty-five, Mel. Eventually I needed my own space.” His shoulders fell a little. “Plus, there were too many big personalities in that tiny house.”
Living with her mother for all her thirty-one years, she certainly understood that.
“Had to get out to protect my peace of mind, you know? But I’ve missed you.”
Lanie looked her cousin over. He appeared happy and content, so apparently the personal space agreed with him. She envied him the bravery to just finally do it, yet she kind of wished he was still at home. She desperately missed the fun they usually had when she was here in London. But she also knew that to find it, she’d have to shake off all this morose self-pitying and just enjoy being back in the bosom of all these people she loved. Maybe finally seeing Les was the first step?
“Melanie! Are you out here?” The loud voice of Father Gary ruptured the easy quiet, cutting through Lanie and Les’s lighthearted catch-up.
“Father?” She stood. Les stood with her. They looked at each other in bewilderment as the pastor’s tone grew frantic. “Is everything okay?”
“Come quickly! It’s your grandmother!”