Chapter 22
Simi akka, can you help me?”
Simran refastens the loose tie on the back of Geeta’s blouse.
Her cousin turns around and beams her thanks, almost too pretty to look at today in a hot-pink anarkali with silver paillette detailing that reflects light with her every move. Simran’s gaze once again strays to the person standing in the corner of the banquet hall.
“You have got to stop staring at him, Akka,” Geeta says. “You’re going to give the whole thing away and then pandemonium will ensue.”
Simran hears the frantic edge in Geeta’s voice. She holds up two crossed fingers in promise. “Nothing is ensuing unless it has your permission to ensue.”
A sly smile creeps over Geeta’s features. “You have no idea how right you are.”
Simran clears her throat. “Kavitha told me about … herself.”
“I’m so glad. She’s been waiting to do that for ages, ever since she told me.”
Simran lets the dig land. “I wish I’d been here earlier for her to tell.” Geeta glances over at Simran and her smile softens, warmer than ever. “That’s done now. All that matters is that we’re there for her, for whatever she needs.”
Simran says words she never imagined she would: “Couldn’t agree with you more.”
“Can you handle one more secret?” Geeta asks, face animated.
“I think so.”
Her younger cousin leans over and whispers in Simran’s ear, hand cupped around her mouth, “I’m pregnant.”
Simran jolts back to look at her in surprise. “Oh, Gits!” She pulls her cousin into a hug. “Thank you for telling me.”
As they pull apart, Geeta puts a mehndi-darkened finger to her lips and Simran grins, a co-conspirator yet again. “Aside from Rishi, only you and Kavi know. And you can tell Leo too. But that’s it.”
“How do you feel?”
“Pretty great. It’s early on and, luckily, I’ve only had a little morning sickness. Totally manageable,” Geeta says.
Simran looks her up and down in awe. “I would have never guessed. You look amazing.”
Geeta grins, always thrilled to be complimented. Simran looks out at the huge hall and the long colorful streams of fabric that go from the perimeter of the room to the center of the high ceiling, creating a tentlike effect indoors. Without realizing it, her eyes land back on Leo.
Geeta tuts. “That’s the opposite of ‘stop staring.’”
Simran pouts outrageously. “But I don’t wanna stop staring.”
Geeta strokes her hair like she’s pacifying a child. “I know. You can play with him when you get home, okay?” If someone had told her years ago that she’d laugh at a joke made by GNN, she would have called them crazy. But coming back here has been so different than she thought it would be.
The sangeet begins and just as Simran predicted, there’s too many speeches, several unplanned as uncle after uncle hijacks the mic and waxes on.
One even ends his impromptu speech by singing happy birthday to his dearest friend—who is not at this wedding.
In between, there are dances from various parts of the family: the little kids, adorable and enthusiastic; Geeta’s tentative-but-smiling hospital colleagues; and Rishi’s aunts and uncles, featuring guest stars Manjula aunty and Ravi uncle, who bop arrhythmically.
Simran spies Veena perima’s look of judgement and laughs—her aunt would never dance to a song whose lyrics translate to “Light your cigarette with the fire in my chest.” For a culture that claims to value chasteness, some of the songs sure are horny as hell.
Then it’s time for the closing dance that Simran choreographed for Geeta, Rishi, and all their siblings, cousins, and friends. It is still a bit of a mess despite her best efforts, but then again, that’s part of the tradition too. It’s doing it together that matters.
The three sisters do their solo dance to roars of applause and then the rest of the group comes back in for the finale.
Simran has arranged the steps so Rishi plays the hero, singing to Geeta’s heroine in code to keep her mehndi fresh because he’s coming to elope with her.
Everyone is split into the groom’s and bride’s sides, cheering him on and jokingly pulling her away so he has to chase her.
As Simran dances, she feels a shoulder nudge hers.
It’s Leo, and time seems to slow down as they round each other, shared smiles, shared secret, before he moves to the other side of the stage for the next set of steps.
No one celebrates like Indian people do: pounding bass, infectious zeal, an endless loop of catchy, deeply familiar songs.
The dancing is sloppy and unselfconscious because the joy is frenzied and unfettered.
It startles her to realize that she hasn’t listened to songs like this, loud and with a crowd, outside of her classes or her own two headphones in years; the noise and the energy and the celebratory delight seep into her.
Even the gossip of her return is part of the acceptance.
Here, it’s okay that she left and it’s okay that she’s come back.
She can slip into it at any time, like a warm, worn glove.
The performance ends to a clamor of hoots and whistles at that earpiercing volume that only uncles seem to know how to achieve.
All the activity and the crowd have made her sweaty and Simran ducks out to the hall to get some air, making her way to the lone bar that doesn’t have a line.
Someone else has had the same thought: Leo, whose face blooms into a smile when he sees her coming.
She’s never seen him in a suit before and it’s fitted just right; despite the dancing, it still looks crisp and he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, a few strands falling forward anyway.
“You look great,” she tells him.
“You look like a painting,” he replies.
Something thrums between them. The bartender clears his throat, interrupting their bubble of want and warmth. “Sir, anything to drink?”
Leo shakes his head. “No, thank you. I need my head clear around her family.” He jabs a thumb in her direction.
She lets out a laugh. These past few weeks have been ridiculous—and fun. “God, they’re a lot, aren’t they?”
“They’re the most. I’m exhausted.” But he’s laughing along with her.
The realization hits her suddenly: She’s happy.
Truly happy for the first time in a long while.
The weight of her grief seems almost bearable here, with him, but also because of the people inside the hall.
She wants to tell Leo that his showing up and blowing apart her plan to stay on the fringes of this wedding and this family has brought her and Kavitha closer than ever.
It’s brought her the record player that belonged to her father, and the knowledge that it’s her uncle’s most prized possession.
She still needs the key to her house from her aunt, but all of this is more than she could have ever dreamed returning to Iyer House would bring her.
She doesn’t know how to voice that without opening the floodgates.
A commotion of voices from down the hall pulls her out of her thoughts and she and Leo take a step away from each other.
Veena perima, accompanied by Leo’s fan club of the morning-run aunties, plus a few others, comes around the corner, their loud chatter dying down to a nosy silence when they spot the two.
“Leo!” It takes Simran a second for it to register. Did Veena perima acknowledge Leo? And greet him in a friendly way? “And Simi. You two are having a drink together?”
“Not together,” they reply, unfortunately, together.
“The lines inside were really long so I came outside,” Leo adds. “Did you know, this lovely young man has been so helpful!” Manjula aunty goes to stand next to Leo, looping an arm through his as she practically preens to the group.
Veena perima’s face is going slightly red; Simran can tell she cannot stand being left out of the discovery of this “lovely young man” who all her friends are cooing over. “It’s nice that Rishi brought you to stay,” she says.
“I’m happy to be here,” Leo replies, directly to Veena aunty. He is pulled into the circle of women as Simran steps away, glad to be forgotten. “It’s been so interesting to learn about the rituals.”
“You like Indian weddings?” Neeta aunty asks.
Leo’s smile is like a pickpocket, hitting each of its marks without them even knowing. “Definitely. They’re way better than weddings in my family. Those only last a day! If you ask me, that’s not nearly enough time to celebrate.” The women titter in approval.
“Once Geeta is married, we’ll find you a nice bride to settle down with,” Veena perima says, eager to matchmake anyone, apparently. “What kind of girl do you like?”
Above everyone’s heads, Leo briefly catches Simran’s gaze as he pretends to think about his answer. Simran bites down on her lip to keep from smiling as he replies, “Oh, I’m sure you know someone who is just my type.”
When the sangeet ends, rather than getting to go home for a good night of sleep before the hectic day to follow, the family has to prep.
The same hall will now be turned into the site for the wedding ceremony less than twelve hours from now.
There are outfits to iron, ceremonial objects to assemble, jewelry to put in the safe, and on and on.
By the time the Iyers and Chopras start heading back to their homes in batches, it’s past midnight and no one is quite sure where anyone else is.
Simran is in the room she and Kavitha were getting ready in earlier and has finally finished folding all the programs into a neat stack. She is about to take them to the bridal suite when Kavitha comes in and shuts the door behind her.
“We’re the last ones here. Amma and Appa left for Iyer House a few minutes ago. They think I’m going to drive the two of us home too,” Kavitha says.
Simran frowns. “Are you not?”
“Well … no one is staying in the hotel tonight,” Kavitha replies.
“So?”
“You can stay at the hotel tonight,” Kavitha says.
“Why would I do that?”
“So maybe you and Leo, who is still downstairs, can get some time to yourselves?” Kavitha says slowly. She grins at the expression that must have overtaken Simran’s face. “Now it’s clicked.”
“You’re a genius,” Simran says.
Kavitha shrugs. “It was Leo’s idea. I’m just the accomplice. I’ll tell him to come up on my way out. Just make sure you get to Iyer House by five so Amma doesn’t notice you never came home.” Kavitha rolls her eyes as she looks back at Simran before she leaves the room. “Down, girl.”