Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
T he wedding took place on a Saturday, surrounded by flowers. The altar had been erected on the steps of the San Francisco Conservatory of Flowers, a beautiful glass building with a high central dome and wings that arched to either side, like a dove taking flight. Its delicate fa?ade shimmered like a diamond in the warm light. The sky had taken on the colors of evening: blues and yellows and purples, more vibrant than even the flowers on the hillside below.
Arjun stood at the altar beside Dan, dressed in the navy suit that he’d had tailored specially for this occasion. He touched his fingertips to his lapel pocket, assuring himself that the rings were still there. They were light things, but they were weighted by significance, as though imbued by some spell. Arjun leaned over to Dan. “Are you ready?” he whispered.
Dan only smiled.
From the bottom of the steps, a string quartet began to play. The cellist plucked on his strings while the viola came in with the melody. The violins danced above it all, ornamenting the music with delicate harmonies. It was a song that Arjun knew well, and he couldn’t help putting words to the music: Come gather ‘round, people, wherever you roam…
The breeze whispered to life, sending the smells of hibiscus and rose drifting toward the altar. The aisle was lined with pink linen, and it was edged with blooms. To either side of the aisle, people stood from their white folding chairs. Arjun could feel their anticipation: a frisson that lingered in the air, like a collective bated breath.
There was a red brick archway at the other end of the aisle, and the opening was strung with garlands of pink peonies that hung down like a veil. A hand emerged and parted the flowers gently, as though caressing a lover’s face. Erica stepped through the curtain, her arm threaded through her father’s. Her face was covered with a lace veil, and she wore a pearlescent white dress that reflected the brilliant sunset above. She held a bouquet of crimson roses closely to her chest, and she stepped in time to the music, treading lightly over the flower petals that the flower girl, her niece, had so carefully laid just a few minutes earlier.
Arjun glanced over at Dan. His friend’s eyes were luminous, glazed over with tears. It looked like he was seeing Erica for the very first time—as though he was falling in love all over again.
A lump was forming in Arjun’s own throat, as well. Changing times, indeed , he thought, reaching into his jacket for a handkerchief.
Erica reached the end of the aisle, and Dan climbed down the steps to receive her. He took Erica by the hand and led her under the altar. He leaned over to her and whispered something that not even Arjun could hear, words meant only for the two of them.
Dan lifted the veil covering her face. His movements were delicate, as though he were uncovering a priceless work of art. Erica smiled up at him, only him. They were together adrift on a great river, all alone, even among all these people.
The music faded, leaving only the sound of the birds in the trees.
Dan’s father was the officiant. “You may be seated,” he said to the audience. “We are here today to join two souls in love, under the witness of family, friends, and God.” He beamed at the couple. “I know how long both of you have waited for this. I won’t delay you any further. You have each prepared vows; it is traditional for the groom to go first.”
Dan nodded and cleared his throat. “Erica,” he said, his voice muffled with tears. “I’ve loved you since the tenth grade. I’ve loved you through college transfers and new jobs, through earthquakes and blizzards, through broken arms and kept promises. I’ve loved you before I even knew who I was. I’ve loved you so long that I don’t know how to do anything else.
“I don’t know what the future holds for us—no one does. But when I look into my future, I only see one thing for certain: you. You’ve been here through everything. And I promise you that I will be here through everything else.”
Dan’s father looked to Erica. She was already crying; Dan reached out and wiped her tears away with his thumb. “Do you remember when we moved to Chicago?” she asked. “We were twenty-two, bright-eyed, and enthusiastic about taking on the world. After a few short weeks, reality set in. I broke down crying on our couch—just a complete mess. I was done, I told you. My job was a dead end, and I didn’t know anyone in the city. Do you remember what you said to me?”
Dan smiled.
“You said, ‘But, Erica, you know me. ’ And I burst out laughing. It didn’t solve my problem—but it was enough for me. You have always been everything I needed. You are kind, and you’re steady, and you can make me laugh when all I want to do is cry. Dan, you are my soulmate. I love you, and I cannot wait to be married to you.”
Arjun looked out at the audience. The sun was setting, and faces glistened with tears.
Dan’s father smiled. “Well,” he said. “I won’t be one to go against the wishes of my soon-to-be daughter-in-law. Does the best man have the rings?”
Arjun reached into his jacket and drew the rings from his pocket. He handed them to Dan.
“Dan,” asked his father, “do you take Erica to be your wife?”
He nodded. “I do,” he said. He slipped the ring onto Erica’s finger.
Dan’s father smiled. “Erica, do you take Dan to be your husband?”
“I do,” she replied immediately. Dan’s wedding band was a simple gold loop, and it slid easily into place, as though it was always meant to be there. Dan’s father placed his hand on his chest.
“Then, by the power vested in me by the great state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!”
Dan and Erica stepped closer and kissed. The crowd cheered and hooted, a cacophony of joy and jubilation. Arjun looked out into the audience, and somehow, his gaze fell upon Nisha Nandan, sitting near the back. She caught him looking and smiled.
The reception took place indoors, under the great glass dome of the Conservatory’s orchid gallery. Arjun sat at the head table with Dan, Erica, their parents, and the rest of the wedding party. Dinner was served; Arjun had chicken medallions with a savory pan sauce, along with a few spears of asparagus. The wait staff came around with champagne flutes, which they distributed to the guests.
Erica’s parents gave the first toast, followed by Dan’s parents. Erica’s sister was the Maid of Honor. That turned out to be a bad move; she was already drunk, and her innuendo-laden speech didn’t make matters any better.
Arjun’s speech was last, and he stood and buttoned his coat jacket.
“Good evening,” he began. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Arjun Chowdhury, and I have the privilege of being the best man at this wedding.
“I met Dan in AP English sophomore year of high school. I had never met anyone so like me, and we got along quickly. Within a week of knowing him, I was spending nearly every day after school at his house.” Arjun glanced into the audience. His mother had flown in for the wedding, and she was chuckling softly at the memory of the two then-teenagers.
“So, naturally,” Arjun continued, “I was disappointed beyond words when Dan started spending all of his time with this girl in our English class—a girl I hated because, for the first time in my life, she was the teacher’s favorite instead of me. Can you guess who she was?”
The crowd laughed; Arjun forged on. “Gradually, though, I began to look forward to hanging out with Erica just as much as I did Dan. And, eventually, I felt that I couldn’t hang out with one without the other. See, they were a package deal—like two perfectly matched socks.
“In the old days, newlyweds used to plant sycamores on either side of the walkway leading to their front door. As the years passed, the trees would reach toward one another—and, eventually, their boughs would knit together and become one. Over the last fourteen years, I’ve watched Dan’s and Erica’s love blossom: the kind of complementary love where she is strong when he is weak, he is funny when she is serious—he hates olives, and she loves them. A sycamore tree kind of love.”
He paused. He found himself looking at Nisha again, and in the brief moment when their eyes met, Arjun wondered if she knew what he was thinking. “That’s the kind of love I’m still looking for,” he said. “And, in these two, I have an amazing example to which to aspire.” He raised his glass. “To the newlyweds. May you continue to grow together for the rest of your lives.”
There was a round of applause, a symphony of silverware against glass. The caterers wheeled out an enormous cake, three feet tall and draped in vanilla buttercream and colorful fondant flowers. Dan and Erica fed one another, and Arjun laughed with everyone else when Erica smeared cake all over Dan’s lips and chin. The lights darkened, and the couple shared their first dance to the Knife’s “Heartbeats”, played on the acoustic guitar. When the music ended, Dan threw up his arms. “Everyone!” he called, and then the night really began.
Arjun wasn’t a natural dancer, so he decided to wait until he’d gotten a buzz to partake. He snagged an extra slice of cake and found Sarita conversing with some other middle-aged people at her table. Arjun paused for a moment before approaching her. He was suddenly struck by how unfair it was that his mother was at this wedding all alone. After all, hadn’t his father had known Dan and Erica just the same as she did? What would he be doing if he were here right now? he wondered—a question that had made his throat tighten at every major life event.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, sitting beside Sarita. “I brought you some cake.”
She smiled at him and laid her hand on his. “Just think,” she said, “this will be you and Sophia in a few months. Can you imagine it?”
Arjun closed his eyes. An image came to mind: a groom leading a bride around the ceremonial fire. The groom wore a crimson kurta , and the bride was resplendent in a red sari —but, when they turned to look at Arjun, he saw that they had no faces.
Sarita seemed to know what he was thinking. “Don’t worry, Arjun,” she said. “It will come.”
Nisha was on the dance floor, shimmying her shoulders in a flowing blue dress. Sarita caught him looking. “ Beta , are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Arjun said. “Hey, Mom? Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“When Revathi bhua and Manju bhua came to our house, they mentioned something about Vicky not being suited for me. That our relationship was wrong because it wasn’t arranged. But you stuck up for me.”
She smiled. “Of course I did. That’s a mother’s job.”
“Did you mean it?”
Sarita sighed. “You deserve to be happy. That’s all I want. I trust you to make the right decision—and, whatever you choose, I will always support you.”
Arjun squeezed his mother’s hand. “I love you, Mom.”
He felt someone tap him on the shoulder. “Nisha,” said Arjun, looking up at her. “This is my mom.”
“A pleasure,” said Sarita, extending her hand and examining Nisha with that appraising gaze of hers. She smiled. “Well. I’d better get my dancing in while I can, eh? I’m afraid that, no matter how hard I try, I simply cannot stay up past ten o’clock.” She rose. “It was nice to meet you, Nisha.”
Nisha took Sarita’s seat. “That was a beautiful speech you gave,” she said, slicing off a bite of cake with the side of a fork. “You certainly upstaged the Maid of Honor.”
Arjun laughed. “Thanks,” he said, cutting off his own corner of the cake. “It took me a while to write. Like, days.”
She smiled. “So, where’s Sophia tonight?”
Arjun shrugged. “Some economics conference in Austin. What about Patrick?”
She shook her head. “He’s here somewhere, but not with me. I don’t think we really connected romantically, you know?”
He had to keep himself from smiling. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She leaned back and draped one of her arms over the back of her chair. She looked out at the dance floor, at everyone grooving to “Proud Mary.”
“You know, this reminds me a lot of my wedding,” she said. “My first wedding, I mean. All these people, all so happy.”
She turned suddenly toward Arjun. “Do you love her?” she asked. “Sophia.”
He sighed. “No,” he said. “But I will.”
Nisha smiled wistfully. “I hope so, Arjun. I really do.”
The music slowed, and Arjun recognized the song as Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide.” Nisha stood and stuck out her hand. “Come on,” she said. “Dance with me.”
He balked. “I’m a terrible dancer.”
“So am I,” she replied. “But that’s not about to stop me. Now, are you coming, or what?”
He smiled. “Sure,” he said, and he took her hand.
She led him out to the dance floor, weaving between the groups of people. His hands moved to her hips, and she put her arms around his shoulders. She stepped closer, and he moved, as well, until he could feel her breath against his cheeks. “I think this is my favorite song,” he said.
“Why?”
“It always makes me sad,” he replied.
He looked down at her. “I just noticed: there are little flecks of gold in your eyes.”
Nisha smiled. She leaned her head against his chest, and Arjun thought that his heart was pounding just a little bit louder, only for her. They moved with the music, swaying back and forth like sea grass.
They danced for a long while after that. There were fast songs and slow songs, happy songs and wistful songs. Holding Nisha against his heart, Arjun’s memory flashed back to that day in Dolores Park, when she’d played the electric guitar with the wind in her hair.
Gradually, the ballroom began to empty. As the older folks shuffled out, Arjun found himself sitting alone with Nisha at one of the circular tables on the periphery of the dance floor. “It’s getting late,” she said. Her voice was terribly soft.
“Do you want to go home?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No.”
“I booked a hotel room for the night,” he said. “It’s only a few blocks away. Do you want to come up for a drink?”
She nodded. They gathered their things and stepped out into the night. It was the last day of May, but the air had chilled. Nisha took Arjun’s arm and walked close by, warming herself against his body.
They arrived at the hotel and took the elevator up to his room on the second floor with a view of the park. Arjun slung his jacket over the desk chair, crouched by the minibar, and peered inside. “Anything good?” Nisha asked.
“Nothing,” he replied, shutting the fridge.
“So,” she said. “What now?”
Arjun looked at her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her head slightly angled. She sat upright, expectant. There was a spark in her eyes.
An idea occurred to him. A wonderful, terrible idea. He knew what both of them wanted. All he had to do was step towards her. One move, and it would begin. Would it be so bad? he wondered.
“There’s a TV here,” he said instead. “Do you want to watch something?”
Nisha raised an eyebrow, as though she’d known what he’d been thinking just a moment ago. She shrugged. “Sure.”
It was the usual after-midnight dreck: The Real Housewives of Wherever, Rick Steves’ Europe, a documentary about Gettysburg playing on PBS. Arjun clicked through rapidly, then stopped. “Oh, my God,” he said. “It’s fate.”
“What is it?” Nisha asked.
Arjun smiled. “It’s When Harry Met Sally ,” he said, settling into the bed next to her.
He could not have said when they fell asleep—whether she drifted off first or he did. But, when morning came, Arjun woke to find Nisha Nandan under the blankets beside him, their bodies woven together like marriage trees.