Chapter 10
·
Lulu’s tricolored gown—blending bronze, copper, and silver—glinted in the overhead lights, draped perfectly against her body. She waited for the wedding planner’s cue to walk down the aisle, after which the wedding party would follow, dancing down the aisle to their choreographed routine.
All of them, save Hena. She lingered along the sidelines, knowing she’d only ruin the polished routine they’d practiced for the past few weeks if she joined.
Hena’s own dholki had been a simple affair at Ammi’s home, where family and friends sat cross-legged with a simple drum while singing traditional Punjabi songs.
Lulu’s dholki, on the other hand, was Bollywood perfect.
Fairy lights studded an archway draped with marigolds.
The bloodred carpet was framed by flickering lanterns on either side, leading to an elevated stage where a velvet couch rested in front of an intricately carved backdrop.
From the sidelines she watched the wedding planner nod.
Her sister stepped into the hall to cheers.
Khaled was seated onstage, dressed in a golden kurta with a matching vest. His face lit up when he saw Lulu.
He helped her up the steps. Once they were seated, the DJ lowered the music, and the dhol-walas—the main event—began their drumming.
The groomsmen and bridesmaids entered the hall dancing to a bhangra beat as they made their way toward the dance floor. The music was rhythmic, so loud it vibrated beneath Hena’s feet.
She looked down at her freshly painted nails.
After the chaos of the airboat ride, Lulu had sent everyone off to the resort spa.
The men opted for sauna time and massages, while the bridesmaids chose pedicures, facials, and fruit smoothies.
It was a much-needed reset. Hena had even laughed listening to Maheen retell the python rescue, painting Hena more as a superhero than the scared bystander she’d been.
For the first time since she’d arrived, there had been no cutting looks cast in her direction.
The group took her in as one of their own, joking about their worst first dates and giving each other skin care pointers.
Even Courtney—whom Hena had been a bit wary of, given her snark about Lulu’s wedding venue choice—turned out to be sweet, flagging down the server for an extra smoothie when Hena’s ran out.
She spotted Courtney among the dancers. She was in a copper-colored sari, sidling up to Reza.
He was trying his best, but he was clearly a half beat behind the others.
Hena watched as Courtney drifted closer.
Brushing her shoulder against his arm, she showed him the move.
He tried again, and she patted his arm, nodding encouragingly.
Yep, thought Hena. Behind every rumor, a seed of truth. Really, who could blame her?
Winding her way through the crowded room, Hena found her mother seated toward the front.
She was chatting animatedly with Gita, who was leaning in while Ammi laughed.
A real laugh, her eyes crinkling. Hena’s chest constricted.
When was the last time Hena had made Ammi laugh?
Or the last time they had any sort of easy, laid-back interaction?
Growing up, she’d attributed their tense relationship to her father.
The threat of his unstable mood lurking around every corner.
But he had been dead for well over a decade now, and they were no closer than they’d ever been.
Maybe the two of them were simply oil and water, never meant to gel.
Both women paused their conversation as Hena joined them.
“How are you feeling?” Hena asked her mother.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Ammi scowled.
“Because you’re sick,” Gita retorted. “Because we care. That’s why.”
“Hmm.” Her mother said, but didn’t say more.
Hena understood. It was one thing to be sick, another for it to be the only thing anyone wanted to talk about.
“How many people are here tonight?” she asked, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Seems like way more than the previous two days.”
“I believe two hundred people RSVP’d,” her mother said. “Tomorrow’s party will be north of three hundred.”
That made sense. The more significant the event, the bigger the guest list. Tonight was mostly a dance party—a light lead-in to the mehndi and shaadi to come.
The thought of the shaadi made her shiver as memories of her own doomed event crept to the surface.
And she couldn’t help but wonder: would Nasir’s parents actually show?
“I hope the power holds up,” Gita said, nodding toward the window. “The incoming storm looks intense.”
She was right. Dark clouds gathered outside. The palm trees swayed ominously.
“They have generators,” her mother said. “I think it’s just—” She broke off, coughing hard.
Hena pressed a hand to her back. “Does she need an inhaler?” she asked Gita, a knot gathering in her chest.
“This happens sometimes.” Gita patted Ammi’s hand, though she continued to cough violently. “It will pass.”
Her mother’s knuckles gripped the wheelchair armrest so tightly, her fingers had gone pale. Guests looked over in their direction. Their worried expressions mirrored Hena’s own anxiety. How could Gita be so calm right now?
“I’ll get her some water,” Hena said.
“S-stop babying me.” Ammi wheezed as her coughing subsided. “I’m…all right.”
Before Hena could protest, Gita spoke.
“Get something to eat,” she told Hena. “Have you tried the pakoras? They’re fresh from the fryer.”
“I’m not really—”
“She needs a minute,” Gita cut in. “Please.”
Hena bit her lip but relented. Gita was a professional caregiver. She knew what her mother needed. The truth was, Hena needed a minute too. No matter how complicated things were between them, it cut her to see Ammi in such obvious pain.
Heading to the appetizer table, she spotted Haris at the bar. Pivoting, she approached him and tapped his shoulder. His face brightened when he saw her.
“Those were some nice moves out there,” she told him. “You’ve improved since I last saw you on the dance floor.”
“I better have. Khaled made me take bhangra lessons.”
“I’d say it’s a good life skill to have. Though I’ll personally be sticking to the sidelines.”
“Why? If I remember correctly, you had some good dance moves yourself.”
“I’d rather stay as inconspicuous as possible,” she replied. “The less gossip I can drum up, the better.”
“Why would they gossip about that? I like to imagine people around here are evolving beyond such petty stuff.”
“You mean like calling me a slut?”
“Whoa.” His brows lifted. “Who said that?”
“They didn’t say it to my face. They dropped a note in my purse.”
She filled him in on the message left after yesterday’s bridal shower.
“That’s disgusting.” His eyes darkened. “Who would do something that fucked up?”
“It could be anyone,” she said. Including your mother.
“It’s one thing to be snarky, but this crosses a line. Why?”
“To entertain themselves?”
“Well, it’s not funny.” He scanned the room, his jaw tight. “They should be dealt with. There are lines you don’t cross.”
Dealt with? He was upset for her sake, but the last thing she wanted was to escalate the situation. Before she could say more, he perked up.
“Wait. I know. They’ve got cameras all over the property. I bet the footage hasn’t been erased yet. We could check—”
“What? No.” She cut him off. “That would mean involving my sister. She’s already overwhelmed. I don’t want to give whoever did it the satisfaction of knowing they got to me. It’s not a big deal. This wedding will be over soon enough.”
“Hena—”
“It’s fine.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “I appreciate you caring.”
His expression softened. “Of course I care.” He covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry that happened, is all.”
“To be expected, honestly. I’m okay. Promise.”
A new song came on. He looked at the crowd, then her.
“Are you sure you don’t want to hit the dance floor? You said my skills have improved, right?” His eyes crinkled. He looked so earnest and cute. Before she could respond, a familiar voice cut in.
“There you are.” Auntie Nipa approached. “I need your help.”
Hena bit back a grin. Like clockwork.
“Give me one second,” Haris said.
“This can’t wait,” Auntie Nipa replied. “Now, please.”
“Ammi,” Haris said, clearly exasperated.
He gave her a pointed look. She stepped back, but it was clear she wasn’t leaving.
He turned back to Hena. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her again.”
“She is not my biggest fan.”
“She’s my mother. I love her.” He sighed. “But I don’t think she’s anyone’s fan.”
“Except yours?”
“Except mine.” He laughed. “To be continued?”
He headed off as Hena ordered a drink. After the song ended, the emcee’s voice crackled over the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Khaled and Lulu are ready for their dance-off. Please give them your full attention and cheer for your side. The loudest party determines the winner.”
Bhangra filled the air—louder, more upbeat.
The DJ raised the music to complement the live drummers.
Holding hands, the couple made their way to the center of the dance floor.
They squared off, then launched into a synchronized dance, down to the choreographed head tilt.
True to their marching orders, Khaled’s family whooped and hollered as loud as they could.
Hena joined in with the bride’s side, clapping and cheering as Lulu’s shimmering gown fanned around her as she twirled.
The DJ declared it a tie. Khaled drew Lulu into a hug.
The emcee invited the audience to join. Khala was one of the first to hit the floor, her head bobbing as she twirled. When she spotted Hena, she brightened and waved her over. Hena shook her head, but Khala grabbed her hands and pulled her in.
“Your dance moves haven’t changed since I was five,” Hena shouted over the music.
“Why fix what isn’t broken?” Khala winked. “You know you learned everything from me, right?”