“Of course I remember!” The warmth in her voice sounded genuine. “So it’s Vinnie that is getting married? Why isn’t she calling?” She remembered Vinnie’s name too.
“Vinnie is in Chicago,” I said. “She can’t really get time off her residency to come here. So Dad and I have to.”
“But you’re just in high school, no?” she said.
“I am,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “But there’s no one else.”
“What about your grandmother?” she asked.
“Beeji and Bauji moved back to India,” I told her. “The winter was getting too much for them.”
“Are they coming for the wedding?” she said.
“Well,” I said, “they don’t know about it yet. It was all kind of sudden.”
“Who’s the boy?” she asked. “He’s Indian, isn’t he?”
Guess the number one reason not to tell the grandparents about a wedding is that the boy or girl isn’t Indian.
“Manish Iyer,” I told her, settling her suspicions on that score. “He grew up in Newton.”
“Oh, Manish!” she said. “I’ve known him since he was little. Very nice family. They’re from my community, Tamils, you know.”
Wow—I would never have guessed! Shoma sounded more Punjabi than any South Indian—Tamilian, I guess I should say—I’d met. Maybe she grew up in Delhi or something.
“We don’t really”—I hesitated—“understand their customs properly.”
“Yes, yes, Tamil weddings are quite different from Punjabi weddings,” she said. “Have you talked to his parents?”
“No,” I said. “We’ve only met once.”
“His sister got married last year,” Shoma said. “I decorated for them, of course. They spent lavish amounts of money on her wedding. It was at the Hyatt in Boston. Huge mandap, three priests, four-day event. Very expensive.”
“Three priests?” I said. “That seems, um, excessive. Anyway, we really don’t have that kind of budget.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, I can work with any budget—it just reduces the options. Just tell me what you want to spend and I’ll work with that.”
“Dad just founded a new technology start-up with two of his friends.” I backpedaled, trying to set low expectations so she wouldn’t be shocked. “He’s the CTO, and he’s putting money into it right now, not the other way around. If things work out he may start paying himself, but for now…”
“All these techie start-up types.” She sighed. “Wasn’t Vinod with some big corporation?”
“He was. But this start-up was made for him. So he locked down my college fund before investing in the company,” I said. “That’s why, for the wedding, it isn’t going to be more than thirty, thirty-five thousand total.” About the price of one semester of college, according to Dad, and all he was willing to spend right now. Better let her know what she was dealing with!
She whistled. “That’s going to be hard,” she said. “But we can do something, beta. Listen, why don’t you come to my office and we’ll run some numbers, okay?”
At least we were on board with one of the top wedding decorators in New England. And she knew Mom. Vinnie would be so impressed with how well I was doing.
“Sorry, Sonal!”
I was late for work again.
Ten hours a week of part-time work isn’t a lot, really, but it felt like I hardly had time for it anymore.
“It’s okay,” Sonal said. “Just call me next time you’re late. What’s new with the wedding?”
“I’ve found a wedding decorator!” I said. “An Indian one!”
“Namaskar, or Ayojan?” Sonal asked without lifting her eyes from her paperwork.
“Namaskar,” I said. “I didn’t know about the other one.”
“Oh, there are more than two!” Sonal said. “But Shoma Moorty has been around the longest. She does the Miss India New England pageant, you know? And she was the India New England Woman of the Year—twice.”
“Yeah, and she knows my dad, apparently,” I said.
“She knows everyone!” Sonal said.
Rahul ran in and took a place at a desk. He was early today—the center had just opened.
“So sorry we’re early,” Preet said, following him in. “We have to go to my cousin’s daughter’s birthday party in the evening. I’m going to tell him everything about the wedding, Mini. Did you call him?”
“Um, no,” I said. “Not yet.”
“Call him,” Preet said. “Sher-e-Punjab on Route Nine. I know it doesn’t look like much, Mini, but trust me. Bhai makes the best food outside Punjab, I promise. And he will give you the family rate, I promise.”
Rahul fixed solemn eyes on me and said, “Rajinder Singh makes the best samosas in the USA.” I smiled. That child spoke only the truth, this I knew.
“If you’re recommending him, Rahul, then I’ll definitely call,” I said. “I promise.”
My second job—not a proper job, actually—is at my friend Rachel’s mom’s business, a fashion consignment store called the Turnabout Shop. I work for Amy there on weekends, sorting and evaluating clothes and accessories, and I do alterations if someone needs a garment fitted. It’s pretty high-end for a secondhand shop—we only take new or lightly used designer wear from the past two seasons. I can basically set my hours because it’s hard for Amy to find people who know fashion like I do.
I don’t get paid for my hours, only for the alterations, but I do get dibs on new stock and a 50 percent staff discount! It’s not easy to find things in my dress size, but I can usually alter anything to fit, if I really like it. I find it fun to take apart a high-quality garment and decode how the pattern is pieced together. When I explained it to him once, Dad said it’s like engineering in fabric. He even got hopeful for about a nanosecond about my following in his tech footsteps before I put that to rest. I’ve scored a ton of cool accessories too. Last month I got “paid” by buying an almost-new handbag—spearmint green, bow-bedecked, and totally awesome—every girl should have one quality accessory with a stylized version of a bow. And I got a pair of bright red ballet flats. All for a grand total of $15. Total win!
I missed
