“Hi, Mini Kapoor,” said an apple-cheeked seven-year-old. Wide brown eyes gazed into mine, pools of unquestioning trust.
“Hi, Rahul Singh,” I said. Rahul, my favorite student, had no problem being interested in doing his math. His mom told me he had trouble relating to his teachers at school, due to his Asperger’s, but Rahul and I got along just fine—probably because math was his favorite subject. No surprise; Rahul breezed through his work sheet wicked fast and sat smiling at me as I marked it—he had gotten everything correct.
“Is this getting a little too easy, Rahul?” I asked.
“Yes.” He nodded solemnly. He tapped his digital wristwatch. “Only took three minutes and forty-two seconds for twenty-four problems.”
“That is fast!” I said. It was definitely time to move him up to something more challenging. I walked over to the huddle of moms and nannies in the waiting area and searched for Rahul’s mom. Some of the Indian moms were in the middle of an animated discussion about the merits of the latest Bollywood blockbuster, starring Koyal Khanna, the newest sensation to hit the silver screen.
“Have you seen Meri Bollywood Wedding? Where Koyal is a simple girl from Bhatinda who wants to have a real designer lehenga for her wedding and she runs away to Delhi to try and get one at a charity auction by the top designers. And she falls in love with this boy she meets there.…”
“Yes, and that Mallika Motwani lehenga she gets finally was drop-dead gorgeous. Better than the Sabyasachi, and that’s saying something! There’s even a cameo of the designer walking around looking bossy.”
“She didn’t look bossy, she looked busy and preoccupied. She’s a genius, that woman. All her clothes sold out, and they cost a fortune! I heard even Bollywood stars and celebrities have to beg to get one of her outfits.”
I scowled. Busy and preoccupied was Mallika Motwani’s natural state—I should know.
“Ahem!” I cleared my throat, not wanting to interrupt their conversation.
“Is everything okay?” Preet asked. Preet Singh was cheerful and outgoing, and completely devoted to her son.
“Oh, yes, super,” I said. “I was actually wondering if we could skip ahead, move him up a notch. Rahul is ready, I think. He can do this without even trying.”
“Oh!” She beamed. “Yes, if you think he’s ready, then I’ve no problem.” She had a pretty accent and an elegant head waggle to go with it.
“Yes, he’s ready,” I said. What a lovely hand-embroidered shirt she had on, I thought, and the woman beside her too. Gujarati mirror work, if I wasn’t mistaken. I hadn’t seen so many Indian outfits since my mother’s one-year memorial.
So many Indian outfits! I looked around the waiting room. If someone here didn’t know everything about Indian wedding vendors, I didn’t know who would. Was it worth asking them? Meanwhile, Rahul had grabbed his mom by the hand and was tugging her toward the door.
“Preet!” I said. “I have a question.…”
She looked at me inquiringly.
“My sister is getting married in two months,” I blurted out. “I have to help her organize everything, and my dad… he’s not much help. I don’t even know where to start. Do you know how to find a good wedding decorator, or DJ, or caterer?”
“Your mom is not taking care of it?” she asked.
Was there any way to avoid telling her? I wondered, dreading the usual awkwardness that followed when I mentioned what had happened to Mom. If it’d been anyone but Preet I’d have found a way to avoid answering directly.
“She…” I squared my shoulders. “She passed away. Years ago.”
Suddenly all the chatter around me hushed. Crap. What a dumb idea this was. Great way to identify myself as the clueless, motherless freak show. I wanted their help, not their pity.
The first one to speak was not one of the Indian moms but my boss, Sonal Saxena.
“Mini,” she said. “I’m so sorry. But don’t worry, ya? We’ll help you.”
The Indian moms unfroze into a chorus of me-toos. It was hard to make sense of all the chatter since everyone was talking at once, but apparently Preet’s cousin owned a restaurant and catered at very reasonable prices, Pinky’s sister had a bridal boutique in Cambridge, and the Srinivases’ niece got married last month and they knew all the best wedding vendors.
Wow, they were more useful than two days of Googling. I grabbed a handful of Ace Tutoring of Westbury business cards from Sonal’s desk and wrote my email address on each one. “Please email me any leads. Thank you!” I said, handing them out.
“So sorry, kutti,” a very pregnant lady said to me with a tight hand squeeze. I nodded and squeezed her hand back and gave her a card.
“I know a lighting guy, honey,” Kylie’s nanny piped up unexpectedly. I promptly gave her a card too.
Time to get back to work. When I left an hour later, no-nonsense Sonal Saxena gave me a hug. “I don’t want you to stress,” she said. “If you need time off work, just tell me. And if you’re not sure of anything, just ask. We’ll help you.” I walked out to my car. I’d look into their leads, of course. Their quick offers of help had nearly downed my automatic defenses. Nearly.
Yogi pounced on me when I got home—all licks and wagging tail. From the reception I got, you’d think he’d been locked up all day instead of having been walked once already and having had Dad for company as he was working from home.
“All right, all right,” I told the beast. “At least let me get changed.”
I got out of my responsible math tutor outfit—dark-wash jeans, dip-dyed T-shirt, teal Converse lace-ups—and changed into my new capris and crop top. Over it I threw on a ripped T-shirt made by my friend Shayla—she had dyed a regular cotton
