“Beeji and Bauji are coming on Thursday, and Masi is coming tomorrow,” I said. “Actually, I better go, Aunty, I have to clean and stock up before they get here. Beeji and Bauji’s house has not been opened in ten months—it must be covered in dust!”
“You’ll go clean it, and stock it?” Ragni Aunty said. “Such a good granddaughter! I tell you, they’re very very lucky to have you!”
“Thanks, Aunty,” I said.
“Wait, wait, Padmini, there’s one thing I want to ask you,” she said. “It’s about the date!”
“What about the date?” I asked warily.
“I talked to the priest, you know our priest Sundaraman,” she said. “It turns out that the twenty-eighth of August is an Amavasya.”
“Okay,” I said, “Amavasya is a no-moon night, right? Like Diwali.”
“Yes, but it’s not a good day to have a marriage,” she said. “It’s too late to move it, no?”
Too late to move the date? Hell to the yes, it was!
“Aunty,” I said, “it’s too late to do anything now. The invitations have been sent. People have made travel plans. It’s set in stone.”
“I talked to your father before, but he didn’t listen at all,” Ragini Aunty said sorrowfully. “I didn’t want to tell Yashasvini and Manish because they would think it was too old-fashioned to care about astrological dates. But if you talk to the priest, he may be able to fix a better time on the same day. Just talk to him, kanna.”
“I have to get a list of what he needs for the wedding anyway,” I said. “I’ll call him.”
“Here’s his number,” she said.
Did I feel up to calling him? NO. But Vir’s number flashing on my cell phone was enough to make me punch in the priest’s number anyway. Anything for a distraction. I grabbed the calendar on my study desk to check out the moon phase for August 28. Aha! The new moon was actually on August 29, so we were good.
“Hello, Sundaraman here.” I recognized his voice, now that I heard it.
I think I saw him shoot hoops with Vinnie and a bunch of boys after a pooja once. I could see why Manish might want him to officiate.
So, the way the new moon is calculated in Hindu astrology is not scientifically accurate. Even though the actual new moon was on the twenty-ninth, it showed the new moon phase starting at noon on the twenty-eighth!
“Look, there’s no way we can change the date,” I said. “What can we say to Ragini Aunty to make her feel better about it?”
“Just what I said to her before,” Sundaraman said. “These are old things, and this is a new time. If it is convenient, then yes, use the good date and time. Otherwise don’t.”
Not bad, Sundaraman, not bad.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Vir called—again.
And this time he called the landline instead of my cell phone. And when Dad handed me the phone without explaining who it was, I got tricked into speaking to him.
“Mini!” Vir said. Hearing him say my name was a physical shock. I’d been deleting his messages without listening to them because I couldn’t deal with hearing that voice. I should have hung up—but I didn’t.
“Where have you been?” he said. “I’ve been calling every day. Can you just tell me what’s going on?”
“I don’t want to talk,” I said. Dad took one look at me, picked up his drink, and vanished into his office.
“Okay,” Vir said. “Okay, fine. But can you tell me why you don’t want to talk?”
“I’m really busy planning for the wedding. And Masi and my grandparents are arriving soon. I don’t have time for distractions,” I said. True. All of this was true. But a tear slipped down my cheek. Odd—I hadn’t even realized I was crying.
“I understand. But we’re good, right? When I saw you last time everything was fine,” he said. “What happened since then, Mini?”
Why did he have to sound so sweet? It just wasn’t fair. But I couldn’t even think with those images swimming before my eyes. The ones of him and the perfectly beautiful Koyal Khanna. I swallowed the hurt resolutely.
“What happened, Vir Mirchandani, is that I Googled you,” I said, and hung up.
Manish was supposed to talk to Vir about the music this week. I told him instead that we didn’t have a DJ anymore. To avoid actual contact, I’d dropped Vir a note in the mail—yes, in the actual USPS mailbox, stamp and envelope and everything. Manish took it well—in fact, he sounded pretty excited about arranging all the music himself. And now, thanks to his musical talent and that of his friends—he played in two bands, apparently—it was all going to be live.
Yay, I guess.
“Thanks for picking such a kick-ass venue, Mini,” Manish said. “It rocks. And the acoustics in that Carriage House are great.”
He was even having a piano trucked in so he could serenade Vinnie with a song he wrote especially for her. No wonder Vinnie loved the guy. I bet he never even looked at a Bollywood star with Vinnie around.
“Did I tell you I booked the horse?” Manish said.
“You did?” I asked. I had sent the link with the wedding horses to him. He had to okay it, obviously, since he had to ride the thing.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s a surprise for Vinnie. I told her that Tamils don’t do a baraat, so she isn’t expecting it.”
“That is so sweet,” I said.
“I was nervous at first, but Vir was great!” he said.
“Vir?” I asked.
“He went with me to the farm,” Manish said. “And walked me through the whole thing. Even brought Benadryl, because of course I was allergic to the horse, or maybe it was the hay.”
Talk about dedication—this guy really loved my sister, didn’t he?
“Vinnie will love it!” I said. “Is there anything you need as far as equipment?”
“I’ve talked to Jen at
