“Okay,” she said. “Do you want side walls for the tent?”
“Yes,” I said. “The ones with clear windows.”
“What date is this for?” she asked. “Wait, you said tomorrow, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Saturday the twenty-seventh of August.”
“What town?” she asked.
“Westbury,” I said. We had made it to the town center and Vir was parking by the library. I jumped out of the car and sprinted for the town hall. They usually closed at four-thirty. I still had five or ten minutes—if they hadn’t changed their schedule for the summer. If they had shorter summer hours we were toast.
“And do you have a dig-safe permit?” the girl at Talbot Rental asked. That was the question I’d been dreading.
“No,” I said. “But I am trying to get to the town hall. With any luck, they’ll still be open and…”
There were no lights on in the town hall. The door was bolted. Shoot! Of all the days for the town hall to close early!
My crazy idea to save the day had just crashed and burned.
“I’m here, but they’re closed,” I said. Then I added hopefully, “Can we still get a tent?”
“We can’t put up a tent without a dig-safe permit, ma’am,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s my sister’s wedding,” I explained dejectedly. “It was supposed to be at River Bend on Sunday but they’ve canceled because of the hurricane. So we’re trying to move it to our house. But we can’t do it without a t-tent.” My voice broke. I so didn’t want to cry—not with Vir watching. But what on earth were we going to do now?
“Your sister’s wedding got canceled? That’s terrible!” the girl said. “Look, hold on a minute, let me talk to someone.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll hold.” Vir had caught up with me. He took one look at my face and pulled me into a hug. I was too surprised to even resist—and I had to admit, it felt good.
“You there?” the girl said. “Okay, I checked with my boss and he did say that we can’t put up a tent without a permit.…”
I rested my head on Vir’s shoulder for a minute before regaining my sanity and pushing away. Vir let go.
“Thanks for trying,” I said. “It’s really nice of you.”
“No, wait,” she said. “We can’t put up a tent, but YOU can.”
“What?” I asked. Maybe my brain had stopped functioning due to all the impossible things it had had to process lately. Did she just say we could put up a tent?
“We can give you a tent. We just can’t put it up,” she said. “Do you still want it?”
My heart was racing. “YES!” I said. “Yes, and there are other things… I need to get more tables and chairs than we had booked before… ten tables, a hundred chairs, floor-length tablecloths, napkins, china, silverware, stemware.…”
“One at a time,” she said. “I have to take this down. How many table covers and what kind?”
“Ten round, white, floor-length for the eight-foot round tables,” I said. “I’ll need a buffet table too.…”
Vir was looking at me as if I’d lost my mind. But he waited to question me until after I got off the phone with her.
“What was that about?” he said.
“Getting a big tent,” I said. “So we can have the reception at home.”
“But who’s going to put up a forty-foot tent?” he asked.
“That’s not a problem, trust me,” I said. “But food, I need food.”
“What about Curry Cuisine?” he asked.
“That Sunny Sondhi cashed the ten-thousand-dollar check my dad gave him,” I said. “And he’s not answering phone calls.”
“WHAT? He gave him a check?” Vir asked. “For the full amount?”
“It’s my fault,” I said. “I insisted that he pay the guy in advance because Shoma Aunty told us that he threatened to take away food at this other wedding because he wasn’t paid in advance. We never imagined this!”
“I don’t blame you,” Vir said. “NO one expected this!”
A brilliant idea seized me.
“I should call Sher-e-Punjab,” I said. “Right now!”
I scrolled through the contacts on my phone and found the number. “Sher-e-Punjab? Rajinder Singh Ji?” I said. “Thank God! Badi problem aa gai hai—aapki help chahiye. Can you double our order?” I counted on my hands to get a grasp of the numbers. “Triple our order? Forty nahin, one hundred twenty logon ka khana chahiye. Haan ji, hurricane ki vajah se cancel karna pada. Kal shadi hamare ghar se hogi. Haan ji. Thank you, ji.”
“What did he say?” Vir asked after I hung up.
“He said it’s an honor to help in a daughter’s wedding,” I said. “He’s going to start cooking right now.”
“That’s great!” Vir said. But I was already dialing another number.
“Bauji!” I said when Bauji picked up at the other end. “You heard, no?”
“Yes,” Bauji said. “What can be done now, I don’t know.…”
“I do,” I said. “But Bauji—We. Need. Help. Do you have the old utilities map of our house that shows where the gas lines are and everything? You do? Great! And can you get ahold of your old construction crew?”
Vir and I drove back in silence. I knew what to do as far as the wedding went—but I was lost when it came to Vir. The way he hugged me, the way he sounded so concerned… I had to believe he cared. But there was all that other stuff. I couldn’t even think about it now.
“Can I do anything else?” he asked quietly when we got home.
“I’ll let you know,” I said. “And thanks, Vir.”
“I mean it,” he said.
“I know,” I said, and then paused. “Actually, I just thought of something.…”
“Anything,” he said.
“Can you pick up some chrysanthemums in the morning?” I asked. “From the garden center on Route Twenty-Seven? They call them hardy mums.”
“Okay,” Vir said. “What time do they open?”
“Eight AM,” I said. “I need at least a dozen large pots. Two dozen if they have
