“Like for Christmas?” Alan asked.
“Just like that!” I said. “But only if you have time.”
“Go change, beta,” Bauji said. “I need to get that list of things the priest wanted to the temple. Your dad forgot it in the garage. You change and come fast, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
I tied on my red bridesmaid sari and secured it with a bunch of safety pins. Apart from Mom’s plain gold chain, I didn’t put on any jewelry. I didn’t want to look more dressed up than the rest of the bridesmaids—I had planned to change into the firoza-blue lehenga for the reception, but now I didn’t know if I’d even have time for that.
By the time I finished doing my hair and makeup, it was eight. The guys had already mowed the front lawn and started to raise the tent—which was huge!
I rushed to the Mini and started the engine. Tried to start the engine, that is. I had been so tired last night I’d left the headlights on—the battery was toast! And Vinnie’s wedding started in an hour!
I called Dad.
“Dad, my car’s dead, I need a jump start!” I said.
“What?” Dad said. “Okay, don’t panic. Call AAA, they’ll get you going!”
“They’ll take ages!” I wailed. “I’m not going to miss Vinnie’s wedding!”
“Then take an Uber,” Dad said.
“That’ll take ages too,” I said.
“There are jumper cables somewhere in the garage,” Dad said. “Maybe the guys can jump-start your car. Or take Alan’s pickup truck!”
“They can’t stop working—they’ve got too much to do,” I said. “Maybe Vir…”
“Vir is here,” Dad said. “It’ll take too long for him to get back.”
Sounded like everyone was there but me.
“I’ll see if Shayla’s up. Maybe she can give me a ride.”
“Fine,” Dad said.
“Pick up, pick up. Pick. Up. The. Damn. Phone!” My pleading was for nothing because Shayla was not doing any picking up of the phone on an early Saturday morning. She had to be up at six for summer camp every weekday—she was sleeping in.
So what were my options?
Only one.
I pushed the button for the other side of the garage, and it rolled open to reveal Dad’s car.
Cue the James Bond theme song—I was taking the Lotus Esprit.
I won’t lie—it was fun driving the Lotus properly. Dad had only ever allowed me to take it down the street and back. The speed and power of the thing were incredible. I turned into the long wooded driveway that led up to the temple. Vir was standing there with two other guys—was that really Chintu and Mintu Patel? I hadn’t seen them since I was twelve years old. All of them had their eyes bugging out at the sight of me in the race car.
“Sweet ride!” Vir was the first one to speak when I rolled down the car window at the temple. “So, are you with the bride’s party or the groom’s?”
“Vir!” I said. “What are you doing?”
“Directing traffic, of course,” he informed me. “I’m helping out, along with these guys—family friends, I gather? We’re putting the groom’s side in this parking lot and the bride’s side in that parking lot. Of course, some people are just here to pray, and they’re completely confused.”
“So I have to go to the parking lot at the top of the hill?” I asked.
“Correct,” Vir said. “You look gorgeous, Mini.” I felt flattered but then he added, “Especially in that car!” Way to destroy a perfectly heartfelt compliment.
I got to the top of the hill, only to be flagged down by a frantic-looking Shoma Moorty.
“Mini, go down to that parking lot!” she said. “Go now!”
“But I thought the bride’s side was supposed to go here?” I asked.
“Yes, but that car, Mini,” she breathed. “That car is perfect!”
“For what?” I asked. Had she totally lost her mind?
“For the wedding,” she said. “We’re not getting a horse because it’s booked for the Patel-Bernstein wedding, so how can we make an entrance?” She paused for impact. “I thought we could decorate the white Ferrari.…”
“Lotus,” I corrected.
“Whatever. It’s a good-looking car, that’s all,” she said. “Manish really wanted to surprise Vinnie with a baraat, but it doesn’t work unless the guy has a nice ride. We don’t have a horse, but once we’ve decorated it, this will be perfect!”
I could see Dad approaching us from the corner of my eye. “Okay,” I said, hurriedly changing gears, and backing out of there before he could get to us.
Because if I told him we were going to sticky-tape rosebuds on his beloved car’s impeccable fiberglass exterior, he would lose his mind.
The temple driveway is a circular one-way, so I had to pass by Vir at the entrance again.
“Everything okay?” he asked. Did I mention that he looked strikingly handsome? No? Well, he did.
“Get in,” I said.
“Oookay,” Vir said. “Carry on without me, guys!” he said to Chintu and Mintu Patel.
“I don’t think Manish knows how to drive stick shift,” I said. “Or at least I haven’t seen him do it. If my dad’s car is going to be in the baraat, I’m putting it in hands I trust—yours.”
“I’m happy that you trust me,” Vir said. “But I don’t know a single person on the groom’s side.”
“I know,” I said. “And please give them these red turbans.” I handed him a stack of starched and ironed turban cloths, no pretied turbans if Beeji had her way. “Oh, crap!”
“What?” Vir asked.
“They’re not tied,” I said. “Bade Bauji was supposed to tie the turbans for us so they could just put them on their heads. Do you think those Iyers know how to tie a turban?”
“They may not,” Vir said. “But I do!”
“Really?” I asked.
“It was part of our dress uniform at Mayo College,” he said. “We had to wear it to temple and all the formal events. So how do you want it tied—Jodhpuri style, or Jaipuri?”
“Vir,” I said.
