“Why didn’t you call me?” Preet demanded. “All day long I’ve been worrying about your sister’s wedding. Give me your address. I’ll go now and talk to my cousin Rajinder.”
“Thanks so much, Preet!” I said. “We’ve not even paid a single cent so far. And if he gets to our house and there’s no one there to give him a check—I’m worried he might—”
“Don’t worry about anything,” Preet said. “But I don’t have anywhere to leave Rahul—is it okay if I bring him?”
“Of course!” I said. “And I’ll be there as soon as I can!”
After the final group photos, they didn’t need me anymore so I hurried home. It had been bright when we took the group pictures and the baraat came up the hill to the temple, but now the sky was getting dark and the wind was picking up. The radio was full of stories of what was happening in New York—none of it good. Over a hundred people were about to descend on our house—I was worried, but there was nothing I could do until we got home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The tent was up!
Shayla had told me it was, but it was something else to see it myself. Festive and bright with yellow and white stripes and clear arched windows—it was beautiful to behold. And it was perfectly level, lashed down tight, and looked ready to take on the weather—rain or shine.
The inside was shipshape too—neat, sparkling table settings with their burgundy fanfolded napkins (how did Bauji’s guys manage that?) and bushels of colorful chrysanthemums in place of centerpieces.
“It’s a miracle!” I said faintly as Alan and Richie beamed at me. These guys were clearly in the wrong damn profession.
Also, the buffet table was covered in a floor-length cloth, and arranged on it were sparkling silver chafing dishes filled with mouthwatering curries, rice, and naans—I could smell them even though the lids were shut. Sher-e-Punjab for the win!
This atheist was so going to do kar seva at the local Sikh temple in thanks.
Wahi Guru Ji ki fatheh!
“We put the lights up too,” Alan said. “But we haven’t turned them on yet.”
The trees were festooned with string lights—they looked bright and festive and would be beautiful in all the pictures once Sol got here with her camera. If we still had power.
Bauji had ridden back with me in the minivan, and he looked proud of his crew.
“So, basically we’re in good shape, right?” I said to no one in particular, hoping they couldn’t sense the panic I was wrestling with.
But Preet, Shayla, Rachel, and Ernie Uncle, who had finally checked his phone messages and, realizing he’d missed the wedding, had headed directly to the house, and even little Rahul—looking adorable in a Nehru-collar kurta—were looking at me with goofy grins, the way people look at adorable babies.
“Awww, check you out!” Shayla said. “The girl in the red sari!”
“There are nine more of those at this wedding,” I said, but I was flattered.
“So the tent’s up, the food’s here.” Shayla laid a friendly arm over Preet’s shoulders. “Preet here talked to the caterers, and she organized everything. They let her have the chafing dishes and extra serving spoons and stuff to make it easier to serve the food. And I’ve walked Yogi. We’ve pushed back the furniture inside too so there’s plenty of room for everyone to move around. Both our moms have vacuumed everything, and cleaned the bathrooms, and put out fresh towels and stuff.”
So that was where Amy and Sue had vanished to!
“So, what else do you need?”
“Alcohol!” said Bauji. “We don’t have any alcohol!” Other people might say beer, wine, or champagne, but Bauji went straight to the point in his businesslike way. And he was right—we didn’t have a drop of alcohol.
“There’s a liquor store at the intersection of Routes Nine and Twenty-Seven,” I said to Alan. “Do you know it?”
“Sure do,” Alan said with a grin.
“We need their best champagne for the toast—lots of it. And beer—any idea what type, Bauji?” I asked.
“We’ll get a selection of beer and wine,” Alan said. “They’ll take back what we don’t use if we’re buying bulk. What else?”
“Sparkling cider for the people who don’t drink,” I said. In any Indian group there’s bound to be a few of those. “That’s all!”
That was when I noticed that my car was parked on the curb instead of blocking the driveway. That had to be Ernie Uncle’s work. “Did you jump-start the Mini?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “I heard the Lotus got BeDazzled—what did Vinod say to that?”
“It’s standing in for the wedding horse,” I said, grinning. “It had to have some bling.”
He just rolled his eyes—like Dad. “Mini, you have plenty of room on the street for parking but not if you have over fifty cars,” he said. “Do you need people to valet the cars?”
“That would be awesome!” I said. I hadn’t even thought of that.
“I’ll call a couple of my guys,” he said, pulling out his cell phone. “It might cost you, though.”
“It’s cool.” I grinned. “We’re good, Ernie Uncle—Dad’s start-up just got funded!”
A couple in a Honda Accord pulled into our driveway. The woman in the passenger seat was wearing a sari and carrying a baby—we had our first guests.
“I can greet them for you, but what do I say?” Shayla hissed into my ear.
“Just say ‘Welcome and come inside,’” I said, as nervous as her.
“Inside?” Shayla said. “I thought they were eating in the tent?”
“We can put the appetizers in the house and move them out for the lunch after Vinnie and Manish arrive,” I said.
Soon the house was full, the samosas were nearly gone, and I was starting to panic. “There’s more downstairs!” Preet said. “Go fetch them!”
In the laundry
