“Can we go to sleep, Mummy?” Avi asked Masi. The boys had had enough of the rain and were latched on to Masi from either side, literally dropping where they sat.
“I’ll be back,” Masi said. “What about you, Rahul? You want to rest too?”
“I’ll rest inside with Avi and Ari from Mumbai,” Rahul said.
“They can lie down in Vinnie’s old room,” I said.
Upstairs the kids fell asleep, and outside it still rained. Then Manish sang one last song for Vinnie—the one he had written especially for her. And it was the perfect ending to the day.
Masi and Beeji brought out the rice for Vinnie to fling back over her head as she left the house—a married woman—and Manish and Vinnie drove off. Almost everyone else left then too, Preet and Rahul, Rachel and Amy, Shayla and Sue, even Koyal—Chintu had gallantly offered to drop her at Vir’s mom’s house at Fellsway College before the storm got worse.
Alan and Richie had taken down the tent and scraped off all the china and rinsed it off with the garden hose and stacked it back into the Talbot Rental containers. Ditto the silverware, the napkins, and the stemware. Everything was counted and stacked and piled, ready to be taken away on Monday. The outdoor lights had been turned off too, though they were still up. We’d take them down tomorrow but there would be no massive cleanup needed after all.
We regrouped inside after Beeji, Bauji, and Bade Bauji left. Vir was still around and didn’t show any signs of leaving. Dad went off into the kitchen to make hot chocolate for Masi, Nanaji, and himself—and put on the Weather Channel to check on the hurricane.
“I’m going to get the flowers,” I said. “They’re still outside!”
“Nothing will happen to them,” Masi said. “It’s just rain.”
“It’s just rain now,” I said. “Tonight it’ll be a hurricane.”
“Vir, help her get them, will you?” Masi said. “And Vinod, come sit with me. Now that Vinnie’s married, I have to talk to you about the infinite possibilities of a career in design—for Mini.”
It was dark outside except for the light spilling from the windows of the house. We didn’t even need umbrellas, as the rain had slowed to a drizzle.
“Thanks for getting the flowers,” I said as Vir and I gathered up the mums and carted them indoors. They looked brilliant in the living room with the raindrops glistening on them—a living reminder of Mom. “I’m going to plant them in the window boxes when the storm is over—it’s kind of a tradition.”
“Can I help?” Vir said.
“Sure,” I said. “If I can help you move to your dorm at MIT.”
“If I can drive you to Providence for an info session at Brown. Deal?”
“Deal,” I said.
“Hey, you could write about this for your college essay,” Vir said.
We really did think alike.
“I already started a draft.”
Three armloads of flowers done, we went back outside to scan the lawn for any remaining mums. There were none. Vir headed back in, but I put a hand on his arm to stop him—I had something to say before the night ended, and I needed to say it now.
“Vir, I’m so, so sorry I didn’t even talk to you before assuming that you were—”
“Stop, Mini,” he said.
“No, I won’t,” I insisted. “It really was my fault, and I should have—”
But then I did stop.
Because he pulled me to him and kissed me.
When we came up for air, he smiled down at me.
“Actually,” he said, “if anything, it was my fault. I should never have pretended to date Koyal. It was stupid. And then I should have told you, and then—”
He was totally ruining the moment.
“Shh, Vir,” I said, and kissed him.
The fairy lights in the trees turned on, suddenly sparkling like magical starlight.
Artificial starlight, but pretty nonetheless.
“Look at that,” I said in wonder. “That wasn’t us, was it?”
“Don’t ask me,” Vir said. “I’ve been seeing fairy lights ever since your dog chased my cat up that hill and—”
“Oh, hi!” It was Sol, the photographer. “I just turned them on so I could take some final mood shots of the house and garden before I left.”
“What a good idea,” I said, trying to extricate myself from Vir’s arms—except he didn’t seem interested in letting go.
“I don’t think I got a picture of you two together,” Sol said. “This would make a nice composition too. You are together, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Vir said, lacing his fingers through mine and giving my hand a squeeze. “Yes, we are.”
So we stood there smiling in the gentle rain and posed for the last official picture taken on Vinnie’s wedding day.
Acknowledgments
Sometimes books can have second chances.
Sincere thanks to my editor, Nikki Garcia, and my agent, Allison Remcheck, for finding a way to give this one its second chance.
Thanks to the team at Little, Brown for believing in this story, Annie McDonnell for the thorough edits, Jenny Kimura for the gorgeous book design, and Sanno Singh for the lovely cover art.
This book has had another life, and I am grateful to the team at Scholastic India, especially Tina Narang, for believing in it first. I am also thankful for the many young Indian readers who loved it as Red Turban White Horse. This was, and always will be, my debut novel.
The Writers’ Loft, SCBWI New England, Boston Author’s Club, Onwords and Upwords critique group, and others in my local writing community—thanks for years of friendship, honest critiques, cheering on, commiserating, straight talk, celebrations, and so much more.
Finally, thanks to my family:
My sisters: for being my first readers, then, now, always.
My father: for his pride in his four daughters that is our strength.
My mum: for the space both physical and mental to finish the first version of this book on deadline, for believing firmly that it would have another shot though she isn’t here to see it happen, and for her lifetime of love that will last and
