As Sweet as Honey

56




He’s Mr. Darcy without the pride.”

“Then he can’t be Mr. Darcy. And since when did you want a Mr. Darcy?”

“We all want a Mr. Darcy, Mina.”

“Bend it like Beckham and don’t marry Wickham.”

“What?”

“Something Nalani said.”

“Who’s Beckham?”

“Soccer player.”

I had had to wait until night to talk to Rasi by herself. We were in our large bed, with the mosquito blaster plugged in. It had begun raining outside, and I could hear the patter of water on the roof. The summer monsoon would be upon the island soon, but we’d be back in the States before then. The window let in the night breeze.

Rasi raised herself on an elbow. “Anyway, the thing is, I like him. I didn’t think I would, and I really wanted not to, but I don’t know, he’s kind of nice, don’t you think?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but Rasi kept talking.

“He only agreed to see me to please his parents. He’s leaving for England in a week, anyway. So he hadn’t planned it, either.”

“Wait a minute,” said Sanjay, coming in and dropping onto the bed. “Isn’t his sister supposed to be married before him?”

“Of course, but get this. She’s already engaged to this French guy who Laksman’s parents aren’t that crazy about—a total soap opera—so we’ll get married after them.”

“That’s why they want you to finish your degree.”

“Well, no way am I getting married without my degree, plus there’s law school.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“I know he’s kind, responsible, likes sports, likes animals …”

“That’s like a personals ad. You only spoke to him for twenty minutes.”

“An hour. How long does it take to know a person? I read that in one second you know if you are or are not attracted to someone.”

“Yes, and that women over thirty who aren’t married will never get married.”

“Attraction is a lot different than knowing someone, Rasi. I mean, what if you get in an accident? Will he just go off and watch cricket? What about money? Will you have a joint checking account or separate?”

“And,” I said, “he could be a philanderer!”

They both stared at me.

“Well, you don’t know!”

“I could be a philanderer. Are women called philanderers?”

“I think they’re just called brazen.” Sanjay yawned. “I can’t believe you’re getting married. It’s so—” He searched for a word.

“Terrific?”

“Peculiar.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s all we seem to do in this house. Get married, have babies, get married, have babies.”

Rasi sighed.

“The thing is, I trust him,” she said. “I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t know, I think he makes sense. I like him.”

“Like finding the perfect puppy at a shelter, and knowing that one before all others is yours.”

I began to laugh, but Rasi seemed hurt.

“You can’t understand, and you won’t until it happens to you. It’s not anything you prepare for. You go for a walk with someone and there’s a vibration in the air, a shift of some sort—”

“A moon wave.”

“—and your heart cracks open.”

• • •

We were quiet after that, in our own heads. Sanjay lay across the foot of the bed. If men could be called odalisques, then Sanjay would be one, always at ease stretched out. I would always have a lot to learn about love. I never thought Rasi would accept an arranged marriage, but then perhaps she too, like our aunt Meterling, was merely following her heart. Who could predict what the heart will dictate, and who among us has the courage to listen? My trailblazing aunt and cousin, daring the rules, Eastern or Western, defying the customs of what was accepted or expected, and choosing freely. Would I be brave and honestly answer my heart when it called? Would I face the truth if it met me eye-to-eye, and accept it, or would I turn away, be ruled by convention?

Nalani came in wearing one of her Juliet gowns, and quietly slipped into bed with us. She too had defied convention, by choosing adoption, something our ancestors would have not allowed.

“I heard you talking,” she said, sighing as she freed a pillow for herself. In five months, she would have a baby and a five-year-old, but for now, she cuddled, our dreamy cousin who wished on paper fortunes and made matches for other people. She stroked my hair.

“You could be next on the list,” said Sanjay.

“Don’t get any ideas. I’m Kanyakumari,” I said automatically.

“What?”

“Is this a private party?”

We turned our heads to see Aunt Meterling at the door.

“Come in, come in, there’s plenty of room,” called Rasi.

There was. No matter where we were in our lives, married or not, with babies or not, we would always have room. We only imagined we were adrift like Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, fishing for stars, but our shoes always led us home, into a reality that seemed more touched with enchantment than most. Aunt Meterling laughed when she saw us, a giant belly laugh that lifted our spirits, and must have woken the house. That was fine, for waking by laughter was always good.