Kareena looked over at her sister’s groom, and he also had tears in his eyes. “I think,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I am the luckiest man alive.”
Bindu clapped her hands, and bounced, her long waves flowing over her shoulder. The attendant reached out and adjusted her train. “There is an opportunity for custom embroidery at the hem of your shoulder draping,” she said.
“Loken, I know you liked the idea of me wearing white and red like your mom and aunts did when they got married, but I hope this is a decent compromise.”
“I think it’s lovely,” he said.
“Really? Then, I am going to have the numbers 831 embroidered in the trim. What do you think?”
“831? Don’t you want something a little bit more . . . personal?”
“What could be more personal than 831?” Her voice sharpened. “Do you not know what it means?”
“Of course, I know what it means. You’ve told me, darling, but maybe your mother’s name or something since this is your dress.”
“You want no part of it?”
They began to bicker, much like they’d been doing since Bindu first pulled out her giant wedding binder. Even as Loken crossed the room and held out the bouquet of flowers, Bindu snapped at him like an angry chihuahua.
“831?” Bobbi whispered. “What the hell is that?”
“Cyber definition for ‘I love you.’ Eight is the total number of letters in the phrase. Three is the total number of words in the phrase, and I still can’t figure out what the 1 stands for, but I’m sure Bindu can give you a whole summary on it. She’s been obsessed with 831 since she was a kid, and our mom bought her a book on codes. It was one of the first codes she cracked.”
“I’ll pass,” Bobbi said. She stood, brushing her hands down her fitted pants. Bobbi called out over the commotion, “Do you want to look at anything else, Bindu?”
Bindu stopped midsentence, her hands on her hips, and turned to Bobbi. Her smile beamed. “No, I love this. I think it’s perfect for the religious ceremony. I’m going to wear something more Punjabi for the reception. Right, Loken?”
Loken ran his fingers through his now-mussed hair. “Right, my love.”
The dude seriously looked like he’d just gone through a hurricane, Kareena thought. Her sister was so explosive.
“I’m going to go work out the pricing for the dress, and the delivery timeline,” Bobbi added. “If your ceremonies are happening in the spring, we want to make sure that the dress comes in time.” She sashayed off, phone in hand.
“She’s the best, isn’t she?” Bindu said to Kareena. “Thank you for having awesome friends who can plan my wedding.”
“You’re welcome.”
Bindu kissed Loken on the cheek again and stepped back. “Loken, we’ll argue about this later. Kareena, can you come and help me get out of this thing?”
“Don’t you have to get measured?”
“Each one is custom stitched,” the attendant said. “This is just a floor model. We took some measurements with her in the sari-gown, but now we’re going to take body measurements.”
Kareena didn’t even pretend to understand what everyone was saying. She stood, ready to follow Bindu into the back room when her phone buzzed again.
This time it was a selfie from Prem. He stood with an arm around a skeleton. The skeleton had a piece of paper stuck to its chest that read:
KAREENA, I’M YOUR PERFECT DUMMY.
Kareena: Damn, I guess you’ve found my perfect man.
Prem: I’ll introduce you next week. I’ll be in the city. Want to go out?
Kareena: You mean, like, intentionally meeting up?
Prem: We need to be seen together, and also get to know each other.
Kareena: You were serious?
Prem: Why wouldn’t I be?
Kareena: Fine. I’ll let you know.
Her stomach was still a riot of butterflies when she left her phone, flowers, and bag on the couch for Loken to watch and followed Bindu into the back room.
Kareena knew that Prem was interested in money for his clinic, just like she wanted funds for her mother’s home. But she couldn’t help but think that what they were doing was cheating the soul mate search. And liking Prem, enjoying the time they spent together, despite how their relationship started, was only going to complicate things later on for her. Because one thing was clear: he would never give her what she needed.
She stepped inside Bindu’s changing room, her head spinning with the truth.
“Can you help me unpin?” Bindu asked. She’d stepped on top of a pedestal and pointed to her shoulder.
“Sure.” Kareena started to remove pins from the draping. “This looks great on you. You really do look beautiful, Bindu.”
“I wanted to ask you something,” Bindu said quietly, her expression drawn. “I don’t want you to get mad.”
Kareena met Bindu’s eyes in the mirror. “What is it? Did you do something?”
“No.” There was a ghost of a smile. “Not yet. Loken asked me to move in with him after the engagement party. He thinks that Dad and Dadi would be more receptive once the sagai is over. I want to do it. I want to move in with him. His place is pretty nice. His family helped him buy it. I’ll have my own room for filming and creating content and I’ll be closer to the school on the days that I have to teach. Plus I’ll be with him.”
Kareena’s stomach twisted, tightening just a little bit as she processed her sister’s words. “Go for it. You already spend half the nights out of the week with him, anyway. I’m happy for you. Loken is great.”
“Really? You wouldn’t be upset that I’m leaving Mom’s house?”
Kareena shook her head. She briskly began folding the fabric just like she remembered her mother doing after they came home from Indian Association parties, and like her grandmother did after Diwali celebrations. “My choices are my own. You are free to live your life how you want it, Bindu. You don’t have to follow what I do.”
“But you’re my older sister,” she said, her bottom lip quivering. “I know you’re annoying as fuck, you drive me insane, and you’ve threatened to pester me in my married life, but I want you to be happy with my choices, too.”
Only Bindu could say such a backhanded compliment with a smile on her face. “I am happy with your choices,” Kareena said. She cupped Bindu’s face, being mindful of the artfully applied bronzer on her cheekbones. “Hey, what is this really about? Most of the time you’re jumping down my throat or trying to mess with me.”
Bindu nodded, then sniffled. “The last time someone left the house was—”
Ah.
“Mom. I know.” Kareena’s throat burned at the reminder. Her grief was old, but sometimes it was so strong, it brought tears to her eyes. It was always swift, and sudden. Whenever she or Bindu experienced firsts, Kareena felt her mother’s loss like the sharp shards of glass in her throat, choking her.
“Bindu,” she said, clearing her throat, pushing down the sudden onset of grief, “you’re getting married. And honestly, if I can’t find a man, then the house might be gone soon, too. Focus on your wedding. And on Loken.”
“Maybe with my leaving you can convert my room into an office like you’ve always wanted? With the floating bookshelves for your romance novels. I don’t know how long it’ll take for Dad to sell, and—”
“Stop,” Kareena interjected. “Don’t worry about me. You need to stay calm; otherwise, you’ll break out.”
Bindu sniffed. “No way am I getting acne,” she said. “My photos have to look perfect.”
“And they will,” Kareena said.
Bindu, in her concept sari halfway off one shoulder, pressed her sniffling snot against Kareena’s sweater vest.
“Love you, didi.”
“Love you, too, Bindu.”
Chapter Twelve
Prem
Mom: Your father is being a pain in my ass again.
Prem: This is why you can’t trust emotions to make decisions about marriage. I can send you the study from France about midbrain activity if you want.
Mom: I was a doctor before I retired, my baby baboon. I know those studies better than you. Don’t try me.