Keep Calm and Carry a Big Drink (16 page)

Kamala then looks around the room purposefully. “Have any of you ladies come here this weekend with the hopes of bedding my son?”

We hear a smattering of weak
No, ma’am
’s and
Uh-uh
’s that I’m not quite buying, so I doubt she is. Kamala continues, “Has anyone here slept with my son in the past and come here this weekend hoping to rekindle the friendship?”

Considering Seema has an assortment of friends here who go back fifteen or twenty years, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by the show of hands.

I’m still surprised by the show of hands.

Kamala makes a quick count, sighs to herself, then announces, “Apparently, for this weekend, Jay and Melissa are an item. If any of you is even remotely thinking about making a scene at the wedding over this recent bit of news, as a few of you did at Seema’s cousin Vyshali’s wedding last year, I suggest you rethink that. Her father and I just cashed in part of our 401(k) to pay for this, and I will break you like a twig.”

T
WENTY
-
THREE

It took several hours for all of Seema’s artwork to be done, but by the end of the day she was festooned with a combination of birds, leaves, and other patterns covering her hands, arms, and feet. When the artists were done, she looked exotic and stunningly beautiful.

The rest of us had smaller patterns painted on our hands. I had a peacock painted on each hand, which is India’s national bird and represents grace and beauty. Nic opted for flower buds and leaves painted on her belly, which symbolize new life and fertility.

Seema’s mother spent much of the rest of the day neither avoiding me nor seeking me out. I didn’t know what to make of it.

That night, Seema and Scott hosted a combination rehearsal dinner/sangeet.

The sangeet is a traditional music-and-dance ceremony that happens before the wedding in India. In the interest of smushing everything into one weekend, Seema and Scott combined it with a rehearsal dinner to make it a huge party held in a large loft downtown.

I am wearing my favorite purple silk Junim dress, which has been dyed to look like a sunset, a pair of understated diamond stud earrings, and some Jimmy Choo sparkly heels that I will also wear to tomorrow night’s wedding. These clothes usually make me feel terrific about myself—I feel like my legs look good, my tummy looks small … I even have a great hand tattoo.

But right now I don’t feel terrific, I feel wildly stressed out. I’m sitting at a table with Nic, Jason, and Jeff, watching Jay and Seema listening intently to their mother several tables away.

Well, Jay seems to be listening intently. He’s not a mama’s boy, but he has this pleasant smile and total eye contact with everyone when he listens, and his mother is no exception. Seema—not so much. Every time Kamala turns away from them, Seema lets out a suppressed eye roll. Even when Kamala is looking right at her, I have seen at least one clear sigh from my bride through a forced smile.

God, I wish I knew what they were talking about.

“What about him?” Nic says to Jeff. “He’s pretty cute.”

Jeff looks across the room and shakes his head. “Too much product in his hair. Next!”

“Since when does a gay man hate hair product?” Nic asks Jeff.

“Careful. That stereotyping makes your butt look big.”

Nic’s husband, Jason, tries next, pointing to a different male guest, “What about him?”

Jeff is visibly horrified. “Yuck! The guy couldn’t even be bothered to iron his shirt tonight!”

“You know, shirts can come off,” Nic points out.

“Not in his case, they can’t. I haven’t even met the guy, and I can already see myself doing light housework for him? No. Next!”

“What do you think they’re talking about over there?” I ask the group nervously.

“Barcelona’s soccer team,” Jeff says. “That and the foolproof way to cook a lobster.”

I try to give Jeff my most irritated glare. He puts his arm around me and gives me a half hug. “Honey, I’m sure it’s not about you. This is the first time she’s seen her kids together in ages. Let her have her moment with them.”

I continue looking toward their table. “She completely avoided me after she found out today.”

“What?” Nic snorts. “No, she didn’t. You’re being ridiculous.”

I turn to Nic. “Am I?” I retort. Then I put my focus back on Seema’s table. “Nic, you have great hearing. What are they saying?”

Nic squints at me. “I have good hearing, not bionic hearing.” She turns to Jason. “Honey, I’m so big, getting out of this chair is going to require a forklift. Can you go to the bar and get us a bottle of champagne?”

Jason smiles warmly at the mother-to-be. “Of course.” He rubs her belly, gives her a quick kiss, and heads out to hunt down bubbly.

“Is it okay to drink champagne when you’re pregnant?” I ask Nic delicately.

“Of course not. It’s for you.”

“I’ve already had champagne.”

“And I’ve already had sex. What’s your point?”

“Wait,” I say, surprised. “Today?”

“You’re not the only one dating a hottie.”

“Speaking of hotties.” Jeff motions to a group of men, all in suits, sitting three tables down. “What about him? Do any of us know him?”

Our entire table makes a show of looking toward that table. “The one who looks like he was an extra in
The Godfather
?” Nic asks, lifting her upper lip in disgust like Lucille Ball in
I Love Lucy
.

“Okay, if it was him, it’s not anymore,” Jeff says. “No. The distinguished gentleman with the slightly graying hair.”

“Oh!” I recognize the guy immediately. “That’s Seema’s boss. Reese.”

“Hellllooooo, Reese!” Jeff practically purrs. “Gay, right?”

I nod. “Good eye.”

“Fab. So what do we know? Married? Serious relationship?”

Nic shakes her head. “I know he used to date this guy named Kevin.”

“They broke up,” I tell Nic.

“Awwww…,” Nic says, her shoulders drooping. “That’s a shame. I liked him. They made such a nice couple.”

“Not to me they didn’t,” Jeff snaps at Nic, glaring at her. “Whose side are you on?”

Nic puts out the palms of her hands in surrender. Then Jeff turns to me. “How long were they dating?”

“I don’t know,” I say, trying to remember. “At least a few years.”

“Excellent. When did they break up?”

I look up to the ceiling, trying to recall. “Maybe a month ago?”

Jeff nods. “All right. I can be rebound guy.”

“Or was it six months?” I say to myself, still trying to remember.

“Even better. I can be fiancée guy.” Jeff turns to Jason, now walking back to us with a bottle of Moët, which he places right in front of me. “Jason—wingman me?”

Jason turns to survey the room. “Sure. Which one?”

“Graying hair in the Prada.”

A clearly confused Jason looks over to Nic for clarification.

She smiles. “The expensive black suit and ridiculously overpriced purple tie,” she translates.

“Oh.” Jason checks out the table. “Yeah, all right. Think any of them are into basketball?”

“God, I hope so,” Jeff says as he grabs his beer and jumps out of his seat. “That way I won’t have any competition.”

“How come you’re allowed to stereotype, but I’m not?” Nic asks.

Jeff’s already halfway to Reese’s table as he turns to her and quips, “For the same reason you can make blond jokes and I can’t. Wish me luck.”

For a moment Nic and I watch in silence as the boys flirt with the other boys. Then I turn back to obsess over Jay and Seema, who are now talking with both parents at the table. I manage to make eye contact with Jay for a brief second. He smiles and winks at me.

“What do you think of Jay?” I ask Nic as I pour myself a glass of champagne.

“What do
you
think of Jay?”

“You’re a reporter, not a psychiatrist.”

“Both ask a lot of questions,” Nic assures me. “And both know when their subject’s avoiding answering a question.”

I look back over at Jay and feel a slight tightening of my gut. “I have had a crush on him for over ten years. I’d give anything to be able to throw caution to the wind and love him totally and completely without worrying about getting hurt. But I know I can’t.”

Nic lets out a deep breath of relief. “Oh my God, I’m
so
glad you said that.”

I am a little flummoxed by her reaction. “You know, it’s kind of insulting to hear my best friend happy that I won’t go after my dreams.”

“No, no … I swear that’s
not
what I meant at all. But come on, your job’s here, your friends are here. What are you going to do, buy a one-way ticket to Paris and just cross your fingers and hope for the best?”

It takes me a minute to respond to that. What I
want
to say is, You
quit
your
job to be with the man you’re in love with. The man whose baby you’re about to have. And here I was thinking I was admitting to being a putz who never throws caution to the wind. But, apparently, I am just a putz. Because I have found someone who I’ve wanted forever, who is available, who seems to like me, and who is inviting me to Paris to be with him. That doesn’t happen to a lot of women—and certainly not at our age! And I’m tired of being an also-ran. I’m going!

Instead, I sheepishly look at the tablecloth and say, “Yeah.”

Nic’s attempt to backtrack is so obvious, you could hear a truck beep in warning. “I mean, you know what an amazing life you have here. And you know that in the real world, people get hurt in relationships all the time. Relationships end every day. You know in your gut that you could be setting yourself up for a big fall.”

I cross my arms, refuse to look at her, and instead look over at Jay. Once again, I’ve got a doozy of a comeback in my head:
To hell with it! I’ve got two months until my job starts again—
if
it starts again. I’m gonna take my silver cake charm with me and go find a money tree in Paris.

Then out of my mouth comes “So you don’t think there’s even a chance Jay’s the one?”

“You’re upset.”

“No,” I insist, shaking my head and acting as if her observation were absurd. “I was just asking your opinion.”

“My opinion isn’t important. Do you think he is?”

I know if I answer anything in the affirmative, she’ll think I’m an idiot, so I slowly and begrudgingly I shake my head no.

Just then, Scott, Seema, and Jay stand up to take their leave, with Seema’s parents staying seated at their table to talk to other relatives. As the three head toward our table, I see Seema and Jay are both carrying manila envelopes. Jay is his usual suave, unruffled self, Scott is suppressing a laugh, and Seema looks as if she were about to have a stroke. As they get to the table, Seema seethes at her brother, “Seriously, how can you say nothing the entire time?”

“There’s a time to throw yourself on the sword, and a time to let things go,” Jay responds calmly. “Check your watch.”

“Oh, my
watch
?” she snaps at him sarcastically, “Maybe I’ll have a nice mother-encrusted
watch
to check.”

Scott bursts out laughing. Seema points to him. “You think that’s funny? Maybe we should go over to your parents’ table and see what they—”

Scott waves his hands back and forth horizontally as he snorts one more time. “No, no. I’ll stop,” he promises.

“What were you guys talking about?” I ask nervously as I look over at their mother. “She hates me, doesn’t she?” I ask Jay. Then I turn to Seema. “It was about my being a slut, wasn’t it?”

“It had nothing to do with you,” Jay assures me, sitting down next to me and rubbing my knee warmly.

“What’s a mother-encrusted watch?” Nic asks Seema.

Seema slams her manila envelope into Nic’s chest and shakes her head as she sits down. “Seriously, how are brides expected to get through a weekend of current family and future in-laws without the generous and constant application of booze?”

Nic pulls a thick, pink, eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-inch piece of paper from the envelope while asking, “Which brides do we know who do that?”

Seema shrugs. Jay says to me, “Our mother gave us each a diamond, and Seema is a bit unenthused.”

“Is it encased in an ugly setting?” I ask Seema knowingly (she has a bunch of those).

“You could say that,” Seema says, turning to Nic. “Read.”

Nic reads from the pink piece of paper, “‘This certificate entitles the bearer to a one-half-carat diamond made of the loved one’s ashes.” She looks up at Seema. “I don’t understand.”

Jay smiles. “After they’re cremated, Mom is going to have some of both her ashes and my dad’s turned into diamonds, which we get to keep for eternity.”

“She wants me to turn mine into a necklace,” Seema says, stealing my champagne flute and taking a healthy swig. “I don’t want my mother around my neck forever!”

Jay turns to me. “I’m thinking of having mine turned into a dog collar.”

“If you make a joke about two bitches getting Mom around their necks, I will bite you,” Seema threatens. She flags down a waiter for more champagne. He appears with a tray full of flutes, which Seema quickly places two by two on our table. “Honestly, I’m not sure this wedding can get any more stressful.”

“Scott, dear,” Scott’s mother says from behind them, “I’ve just talked to your aunt Debbie, and she wants to sing at the real wedding.”

Real wedding?

“We’re thinking ‘You Light Up My Life’ by Debby Boone,” Scott’s mother informs him, beaming at the brilliance of her suggestion.

Scott’s eyes widen, but he smiles pleasantly and says nothing. Instead, without looking at Seema, he instinctually grabs her arm as she tries to lift her glass to down more bubbly.

Note to self: during one’s wedding weekend, never dare the Gods by asking if the wedding can get more stressful.

T
WENTY
-
FOUR

Around midnight, Jay and I retire to my bedroom, where we start making out, begin the dance of shedding our clothes, and try not to listen to Seema and Scott fight in the next room.

“Why didn’t you just tell her your aunt is
not
singing?” Seema asks him loudly.