Last-Minute Love (Year of the Chick series) (10 page)

***

The banquet hall
was a sea of white and purple, the colours that matched my sister’s beautiful white and purple wedding dress. All the silver embroidery went perfect with her shiny tiara. As for the purple and white flower arrangements, purple and white wedding cake, purple and white seat covers...even Anil’s purple tie against his sharp Armani suit, well everything matched my sister’s perfect vision.

My sister’s actual vision however, was seen through a squinted view, as she glared at me with those all-too-familiar Bridezilla burning eyes.

I helplessly raised my hands, and then focused on practicing my speech at the podium where I stood. 

But how could I focus on my speech
, when a stupid Indian stage mom was ruining the night? I checked the clock on my phone and frowned, wondering when the hell the stage mom’s kids would finish their Bhangra dance performance. We were on the ninth costume change by now, everyone was bored, and the stage mom kept lying by telling me each song was the last.

When they finally lef
t the stage to the tune of some lukewarm applause, it was time for my important speech. Anil’s brother-in-law was supposed to be doing the other half of the speech, but he’d told me he was too nervous thirty minutes before, so now I had to improvise and add him into my script.
That weasel.

I started with the usual intro,
then went straight into the meaty stuff.

“My sister and I…are loud.”

There were some laughs.

“We d
o not get along about who should do the laundry or who should do the dishes…”

Even m
ore laughs.

…but somehow, I’m going to miss her.”

From there I transitioned to a bunch of cheesy lies about how I’d miss her. I added in some nice stuff about Anil, then some improvised crap that his brother-in-law would have said, and just like that the speech was done.

Afterwards an overseas
uncle grabbed me by the shoulders. “That speech was first-class! You remind me of Indira Gandhi on that podium. You are just like her!”

“Thanks,” I said. “Y
ou know she was assassinated right?”

He stared at me blankly.
 

***

I
was back at my podium in relative darkness, while the spotlights and the smoke machine joined my sister and her husband in their first married dance. It wasn’t some cheesy Celine Dion song they chose, but instead the unexpected “Lovesong” by The Cure. I was so impressed by that choice, and I doubted it had been my sister’s pick, so maybe it was a sign that my brother-in-law was actually cool.

I turned my gaze to the first table, which was packed
with my parents, aunts and uncles. They watched in awe as the two kids danced, and my mother and father were beaming with pride. I’d never seen them even close to this happy before. It occurred to me then how wonderful this day could be, not only for the couple in love, but for the parents who could finally stop worrying about their daughter’s future.

I wanted to give that relief to my parents
too, but more than that I wanted to feel what was happening on that dance floor. I wanted it so badly, that I started to wonder if it was time to stop chasing long-distance fantasies, and time to settle down with anybody decent I could find.

I wiped away a tear.

Chapter Nine

It was August now, the wedding had been over for a month, and I finally had my life back. If you could call it a life, given that I was twenty-nine years old and lived with my parents, like any proper unmarried Indian girl.

A week earlier, my sister and her husband had returned from their honeymoon in Italy and Paris.
They now sat proudly on our couch, passing out stacks of photos and showing off their play-by-play videos. The video was edited of course, to take out any scenes with alcohol (
even after marriage the charade continues
). I’d sat around for Venice and Rome, but snuck away during the Vatican City tour out of boredom (
sorry to whichever Pope is in charge, but you’re not that interesting
).

Instead I was
in my room, doing a final read-through of the proof for “Year of the Chick.” I’d had the copy mailed to me at work, since the cover with its Indian bride and groom crossed out would certainly cause a scandal. I didn’t need my parents sniffing out the anti-arranged-marriage propaganda, so the less they knew the better. I paused for a moment to cradle the book in my hands. I also smelled it, hugged it, and felt it up a little. I’d been doing this a lot since it arrived last week, and aside from my cat Tommy, I’d never loved anything more. The quest to fall in love seemed so trivial now, in the face of this epic dream to share my writing with the world.

In the midst of my spinster trance, my phone buzzed
to life with an instant message from James. This was definitely a surprise, since we’d gradually drifted apart with my book now wrapping up. The message was an even bigger surprise:
Are you free for a phone call?

For
two months now, I’d buried the memory of Erik and the sound of James’s voice way back into the corner of fantasy land. Fantasy land was now a place with a big “NO TRESPASSING” sign, which was exactly what I needed to brace for the reality of becoming a self-published author.

I bit my lip as I stared at
James’s message.
What if he has something encouraging to say?

I listened hard to measure the downstairs noises. My sister’s narcissistic vacation anecdotes were in full force, with my dad’s boisterous laughter quickly following.
Seems safe enough.

Deciding that the chance
for some encouragement far outweighed any dwelling on the past, I dialled his number and waited.

“James Caldwell.”

That voice. Like silk.

“Hi,” I said.

“How are you?”

“Good thanks.” I glanced at my book. “Nervous.”

“I think I know why that is. How much longer until the release date?”

“Less than a month!” My heart was beating fast at the idea of being “out there” as an author.

“Well
I’ve read the book so I know the quality is there,” he said.

“B
ecause you helped me whip it into shape!” I smiled. “I won’t ever forget that.”

“G
ood, I wouldn’t want you to.” He laughed gently.

“I guess it
would be easy to forget things...we don’t talk as much as we used to!” My smile faltered. “Which is fine,” I quickly added.

“
It’s odd though, isn’t it? How we’ve settled into a...comfortable silence.”

Comfortable? Never knowing if we’ll meet again is COMFORTABLE?!

“Yeah, it’s like we’ve finally found our rhythm,” I lied.

“Or maybe not,” he said.

Huh?

“Well pick
one!” I said, as he laughed.

“I just mean that it’
s nice to chat, just as it’s nice to have breaks.”

“You sound like Confucius.”

He laughed again. “Then let me clarify. I mean that once your book is out, I’d enjoy hearing about what it’s like to be an author. The ups, the downs...”

I frowned. “
The downs? Like what?”

“
Well that’s easy,” he said. “The way you’ll have no audience to start with, that moment when you get your first scathing review, wondering if you’ll ever sell more than twenty books...”

“Hey!” I re
minded myself to never use James as a counsellor for the sad or terminally-ill. “Why are you so quick to ignore the ups?”

“Because
the ups don’t make you who you are,” he said. “Dealing with the low points is the true measure of character.”

“Right...”
I set down my book which was suddenly scaring the crap out of me.

“I am teasing you a little though,
” he added.

I
grabbed my book and gave it another hug. “That’s not funny!”

“Not even a little funny?”

I smiled. “So what’s going on with you? I’m so out of the loop.”

“Oh I will catch you up on that another time, but right now you need to put the final touches on that book.”

He was right, even though not knowing about his life made him seem even more far away. Or maybe that’s where he needed to be.

“Well I’ll keep you updated,” I said. “But you can e-mail me too
you know, ‘cause even though things are crazy, I still answer the A-list e-mails!”
But I’d prefer audio recordings so I can hear that accent.

“I will keep that in mind,” he said. “Keep your head up Roms, good things are to come. Even if it’s bumpy at first.”

I knew he was talking about my book, but I applied his words to the realm of love, and I sure as hell hoped he was right.

I thanked him and after exchanging quick goodbyes, that was that
. James was immediately replaced with my cat Tommy, who hopped up on my bed and settled into my lap, all eighteen pounds of his black and white furry self. When I said his name he started purring heavily.
I wish I could make a guy do that.
I stroked his fur as I tried to figure out this thing with James, this once-in-a-while contact in my life. At least last year when we’d e-mailed every day and talked on the phone, I was able to believe he was actually in my life. But now he was more like a ghost. Not a fatherly ghost like Bill Cosby in “Ghost Dad,” but more like a Patrick Swayze ghost in the movie...“Ghost.” Maybe one day we would sexily do pottery together, with “Unchained Melody” playing in the background.

Maybe not.

All I knew for sure was that a relatively harmless ghost was a good distraction from a very flesh and bones Erik Thomson. And so, if James and this book could keep my mind off of Erik ‘til I finally forgot him for good, then maybe it was okay as a therapy trade-off.
It’s like drinking whisky to get off crack. Sign me up.

I returned my focus to the
book and to Tommy, both of which would put me on the fast track to spinsterhood.

But first I need to be a good wingman…

***

Amy’s condo was right by the Harbor Front, so I thought it would be nice to walk it from Union Station. The calm sound of waves hitting the boats reminded me of a guy named Andrew from several years back. He was the office transfer from Boston in my previous job, the one who had told me he liked me but oops: he had a girlfriend back home.
Wow, that sounds familiar
. I could remember how we’d acted when he’d admitted he had a girlfriend. How we avoided each other so we didn’t break any rules. And then he left.

This made me think about how I’d been trying to forget Erik, and how he seemed to be doing the same about me
. We had two mutual friends, but neither of us had tried to get in touch since my trip back in May. At first I’d thought this was the best thing for everyone involved, but now, as I walked along the lakefront and thought of Andrew...I wondered.

Andrew....Erik, is this what people do because of circumstances? They just give up? No

questions asked?

W
here is my ghost-like James to distract me now?!

I was spared
from any further dwelling on the past, when I turned on the next street and saw Amy’s building up ahead.

Time to
get psyched for a night of fun!

***

I knocked on the door three times.

“Come in!
” said Amy from somewhere inside. I opened the door to find her scurrying out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel.

“I’m not late!” she said, from inside her
bedroom now.

I rolled my eyes and a
few seconds later I was standing in her tiny living room. Amy had decorated everything in a modern purple and black. It was colourful enough for a girl, and neutral enough to let a guy move in some day.
Except that’s not what Amy wants.

I fou
nd Eleanor on the couch looking totally hot, in her green ruffled tank-top and dark skinny jeans. Her brown hair was perfectly curled and fell a little past her shoulders. She nodded in my direction as she casually sipped a glass of red wine.

“You started without me,” I said.

“You’re Asian, you can’t keep up.”

I shrugged my shoulders
. “Fair enough.”

“You look gorgeous by the way!”
she said.

I spun around in my
long strapless sequined navy top, paired with black tights and strappy matching sandals.

“
By the way don’t worry,” I said. “I was wearing a sweater when I left the house.” I’d told my parents I’d been invited to a two-day conference, with dinner late at night and meetings very early in the morning. With a free hotel room, why would I risk coming home in the wee hours? They agreed.
Another thread intricately strung in the web of lies.

I took a bottle of vodka out of my bag, and after a quick glance of Amy’s small kitchen, set it on the counter next to a stack of dirty dishes
. “I need Red Bull,” I said to myself. I opened the fridge and there it was.
Jackpot.

“You’re
‘vodka and Red Bulling’ tonight?” Eleanor said. “That’s intense dude.”

“No it’s not. I need the vodka to get a buzz, and I need the Red Bull because I’m exhausted!
” I cracked open the can of Red Bull and shook my head. “You know what I did today? I woke up at nine a.m, and spent half the day helping my mom wash every floor in the house!” I paused. “Wow, that sounds lame, doesn’t it?”

“It does
,” said Eleanor.

“Well who else is gonna help her with my sister gone?
” I was mixing the drink now and adding more vodka than I’d originally planned. “My mom has two bad knees so I’m not just gonna ditch her. Not yet anyway…”

“All that matters for right now is
NOW,” said Eleanor firmly. “So just focus on tonight and how we’re gonna get smashed!”

“Ohhh no,” I said
. “I drink two of these before we go, switch to water by midnight, and then I coast!”

“Since when do
you stop drinking at midnight?”

“Since I threw up in New York like a loser. I can’t drink like I used to.” I sighed. “I think I
’m getting too old for this.”

“Well you don’t look
too old.”

I smiled. “Thanks
. I hope these Indian genes keep working for a few years longer. In the meantime, sitting in cafés and writing seems more exhilarating than going to clubs. What have I become?!” I grabbed my drink and joined her on the couch.

“
You’ve become…the person you were always meant to become.” She smiled. “Cheers.”

We clinked our glasses and I took a long sip.

A minute later Amy leapt out of her room. “Tada!”

She spun around
to show us her gold halter top, tight black skirt and red heels. Her short brown hair was straightened to perfection.

“Are you trying to get laid tonight?”
I said.

She ignored me, and in a high-heel wobble made her way
to the kitchen. “Oooh...vodka.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I
have a feeling tonight’s gonna be...interesting.”

***

The music was loud in this hybrid of a bar and night club. The rickety wooden floors, tables and high chairs reminded me of a casual bar, but the packed dance floor beyond screamed “make out like no one’s watching.”

I bobbed
my head to the music as I sipped from a bottle of water. I’d stayed true to my “no drinking after midnight” plan, but two rounds of shots five minutes before the cut-off were making my stomach rumble.

Eleanor and Amy returned from the bar with more dr
inks. They were pretty hammered already, but white girls could drink like tanks so I wasn’t worried.

“See those guys over there?”
said Eleanor.

I looked over to see three guy
s about our age, standing around a nearby table. One had a supermodel’s face and a spectacular head of dark wavy hair, though his large upper body made me think he’d gone too crazy doing bench presses. His other two friends were…alright. I could see that my wingman task for the night was upon me, so I nodded and clapped my hands.