Page 16 of The Matchmaker

“Glad to hear it.” She hugs me back. “First thing will be bridal outfit shopping.”

“Fun! Where are you looking? Styles by Simone? Aperti’s?”

“Savita’s.”

“Samir wants you to go desi?”

“He doesn’t care. If it were up to him, we’d elope at the courthouse. Which might be the financially advisable thing to do—but I’m only getting married once, right? I’m thinking I might have a white dress for the vows, and then a lengha for the reception. Desi jewelry comes out really good in pictures too. Maybe your aunt could loan me one of her sets?”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to lend you whatever you wanted.”

She pulls out her phone and shows me kundan earrings that dangle practically to the shoulders. I live and breathe weddings, so I’ve seen it all, and I’ve always cringed at the bride entering an intercultural marriage who can’t wait to play dress-up. Darcy isn’t doing it for the ’gram, though. I know Samir’s mother hasn’t been thrilled that her future daughter-in-law isn’t the Indian bride she’d dreamed of. Darcy must be hoping this is a way to help her come around.

Her phone vibrates. Darcy looks at it and grimaces. “It’s Lena.” She sends it to voicemail. “I need a shot of something stronger than caffeine for that call.”

“Their wedding’s almost here, so at least we’re nearing the finish line.”

“Hopefully the wedding’s still on.”

“Now what?” I groan.

“It’ll be okay. She’s just upset at the wedding venue.”

“Is it about the elephant?”

“It’s about the elephant.” Darcy nods. “She’s threatening to cancel the whole thing over it. Tanvir had his heart set on arriving that way to the wedding hall. I’m sure the wedding planner is tearing her hair out as we speak.”

“Wait until that leaks out to the press.”

“It’s already out there, unfortunately. Lena posted about it this morning. I’m sure it’ll spark a lovely wave of emails to the wedding venueandus. Why are we the scapegoats for everything our clients choose to do? We introduced them to each other; we didn’t plan the wedding.”

She leans back in the chair and massages her temples.

“How bad is the general inbox these days?” I wake up my computer. Clicking out of my emails, I open the general tab.

“You don’t need to see all that.” Darcy hurries to my side of the table.

Too late.

Now that I’m in here, all I can do is stare. There’s a flood of general inquiries. Impatient would-be clients. Journalists requesting interviews or comments.

Then theotheremails come into focus.

GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM

NURA WILL PAY

MESSAGE FOR NURA AKA BITCH

YOU OWE ME.

ARANGED MARRIAGE ASSHOLE

FUCK YOU NURA KHAN

A chill passes through me. It’s not just that the subject lines are angry—some racist, and others who can’t properly spell—it’s the sheer volume.

“Seriously, Nura, I wouldn’t open them. You can’t unsee it. These days, I just delete without reading.”

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