Page 46 of The Matchmaker

“I’ve crunched the numbers a million different ways, but if he loses his job, there aren’t enough corners in the world I can cut to make it happen on my income. Samir suggested we push the wedding date out and regroup, but we already sent out save the date cards. The thought of postponing…” She bites her lip. “I told him, we’ll just go simpler. Maybe we can shoot for the Springmont Club or something. Won’t be as nice, but what can we do?”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that.” I pat her arm. “No matter what, though, the wedding isn’t the most important thing, it’s the marriage. Who you’re marrying matters more than where you get married. You and Samir are riding high on that count.”

“Well, that’s definitely true.” Glancing around, she sighs again. “There’s no competing with weddings like these for mere mortals like us anyhow. Lena’s coming in tonight on a gold-plated gondola carried by her cousins. Tanvir’s arriving on a white horse.”

“At least he gets an animal arrival at one of the events. I talked to the wedding planner yesterday to see if she’d had any luck on moving the needle, but she told me the venue isn’t budging. Not that I blame them.”

“Yikes.” She winces. “How’s he taking it?”

“I spoke to him this morning, and he’s bummed, but he promised he’s letting it go.”

“Even without the elephant, you know this whole weeklongevent has got to cost somewhere in the seven figures. Samir’s mom? She doesn’t even want to throw us a basic mehndi. I begged her to reconsider, but no luck.”

“You want a mehndi?”

“I know, I know. My sister said the same thing.” She gives me a sheepish look. “But what girl doesn’t want her wedding to go on and on and on for days?”

“Y’all do have a rehearsal dinner. So technically that’s two days.”

“Boring.” She rolls her eyes. “Desi culture is the best for a reason.”

As someone who works for our agency, she knows desi culture, but the parts she’s complimenting right now are the parts everyone can see. The clothing. The decorations. The food and cultural rites of marriage. But desi culture goes deeper than that. It’s not just the sapphire-encrusted necklaces or the Bollywood music the deejay is blasting from the corner of the room. It’s caring for your elders, as I look out for my khala. It’s the quiet considerations for those you love, for betterandworse—sometimes even at the expense of oneself—that I associate most with my own heritage. But I can’t blame Darcy for reducing it to what the eye can behold—what you do seeisbeautiful.

“It’s clear his mother hates me,” Darcy continues. “His older sister had all the works, and they covered every last cent. I know in-laws don’t always love their daughters-in-law, but I’ve been tryingsohard. Samir says they’ll come around…. Here’s hoping, I guess.”

Poor Darcy. Intercultural marriages can be fraught, but knowing that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

“Even the grumpiest in-laws would come around to you.” I put an arm around her. “Especially when they realize you’rebasically a desi girl underneath it all. And I can throw you a mehndi. I have that curated list of henna artists too. It won’t be…” I wave a hand at the hall. “It won’t be this, but it could be nice?”

Her eyes glisten. “Are you serious?”

“Let’s call it maid of honor duties. My aunt’s backyard would be the perfect venue, don’t you think? We could put up a colorful tent and lights. It will look beautiful.”

“Nura, you’re the best.” She gives me a hug.

An assortment of appetizers is placed on our table. Keema patties. Crispy samosas. Chicken kebab skewers.

I check my watch. “There is one part of desi culture you can’t possibly love. We do not know how to start an event on time.”

“Knowing Lena, this was always going to be a delayed affair,” says Darcy. “But yes…it’s getting late, isn’t it?”

Judging from the restlessness among the guests, we’re not the only ones wondering. I check the time and feel my anxiety rising, remembering the last wedding I attended where things began to run late and a disaster followed.

Scanning the space, I spot the bride’s mother. Raheema is chatting animatedly with the caterer.Lena’s fine,I tell myself.All is well.

I refresh my email. There’s a message from Logan Wilson.

Hey, Nura. I’ll be back in town tomorrow. Could I interest you in lunch?—Logan

“Unbelievable.” I show Darcy the email.

“He’s a dog with a bone, isn’t he?” she says.

“I need to get him an electric collar so he’ll stay far away from me. When does this become harassment? Are we already there?”

“He’s just eager for his clickbait article.”

“Except…he already has a story with Avani’s wedding.”

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