“Yes. I’ve been trying to teach myself.”
“Do you find it difficult?”
I shrug. “A little. It was … really just for the wedding.”
“Oh …” Her eyes leave me, and travel up to the stage where Sunny Apu and her husband are sitting with a group of people that I don’t recognize.
“Do you want to go up?” she asks. “I don’t really know anyone else here.”
She doesn’t really knowmeeither. It’s been years since I last saw her. She’s changed so much that I hardly recognize her now. And we weren’t exactly friends back in primary school, either, but now I’m kind of wishing we had been.
“Sure, yes. That’d be nice,” I say.
“You haven’t yet?”
“No, um … there’s a queue.” It’s not so much a queue as people pushing in front of each other whenever they get the opportunity.
“I think you have bridesmaid priority. Come on.” She takes hold of my hand. Her grip is soft and warm and kind of sweaty because there are a lot of people around us, but I don’t really mind. I’m on cloud nine because this beautiful girl is holding my hand. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything, but my heart is beating a mile a minute and I can’t help but think that this is better than the kebab. Maybe even the kebab and the biryani combined.
I’m barely aware of pushing through the crowd and onto the stage. I only realize we’re there when Flávia lets go of my hand and smiles. She takes a seat next to Dulabhai and I slip into the space beside Sunny Apu, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how small the settee is.
“Congrats,” I whisper to Sunny Apu, taking hold of her hand and giving it a small squeeze.
“Thanks, Nishat,” she says. “Where’s Priti?”
My eyes dash to my right, like I’m expecting Priti to simply appear there. It only occurs to me now that I did exactly the one thing she told me not to do.
“She’s in the bathroom,” I say, turning back to Sunny Apu.
“Oh,” she says with a polite smile.
“She has to fix her face,” I say. “Like … the makeup.” I should have probably shut up at bathroom.
“Excuse me?” The photographer is looking at me with some exasperation. She gives a wave of her hand, indicating that we should all look ahead. There are a few clicks and flashes, and then the photographer is ushering us off the stage.
“Bye,” I mumble to Sunny Apu. In a moment, my seat is occupied by a petite girl that I’ve never seen before. She whispers something into her ear, and I feel a weird pang of jealousy, realizing that this is probably an in-law. It feels as if Priti and I have already been replaced by Sunny Apu’s new relatives.
“Coming?” Flávia asks with a tilt of her head. I nod, hoping she’ll take my hand again, but she doesn’t.
We’re ambushed by my sister before we’ve even descended from the stage.
“I told you not to go up without me!” Priti cries, standing at the bottom of the stage with her hands on her hips. She looks so much like Ammu when she’s angry that I have to bite back a smile.
“Sorry,” I say, not really meaning it. I figure it’s best not to mention how much she looks like Ammu because it’ll make her even angrier. “Just … Flávia here doesn’t know anyone.” I nod at her standing beside me. “This is Flávia, by the way.”
“Hi,” Flávia says.
“Hello.” Priti looks Flávia up and down, judgment flashing in her hazel eyes.
“She used to go to school with me,” I say, and add—again—“she doesn’t know anyone here.”
“She has a sister. She was a bridesmaid, remember?”
“Priti.” I try to squeeze a lot into her name; a warning, and some of my excitement about the fact that Flávia was holding my hand only minutes ago. And also an apology.
Priti obviously doesn’t understand any of it, because she just glowers at both me and Flávia.
“I actually better go find my sister,” Flávia says, and even though I want to say,no, stay and hold my hand for longer,I say, “Okay, see you later.”
