Page 77 of The Love Match

“Um.” I glance between our loud new customer and mymother, who has become a ghastly shade of pale. “Welcome?” It comes out as a question. “Please, take a look.”

She already is, rummaging through our offerings and tossing whatever she doesn’t like aside. Occasionally, one of her crew pipes up with input on the things she holds up, but more often than not, she brushes aside their commentary and the disapproving murmurs of the other customers she’s cut ahead of at the booth.

I turn to Amma again, lifting a hand in aWTF?gesture.

She grimaces but mouths back,Bride-zolad…

Oh… Oh! Crap, talking tohernever ends well. I haven’t personally had the displeasure, but Ihavewitnessed the fallout, with my mother and grandmother frantically trying to change the thread color in the hem stitches of every blouse, or whatever other bizarre request she’s made.

Smile stiffening, I interrupt, “Is there something specific I can help you find today?”

“No,” she snaps at once, before really taking notice of me. A slow smile spreads across her face as she eyes me from head to toe. “You must be Zaynab Khala’s daughter! You’re so lucky, having your mother around to make you such gorgeous clothes.”

I start to nod, then blurt, “Hey!” when she reaches across the table to rub the material of my anarkali skirt between her fingertips, humming all the while.

Harun, for his part, jerks like he intends to put an arm between us, then resigns us both to our fates with a sigh. “Hey, Sonia Afa.”

“Oh, hi, Harun,” she says distractedly, without glancing away from my skirt. Her head whips up to beam at Amma behind my shoulder. “Khala, why haven’t you ever shown me this darling tulle material?”

My mother’s jaw works as her grip tightens on the measuring tape she holds. The auntie she’s been tailoring gapes between her and the bride-zolad. Amma gulps, takes a breath, and in the meekest voice I’ve ever heard, says, “You told me which fabric to use from day one. Don’t you remember the sketches and photos you sent me? There wereso manyphotos.”

“What do I know?” the bride-zolad scoffs. “You’re clearly the expert. I mean, just look at this!” She tugs on my skirt again, ignoring the way I grab the edge of the table to keep from tipping forward, and Harun’s steadying grasp on my elbow. “Layering lightly embroidered netting over the rest of the dress is inspired, I tell you!”

“Um, well, if you like it so much, you can have it!” I interject. “I’ll take it off right now.”

Harun’s eyes go huge, but the bride-zolad waves her hand. “Aren’t you funny? I meant for my wedding shari. None of my friends’ sharis had such a unique feature.”

“B-but,” Amma says, “all the material has already been purchased. The pieces are close to being done. To make such a big change at this stage would be—”

“Money is no object,” the bride-zolad counters breezily. “You know my fiancé works for a big hedge fund, don’t you? He told me I could have whatever I want.”

My eyes widen as the realization of what she’s asking for hits me with the full force of a truck. After all the money and time and labor we’ve funneled into her wedding party outfits, she’s suddenly had a drastic change of heart?

What’s more, it’s a costly one.

“Now, Sonia,” Pushpita Khala steps in at last. “Don’t you think you’re being unreasonable? Your mother told me about the caterers and the florist and—”

A woman in an earth-toned shari behind the bride-zolad—presumably her mother—shakes her head for dear life.

Sonia’s brown eyes turn icy and her upper lip curls. “Khala, I did you a favor by hiring your friend. Because you asked and I respect you so deeply. But I’m the customer, and the customer is always right. If she’s not experienced enough to meet my needs, perhaps I should take my business elsewhere?”

“No!” Amma exclaims.

The sound of her outburst summons yet more murmurings from the surrounding aunties, this time of pity. Red splotches fill the apples of my mother’s cheeks. She clears her throat. “That is, thank you, Pushpita Afa, but you don’t need to fret. Sonia simply has superb taste, but I’m certain I can make exactly what she wants.” She rubs her hands together, squeezing the measuring tape too tightly. “Perhaps after I close up my stand, we can discuss another advance on my payment? The cost of this—”

“My fiancé will handle all that at the end,” Sonia says dismissively. I seethe. She’s not the least bit grateful. “He’s too busy right now.”

Amma’s eyes flick to me at once, glistening with an emotion she can’t reveal in front of so many people, even if most can venture a guess at how she’s feeling. Covering the cost of this new material without another advance will be impossible. If she bows to the bride-zolad, she can’t pay me back as soon as we’d both like, but if she doesn’t concede, the bride-zolad might not pay us at all, and then everything will be in vain.

Amma clears her throat once more. “Still. I’d like it if you could get him on the phone.”

“We’ll see,” comes the breezy reply.

A white-hot blade of rage twists in my chest, the sting of it briefly overtaking the sadness that bleeds beneath. Before I can leap across the table to throw myself on the bride-zolad, who is already sashaying away now that the damage is done, Harun’s fingers around my bicep stop me once more.

A few seconds later, she and her entourage vanish into the parade of people swarming us, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. I stare after her blankly, so shocked by this sideswipe that I don’t notice Harun speaking to me or the swell of other concerned voices rallying around my mother.

“You okay?” he whispers.

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