Page 55 of Bad At Love

And she thought she heard him say, “That might kill me, but what a way to go.”

21

With cream white walls, gleaming black and white mosaic floor, and the stage decorated with jasmine garlands, the banquet hall looked like a new bride that evening. But nothing could match the brilliant beauty of her best friend’s smile.

Chaaru held Mona’s elbow while she maneuvered her elaborate skirts up the stairs to the stage. Her lehenga, made of ivory silk, flared and swished with every step. Stitched with beads and exquisite lace work, her bodice shone in competition with the simple diamond choker at her throat.

Dressed in a matching ivory colored kurta, Dom stood under the arch, his grin so wide that it rivaled the light sweeping down from the oversized chandelier. Happiness radiated from him.

Eyes wide in her face, Mona looked around the small dais that was surrounded by friends and family. Their twins Sid and Sanjana, Kaasi, and a few others had flown in for this last celebration.

Mona turned, stumbled, and Dom caught her immediately. Laughter broke out among the watching crowd.

The priest—how Mona found a Hindu priest in Cancun was beyond anyone’s imagination, began chanting and directed the couple to exchange garlands made of fragrant jasmine buds.

Mona bent her head as Dom went first and draped the garland around her neck, adjusting it to sit beneath her elaborate flower-wrapped braid.

Applause resounded, the twenty or so guests looking like colorful butterflies surrounding the bride and groom.

When it was Mona’s turn to put the garland around his neck, a grinning Dom lifted his head out of reach. Pouting, Mona tried and failed again.

With a cheer and rowdy commentary, the guests divided into two groups, one cheering Mona on and one goading Dom to not succumb to the alternating glare and entreaty from his bride. Then bets began, with everyone present calling out dollar numbers and time limits.

Laughing, Chaaru caught Sanjana’s gaze. Sanjana shoulder bumped Kaasi while Chaaru grabbed DP’s hand and pulled him to Mona’s side.

Slowly, DP and Kaasi moved to stand behind Mona, while Sanjana and Chaaru blocked Dom from moving back further. A whisper and a whoop later, Kaasi and DP lifted Mona between them, and she threw the garland around Dom’s neck.

Disappointed groans joined thunderous cheers as Mona grabbed Dom’s head and pressed a hard kiss to his forehead. The priest looked dumbfounded, and Chaaru, leaning against DP, blinked hard to keep the tears in.

Eventually, the priest regained his composure and ordered the bride and groom to take their seats to conduct a few more rituals to bless their married life.

Mona and Dom exchanged rings and whispered vows, the rhythmic Sanskrit chants underpinning the ceremony with a sacred tone.

Years ago, Chaaru had been disillusioned with rituals and the whole institution of marriage. Traditions and customs had bound her so tight that she hadn’t been able to breathe. And yet now, witnessing Mona and Dom celebrate twenty-five years of partnership with a man she adored, a tiny sliver of faith broke through to the surface. To not only stay standing, but to gaze at each other with such sheer happiness… this was how it was supposed to be. This was what she could have, if only she reached out.

They settled into chairs that had been pulled up around the dais as the photographer arranged the D’Souza family for pictures.

The tinkle of her bangles at her wrist as she shifted restlessly had DP turning towards her. “Did I tell you that you look gorgeous in that lehenga?” he said, playing with the folds of her elaborate skirt.

She nodded absently, her mind on other things.

“Char?”

“Did you ever want to get married?” She felt his shock but couldn’t regret the question. She had bottled her heart for too long already.

He traced the veins on the back of her hands. “Yes. My parents adored each other until the day they died in that accident. And it wasn’t performative, perfect love either. They bickered constantly and made up and argued and debated and kissed in front of the kids, challenged each other. When you grow up witnessing such a sacred thing, you don’t want to settle for anything less.”

Chaaru swallowed. His hand in hers looked both alien and familiar, the fingers long and thick, with square blunt nails. And he had used those fingers to strum her body all the way to the delirious edge. He had also held her gently, as if she were precious, with those same hands.

This was a man who would always use whatever power he had, physical or emotional, towards making her feel pleasured and treasured. Only for that. The conscious admission released some hidden tightness in her chest.

“But,” he said, tugging her braid until she leaned against his shoulder, “I also know that happiness doesn’t come only in those rigid structures and within defined boundaries. That’s one way of commitment.”

Tears knocking at her eyes, Chaaru hid her face in his neck. “How do you always know to say the right thing?”

“I think you underestimate your part in how easy this is, sweetheart.”

She looked up, the rough linen of his waistcoat reminding her of how he’d laid out an array of waistcoats on the bed and asked her to choose what complemented her outfit best. This from a man who only owned white shirts and navy sweaters and black pants. “What do you mean?” she asked, playing with the button.

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