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that awful woman has stolen my appetite. More waiters come by, carrying drinks. Thin wine flutes on long stems, pale yellow, deep maroon, hoarding the light that spills down from the chandeliers. Squat crystal glasses filled with whiskey, sweating amber. I’ve never drunk alcohol—Grandfather would have had a fit at the very possibility—so Rajat waves the waiters away. But tonight, contrarily, I want something.
    Rajat looks surprised, then amused.
    “Bring the lady a piña colada.”
    I’m enchanted by the sweet, smooth taste, the pineapple flavor so unlike what my friends led me to expect. I ask for another, and then a third, but Rajat stops me.
    “Easy, Cara! It’s more potent than it seems. Try a little of this quiche instead.”
    Through the pleasant buzz in my head, I appreciate his caring. I could go through all the time allotted to us like this, my sheer chiffon back pressed against his solicitous palm. Mrs. Bhattacharya is a shriveled gossip, jealous of our happiness. And as for Sonia, now that I’m engaged and have the right, I’ll ask Rajat for the full story on her as soon as we’re alone.
    But that will not be for a while, because Papa is on the dais, calling us. The clapping sounds like a thousand small explosions. I climb the steps, wishing my grandparents were with me at this special moment. With the wish comes a stab of guilt.
    Before leaving for the reception, I’d gone to see them to say good night. I was feeling happy and excited—in my bedroom mirror, the off-the-shoulder kurti, glittering like gossamer, made me look more sophisticated than ever before. I’d decided to wait until tomorrow to bring up the issue of pushing back the marriage date. I didn’t want an argument to mar the evening, my special, magical party. I expected a tart comment from Grandfather—he liked me to wear saris. I wasn’t too worried, though. I knew he was proud of my looks, and tonight I looked my best. But when I went up to hug him good-bye, the fury on his face floored me.
    “Are you planning to go out wearing that— thing ?”
    Grandmother jumped in, attempting damage control. “Why do you say that? It’s what young people wear nowadays. Shona, you look like an oleander in that deep red.”
    “No, she doesn’t!” His lips were a pressed white line. “She looks like a—call girl.”
    Perhaps it was the accumulated stress of the day, the unanswered questions from last night. Perhaps it was because he had snatched awaymy simple joy in my new clothes and made me feel cheap. Suddenly, I was furious, too.
    “It’s always what you want that’s important—do you ever think of what might make other people happy? Like moving the wedding day forward—did you even think to ask me before you made such a big decision? I was going to beg you to reconsider. But now I’m actually glad. This way I can get away quicker from you!”
    He’d been shocked at my outburst—we’d argued before, but never like this. For a moment, his face was drained of color. Then it turned dark and he shouted back, “Go, then! Go right now. And don’t you dare come back. Why, you’re no different from—”
    Grandmother, her voice unsteady, interrupted, “I hear Bahadur calling. It’s time to leave for the hotel. Go on down.” She pushed me toward the door.
    The memory of the fight floods my mouth with its bitter, burnt taste even as I stand on the dais beside my new family, smiling for the cameras. I wish I hadn’t lost my temper. Grandfather only wanted to protect me, to make me do what he thought was the right thing. But now it’ll take me forever to cajole him out of his bad humor because he isn’t one to forgive transgressions easily. I find it hard to concentrate on Papa’s speech, and even Rajat’s, though once in a while unexpected words leap from him like sparks. Deeply grateful. Soul mate. He must feel my tenseness because, as he speaks, he gives my fingers a reassuring squeeze to indicate I’m not alone. Whatever