Seema’s right, while I stand to her left.
And there the three of us are. Grown-ups. One about to be married, and another already married, with a baby on the way. Back when we were in college, during those middle-of-the-night conversations when we should have been studying for finals, we would talk about boys, weddings, babies, and careers. Futures that, back then, always seemed like a lifetime away. Futures that on alternate nights (sometimes alternate hours) thrilled us, worried us, and occasionally scared the hell out of us.
And here we are now. The future’s here.
Seema silently scrutinizes our reflections, deep in thought.
“Well,” I ask her, “what do you think?”
She puckers up her lips, then slowly nods her head. “I’d do us.”
F OURTEEN
The next several hours are spent with Seema and me doing wedding-y stuff: picking up the dresses, walking through the hotel venue one more time, confirming details for the outdoor Indian ceremony in the morning, the late-afternoon, indoor Western ceremony, and the lavish reception that evening. Finally, we headed out to Big Sugar Bakeshop.
No—not to confirm the wedding cake—to get cupcakes. It’s been a stressful day, and nothing releases stress quite like a cupcake. Well, okay, yes—sex. But it’s easier to procure a cupcake on short notice.
Speaking of sex, throughout the day, Jay has been texting me. Oddly enough, as much as I hate texting, in his case I am pleased. Because this way, Seema doesn’t know whom I’m “on the phone” with. And I can check my texts whenever she isn’t paying attention to me (and with it being her wedding week, that’s pretty much anytime). So I’ve been getting everything from sweet texts such as Miss u. Can’t wait 4 Thursday! and You were so cute this morning to ones that I am torn between finding exciting and wanting to delete immediately. (If texting makes me nervous, one can imagine how I feel about sexting.)
So, are you out buying sexy new underwear?
You’re a pig.
But if a woman really likes a guy, doesn’t she go out and buy new underwear?
Who told you that?
My sixty-year-old boss—but she’s French, so somehow it sounds charming when she says it.
Well, it doesn’t sound charming when you say it.
I’ll bet you look good in red lace.
I’m hanging up now.
“Are you texting him again ?” Seema asks me as she parks her car in our driveway.
“No,” I say as my fingers race around the keyboard.
Seema turns off her car and begins to gather up her purse, the box with her veil, and the box with the rest of the cupcakes. “You know, if you write back to him immediately, the chase is over.”
“The chase went on for over ten years,” I say as I hit send. I look up at her and smile. “I like it better now.”
“Just be careful.” She opens her car door. “Can you bring in my dress with yours? I have too much to carry.”
“Done.” I grab both her wedding gown and my maid-of-honor dress from the rack in the backseat.
I take our gowns out of her car and we head into the house. As we walk up the flagstone pathway, Seema asks, “Do you want me to ask him what his intentions are?”
“Yeah, that would be perfect,” I say, trying to make my voice drip with sarcasm. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you ask him how many children we’re going to have, and if he sees himself having a summer or winter wedding?”
Seema gives me an amused look. “Point taken.” She looks down at her stomach and sighs. “Man, I’m huge. I should not have had that second cupcake.”
“And to think you were only going to order one?” I mock. “I knew it wouldn’t get out of the car alive.”
Seema points to me. “You are a bad influence.”
She puts her key in the lock, and we open the door to find a stunningly beautiful redheaded woman posing on a stool, naked, in the middle of our living room. To her right is Scott, covered in red paint, an easel with canvas in front of him. Scott,
And there the three of us are. Grown-ups. One about to be married, and another already married, with a baby on the way. Back when we were in college, during those middle-of-the-night conversations when we should have been studying for finals, we would talk about boys, weddings, babies, and careers. Futures that, back then, always seemed like a lifetime away. Futures that on alternate nights (sometimes alternate hours) thrilled us, worried us, and occasionally scared the hell out of us.
And here we are now. The future’s here.
Seema silently scrutinizes our reflections, deep in thought.
“Well,” I ask her, “what do you think?”
She puckers up her lips, then slowly nods her head. “I’d do us.”
F OURTEEN
The next several hours are spent with Seema and me doing wedding-y stuff: picking up the dresses, walking through the hotel venue one more time, confirming details for the outdoor Indian ceremony in the morning, the late-afternoon, indoor Western ceremony, and the lavish reception that evening. Finally, we headed out to Big Sugar Bakeshop.
No—not to confirm the wedding cake—to get cupcakes. It’s been a stressful day, and nothing releases stress quite like a cupcake. Well, okay, yes—sex. But it’s easier to procure a cupcake on short notice.
Speaking of sex, throughout the day, Jay has been texting me. Oddly enough, as much as I hate texting, in his case I am pleased. Because this way, Seema doesn’t know whom I’m “on the phone” with. And I can check my texts whenever she isn’t paying attention to me (and with it being her wedding week, that’s pretty much anytime). So I’ve been getting everything from sweet texts such as Miss u. Can’t wait 4 Thursday! and You were so cute this morning to ones that I am torn between finding exciting and wanting to delete immediately. (If texting makes me nervous, one can imagine how I feel about sexting.)
So, are you out buying sexy new underwear?
You’re a pig.
But if a woman really likes a guy, doesn’t she go out and buy new underwear?
Who told you that?
My sixty-year-old boss—but she’s French, so somehow it sounds charming when she says it.
Well, it doesn’t sound charming when you say it.
I’ll bet you look good in red lace.
I’m hanging up now.
“Are you texting him again ?” Seema asks me as she parks her car in our driveway.
“No,” I say as my fingers race around the keyboard.
Seema turns off her car and begins to gather up her purse, the box with her veil, and the box with the rest of the cupcakes. “You know, if you write back to him immediately, the chase is over.”
“The chase went on for over ten years,” I say as I hit send. I look up at her and smile. “I like it better now.”
“Just be careful.” She opens her car door. “Can you bring in my dress with yours? I have too much to carry.”
“Done.” I grab both her wedding gown and my maid-of-honor dress from the rack in the backseat.
I take our gowns out of her car and we head into the house. As we walk up the flagstone pathway, Seema asks, “Do you want me to ask him what his intentions are?”
“Yeah, that would be perfect,” I say, trying to make my voice drip with sarcasm. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you ask him how many children we’re going to have, and if he sees himself having a summer or winter wedding?”
Seema gives me an amused look. “Point taken.” She looks down at her stomach and sighs. “Man, I’m huge. I should not have had that second cupcake.”
“And to think you were only going to order one?” I mock. “I knew it wouldn’t get out of the car alive.”
Seema points to me. “You are a bad influence.”
She puts her key in the lock, and we open the door to find a stunningly beautiful redheaded woman posing on a stool, naked, in the middle of our living room. To her right is Scott, covered in red paint, an easel with canvas in front of him. Scott,
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