The Full Moon Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

  He was sizing up Roger in that studious manner he had of evaluating something. I’d come to know that look well. He gave legal documents as well as individuals the same kind of penetrating gaze that meant his brain was computing facts.

  There was something intense about Lou at the moment that made me uneasy, so I said, “Lou, it’s getting late. I’d better drive you to the train station.”

  “Good idea.” He looked at his wristwatch. “Just about rush hour—there should be plenty of trains available.”

  While I put on my coat and fished the car keys out of my purse, Lou said good-bye to Mom and Dad. They thanked him profusely for all his help.

  Dad eyed Lou with the merest hint of suspicion—something so subtle that only I could sense it. A mild bolt of panic shot through me. Had he guessed that Lou had kissed me earlier? Dad was sharper than his Swiss-made scalpels. I could swear Dad was capable of reading minds and seeing through human brain tissue as if it were transparent glass.

  Roger bid Lou good-bye with another handshake. But I noticed the smile was absent. There was a hardness in his expression that I’d never seen before—not even when Satish had shown interest in me. With some reluctance Lou took Roger’s hand—in silence, dark eyes still watchful.

  There was definitely hostility between the two men. I sensed that it had to do with me. How about that? I reflected. Two good-looking men having a mental duel over me. Nevertheless the negative energy was making me edgy.

  “Okay, let’s go.” I rushed Lou out of there as quickly as I could. Lou had told me earlier that he’d parked my car in the multilevel parking garage.

  As we rode the elevator up to the garage’s third level, Lou folded his arms across his middle in that now-familiar gesture and raised his eyebrows at me. “So, what are we running from, Counselor? I don’t recall hearing fire alarms or orders to evacuate the building.”

  The elevator doors opened and I spotted my car right away. “I didn’t want you to miss the train,” I said, marching toward my car. “Besides, your friend may not appreciate picking you up at the station at some ungodly hour.”

  “Okay.” Lou’s tone conveyed that he didn’t believe one word I’d said. Nonetheless he opened the passenger side door, settled back in his seat, and secured his seat belt. Pulling out a roll of mints from his pocket, he offered me one and moved on to a safer subject. “Any idea when your grandmother is going to be released?”

  “No. They want to keep her for at least another day. Right now she’s on oxygen and her fever’s down, but at her age it could take a little longer for the antibiotics to take effect.”

  “I hope she goes home soon.” Lou kept his eyes glued to the road.

  The rest of the ride was quiet. In the station’s parking lot I gave him the train schedule I always kept in my glove compartment and thanked him again. “Lou, I don’t even know what to say other than thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. Glad I could help.”

  “I’ll make it up to you.” I had no idea how I was going to do that or when, but the burden of obligation weighed heavily on my mind.

  “Don’t give it another thought.” He leaned over and placed a light kiss on my temple. “Go home and get a good night’s rest. I’ll call you soon.”

  All the way back to the hospital I mulled over the way Lou had been studying Roger. I hadn’t indicated by word or gesture that Roger meant anything to me. And yet Lou, a man who suddenly appeared more complicated than ever, had been overtly wary of Roger. Beyond wary. He seemed jealous.

  Back at the hospital, there was no sign of my parents or Roger in the waiting area, so I made my way to Pamma’s room. I discovered all three of them standing around her bed, talking. Pamma looked more comfortable than she had earlier. She was smiling at something Roger was saying to her.

  The devil was trying to charm a sick old woman. And I wasn’t surprised one bit. That man could charm the shell off a tortoise.

  I went in and joined the three of them. A nurse appeared sometime later and informed us that visiting hours were over. So we reluctantly wished Pamma good night. Dad laid a hand on her forehead and asked her to take it easy, while Mom straightened her covers.

  Then we walked out of there. My heart felt like a lead ball. Leaving Pamma behind with those tubes stuck into her was awful. She’d never been alone since she’d come to live with us.

  Stopping at the door, I turned around for one last look and waved at her. She gave me an encouraging half smile.

  Tears welled up in my eyes yet again. She was going to spend the night in a strange bed. Alone.

  A warm, reassuring hand descended on my shoulder. “I’ll be okay, Dad,” I whispered. But it wasn’t Dad. It was Roger. It felt good to have him there. And that in itself irritated me.

  He put his arm around me as I left the room. Together we walked down the long, fluorescent-lit corridor with waxed linoleum floors, stark white walls, and the smell of disinfectant.

  At Dad’s suggestion we went to a Mexican restaurant to eat. Dad and Roger traveled in Dad’s car and Mom rode with me. Roger and Dad ate with gusto, while Mom and I ate very little.

  Pamma weighed heavily on our minds. I could tell Mom was consumed by guilt, although God knows why. We were in a booth and Mom was next to me, so I placed a hand on hers on the red vinyl seat. It felt small and cold.

  After the meal, Mom and I drove home. Dad took Roger to the train station. I turned to Mom when we stopped at a red light. “How come you invited Roger to dinner? I didn’t realize you knew he lived in the city these days.”

  Mom hesitated. “Venki and Sharda gave us his address and phone number, so I contacted him.”

  “Hmm.” It made sense. Roger’s parents and my family had gotten along well right from the beginning. It was only logical that they should inform my parents about Roger’s move to the city. Although, and this brought on a grudging smile, he was capable of taking care of himself. I didn’t bother to ask Mom where Roger lived. I didn’t want to let on that I was curious.

  As soon as we reached home, I went directly to my room. It had been a long and exhausting day, both physically and emotionally. But once I got into bed I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

  Lou’s kiss had been disturbing. I kept analyzing it in my mind, and still couldn’t decide whether I liked it. The sensation had been pleasant—very pleasant—and yet something was missing. Was I expecting fireworks? I didn’t have anything to compare the experience with, so I couldn’t say how good or bad it was.

  I couldn’t discuss it with Amy, either. She had been sexually active for years, and at present she and David were having wild and wonderful sex at every opportunity, so discussing my first kiss at this age was like talking to a teenager about potty training.

  Then there was my grandmother, lying in a hospital bed and looking entirely helpless for the first time in my life. What if something went wrong in the middle of the night? What if she was too weak to call for help? Would the nurses get to her in time? But then Dad had assured Mom and me that Pamma was going to be all right, and I trusted his medical judgment.

  A little later, I heard the garage door opening and closing, then Dad coming inside the house. I wondered what he and Roger had talked about while they drove to the train station. Was Dad trying to set me up with Roger once again? Was that why he and Mom were so eager to invite him to dinner and treat him like a son?

  Chapter 21

  Pamma came home three days later. It was a relief to have her back with us. She looked a bit thinner. For the first couple of days she confined herself to her room and Mom carried her meals to her and helped her bathe and dress, but Pamma soon got back into her routine.

  However, her unexpected illness had served me a jolt. A woman who’d seemed invincible was very human—and the fear of losing her was real now. I could clearly see it was the same for Mom. She treated Pamma with kid gloves. Dad, being a macho male and a doctor, didn’t show it all that much, but I could see he was more solicitou
s of Pamma now, although very subtly.

  The Saturday after Pamma’s return was Amy’s bachelorette party. Amy and the girls, seven of them in all, arrived at our house that afternoon, since it was centrally located and large enough for everyone. We all went out to a beauty salon and got ourselves manicures and pedicures. We also treated Amy to a full body massage and facial.

  That evening, we donned our party dresses. As a luxurious special touch, we had arranged for a limousine to pick us up and transport us to the city and later bring us back.

  I was keyed up. It had been a while since all of us had gone to a nightclub together. In our younger days we used to go bar hopping and partying, but now we were all grown women with jobs and responsibilities. Three of the women were now married, and two of them were mothers, but it was still exciting to plan a girls’ night out.

  Mom seemed out of touch, too, since I hadn’t hosted a sleepover in several years. She looked a bit overwhelmed by eight young women scampering around the house, putting on makeup, fixing their hair, and leaving behind a mess in her sparkling bathrooms.

  Being the perfect Indian hostess, Mom kept asking everyone if they wanted something to eat or drink. She looked disappointed when they shook their heads and went back to their mascara and hair spray.

  At the moment, she was sitting on my bed, watching me put on my makeup. I could tell something was bothering her. I could see her in the mirror, biting her lower lip.

  “Don’t worry, Mom, we’ll get something to eat and drink at the restaurant,” I told her.

  “It’s not right to send away guests on an empty stomach,” she grumbled.

  “Mom, you did your part by asking them, so stop obsessing about it,” I admonished her.

  Of course, there were other minor issues that disturbed her. She wouldn’t be Mom if there weren’t. “Is it safe for decent girls to go to a place where men dance naked?”

  I should have known she’d zero in on that. “The men wear shorts; they’re not naked.” I tried to keep my voice casual. I’d been to strip clubs before, but Mom didn’t know about that part of my life. Although I had to admit, the thought of looking at scantily clad men had me slightly breathless and excited.

  How many seminude men did I ever get to see, let alone touch?

  “But still, they wear thongs or something like that, so they’re mostly naked, right?” Mom argued. “Even the name of the club, Monk’s Hunks, sounds a bit suspicious.”

  “The owner’s last name is Monk, Mom. It has nothing to do with a monastery. It’s a popular place and lots of women go there. It’s very safe.”

  “Why couldn’t you choose a nice Indian restaurant where they play elegant music and serve a nutritious buffet? Leela told me about that new restaurant on Fiftieth Street. She says it is really nice and trendy. It has disco dancing and fusion cuisine. Even your non-Indian friends would enjoy that.”

  I tried hard not to smile. “Mom, nobody has a bachelorette party with parathas, fusion curry, and disco dancing to Indian classical music. We have reservations for dinner at a French restaurant and we’ll go to the club later at night.”

  “Okay, but is that naked fellows’ club in a safe area at least?” Mom’s frown deepened. “All you young and pretty girls out there in some rowdy club with drunkards and predatory men worries me.”

  Just then Sue walked into the room to borrow my flatiron. A curiously amused look came over her face. She had caught Mom’s last remark.

  I glanced at Mom in the mirror. “Mom, relax. We’re not kids anymore.”

  “But Manhattan at night can be dangerous, dear. Just the other day I heard Kate’s granddaughter got mugged outside a bar in Manhattan. Her shoulder was dislocated and her purse was gone—eighty-three dollars and all credit cards stolen.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” I said. Kate was a senior citizen who volunteered at the local library, which Mom frequented.

  “We’ll be careful. I promise.” I met Sue’s amused glance in the mirror. “We’re not going to walk anywhere. The limo will drop us off at the front door and pick us up at the same place when we’re ready to come home.”

  Mom’s frown eased a little, but she continued to chew on her lower lip for a little while longer before sliding off the bed and walking away. As soon as Sue and I heard Mom’s footsteps going down the stairs we started chuckling.

  “Your mom has an active imagination,” said Sue.

  “My mom leads a very sheltered life and thinks Manhattan at night is a jungle filled with murderers and pimps,” I explained.

  Thank God Dad had stayed away from what he called “girly things” and was watching television downstairs. He was worse than Mom when it came to protectiveness.

  Meanwhile Pamma had wisely removed her hearing aid to take a snooze on the family room couch, completely oblivious to the noise on the second floor.

  My friends thought Dad was cool, Mom was a doll, and my grandma was adorable. I was glad to hear that. However, I had warned Amy and others who were planning to wear cocktail dresses to put on their long winter coats before going downstairs. An obscene amount of exposed cleavage and thigh would not sit well with my family—mainly Dad.

  I wouldn’t be surprised if Dad ordered me to stay home and quietly told the other girls to go out by themselves. As things stood right now, everything was going smoothly. The family was pleased that I had offered to open up our home for everyone to gather and get ready for the big night. My parents had known all my close friends for many years and generally approved of them.

  As I brushed my hair, I recalled my teenage days when things weren’t so harmonious in our house. I was going through my rebellious adolescent years, when I’d thought parents weren’t meant to be heard or seen. I had wanted them to disappear into the woodwork whenever my friends were around.

  I was ashamed of Mom’s department store clothes, her accent, and the strong smell of Indian spices in our home. I was mortified at the gaudy furnishings in our living room and the Hindu gods and goddesses in the small alcove off the kitchen that served as Mom’s altar room.

  Whenever Dad had insisted on carrying on a conversation with my friends or brought out his movie camera to create happy memories, as he called it, I’d wanted to hide in some dark corner. Pamma’s saris and her Telugu ways were always a topic for curious questions from my friends—questions I didn’t want to answer.

  Mom and Pamma’s concerns over my spending time outdoors and getting sunburn and consequently making my dark skin even darker had always turned into a major argument in those days.

  I recalled one particular Saturday afternoon during summer. Amy and Sue had come by to swim in our pool. I was sixteen years old. Amy and Sue had worn tiny bikinis that left little to the imagination. I was a roly-poly teenager and wore a one piece outfit that covered as much of me as possible, all the while wishing I could look like the skinny, brown-eyed and brown haired Amy with the sunny smile, or like the blond, green-eyed Sue—not so skinny, but still cute and vivacious.

  One look at the girls’ bikinis and Pamma’s jaw had dropped. “Oh Lord Venkatesha! Why are your friends not wearing any clothes?”

  Dad’s mouth had flattened into a grim line. He’d taken me aside for a brief talking-to. “Soorya, is that any kind of attire for your girlfriends? Do their parents know what kind of trashy outfits they’re wearing?”

  “Dad, it’s a bathing suit. And their parents don’t mind.”

  “It’s two tiny strips of cloth. They’re not exactly five years old.”

  “It’s what all the girls wear, Dad.” I had to defend my friends.

  “You don’t.”

  I’d glared at my father with my lips quivering, eyelids burning with tears. “I’m too damn chunky to wear a little bikini. If I had the figure, don’t you think I’d wear one, too?”

  “Over my dead body, Soorya! Even if you lose weight I will not allow you to wear such ridiculous outfits. In our culture, women don’t go around exposing their bodies.”

&nb
sp; “But we don’t live in your culture, do we? We live in America.” It had given me immense satisfaction to note my father’s eyes turn wide with shock. “If you wanted me to wear those stupid saris and salwar-kameez outfits, you should have lived in India, not in New Jersey.”

  Before my stunned dad could say another word, I’d turned on my chubby heel and dashed out of there, only to bump into Mom.

  She’d obviously heard everything. She’d held me by the shoulders and looked at me with such visible pain in her eyes that I’d let my eyes drop. The basset hound look used to get to me even in those days, when mutiny stirred in my veins. “How could you say such hateful things to your father, Soorya?”

  “He started it,” I’d pouted defensively.

  “He loves you, dear. He wants what’s best for you.”

  “No, he doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t be so mean. He wants everyone to dress like little Telugu girls. And he hates my friends. I’ll never ask them to come here again. Ever!” With the dreaded tears streaming down my cheeks, I’d run to the bathroom, allowed my emotions to settle over the next several minutes, and then gone out and joined my friends in the pool like nothing unusual had transpired between my parents and me.

  I’d have died before I’d let them see what was going on. It was bad enough that I looked different from them—the last thing I needed was to make it obvious that our language and dress and culture were different, too.

  When Amy had asked me why my eyes and nose looked red and swollen, I’d told her my allergies were acting up.

  Later that afternoon, Mom had insisted on making mango lassi for my friends—a yogurt shake made with mango juice. Amy had wrinkled up her small, tip-tilted nose. “What’s this? It smells funny.” Sue had bravely ventured to take a sip but grimaced. “It’s got a weird taste.” That was the end of the lassidrinking session.

  Mortified yet again, I’d marched up to Mom. “Why didn’t you just give them soda or punch or something American?”

  Mom had cringed and picked up the glasses, then brought out cans of soda along with chocolate chip cookies and potato chips. She had quietly put away the chicken samosas she’d made as a special treat for my friends.