The Full Moon Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

  Dad’s stiff shoulders relaxed a bit, probably because the secret was finally out in the open. “He wanted to tell you long ago, princess, but I prevented him from doing it. I knew you’d explode. You have a mean temper, you know.”

  “What difference would it have made if I exploded then or exploded now?”

  “Big difference. Now you’ve had a chance to get to know Rajesh better. If you had known this months ago, you would have dismissed him as a greedy, devious opportunist. You’d never have agreed to see him, let alone talk to him or spend time with him.”

  I didn’t want to admit it, but Dad was probably right. “Well, now that you’ve generously funded Roger’s play, I suppose he can go on his merry way. Venki and Sharda can find him a pretty little wife somewhere and we can all get on with our lives.” I stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

  Dad glared at me. “I’m not done yet. Sit down!”

  I wondered how long this grilling was likely to last. “I’m exhausted, Dad,” I said and remained standing.

  “So am I, Soorya, with your juvenile attitude. Now sit down and hear me out.” After I sank back onto the chair, he leaned forward, his arms resting loosely on his knees. “You were the one who turned him down. Rajesh told me that he’d mentioned marriage the day you guys met, and that you’d more or less made it clear you weren’t interested in a man with no money and no career prospects.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Not in so many words, but that was the impression you gave Rajesh, isn’t that right?”

  “If you were in my shoes, would you have considered someone as unconventional as him? He even lied about his name. And you should have seen his picture. I’ve seen homeless men who look more respectable than that.” I looked at Mom. “If Dad had been like Roger, would you have thought of him as a potential husband for yourself?”

  Mom took a moment to respond. “Probably not. But I saw the look on your face when you met Rajesh. You nearly dropped the coffee tray. After that day I could see the disappointment in your face when there was no call from the Vadepallis. You were interested in Rajesh the man, but not Rajesh the dramatist. Am I right?”

  I shrugged, reluctant to acknowledge it and yet marveling at how accurately Mom had read my mind. I hadn’t realized she was that perceptive. “I guess.”

  “So when we realized you and Rajesh could make such a good match, and the only thing stopping that from happening was his career, Dad and I decided we might be able to help.”

  “So you guys set out to rescue Rog . . . Rajesh?”

  Dad shrugged. “I suppose you could call it that. And rescue you from your silly hang-ups to some extent.”

  Mom’s basset hound eyes focused on mine like soft moonbeams. “Was that so wrong, dear? We want to see you happy, and Rajesh could make you happy. He told us he liked you since the day he met you.”

  “You’re making that up.” Something stirred in my chest—despite my doubts.

  “I’m not. He said you were different from the other girls he had met. He liked your candid nature and your feistiness. He called the other young women he had met insipid—demure little Telugu girls that bored him to tears.”

  “That’s just sour grapes because all those women turned him down.”

  “So did you, and yet he liked you a lot more than he did those girls, enough to want to stick around and stay in touch with you. He has been trying very hard to win you over.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Exactly how is he doing that, Mom?”

  Mom groaned. “Are you blind? He invited you to dinner and then to lunch, which you couldn’t go to because you got sick. But he still brought you chocolates and stayed with you all afternoon in an effort to cheer you up. He even asked you to attend his rehearsals.”

  “How do you know all that?” I asked with a scowl. I thought I’d successfully kept my dealings with Roger a secret.

  “Recently he told us about all the times you two had met, including how much he enjoyed your trip to the temple.”

  That Roger needed to have his big mouth sewn shut.

  “He said quite frankly that he admires you. He thinks you’re a brilliant young lady,” Mom said. “He wants to propose to you. What more do you want from that poor boy, Soorya?”

  “He really said all that?” I wished my parents had told me this a long time ago.

  Dad gave a dry laugh. “He said that and more. I just wish you’d give the man a chance. He’s a good kid. And you know what? He’s promised his father that if he fails in this venture he’ll join Venki’s consulting business. So there you go. Rajesh can still be a rich businessman and a suitable husband for a successful and bright lawyer. Either way you have nothing to lose.”

  I shot Dad a wary look. “Does this mean you guys are going to force me to marry Roger?”

  Mom rose wearily to her feet and turned toward the door. “No, dear. We don’t believe in forcing you into doing anything you don’t want to do. It’s up to you. And I wish you would start calling him Rajesh. Even his professional name is Rajesh Vadepalli now.”

  “What about his parents? How do they feel about me?”

  Dad got up to follow Mom. “They think you’re a strong and practical young lady, a good complement to their creative and idealistic Rajesh.”

  “Strong and practical is just another way to describe bossy and boring, Dad.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. I’m bossy and boring myself, and proud of it. Rajesh could stand to learn some of your discipline and business sense.” Since I opened my mouth to retort, he promptly held up a hand to shut me up. “Now go to bed and think about this before you start shooting your mouth off.”

  Mom gave me one of her stern looks. “And remember, nice Telugu boys don’t grow on trees. Rajesh is not going to hang around forever. If you keep pushing him away, he will be gone from your life before you know it.”

  He was already gone from my life, but I wasn’t about to reveal that to Mom and Dad. Let them think what they wanted.

  “Other girls find him very attractive,” Mom added. Her face broke into a fond smile. “I must say he looked very handsome and sexy in that tuxedo last night.”

  As if I didn’t know that. Wait a minute! Had Mom actually used the word sexy? Had Dad looked pleased with her using such language? What was happening to my old-fashioned family? It was all Roger’s fault.

  I turned off the lights after my parents retired upstairs, reset the alarm, and went to my room. But I was too wound up to sleep. My mind was in turmoil. Too much had happened in one day for my tired brain to absorb.

  Lying on my bed in the dark, I rehashed the scene in Lou’s car. I was lucky that he’d let me off the hook that easily. He could have lost his temper at me for leading him on, or worse, he could have taken me to his house and forced himself on me. But he’d been a gentleman and would hopefully remain a friend. On a professional level, too, having a friend at the DEP was definitely an asset.

  I couldn’t stop obsessing over what my parents had just told me, either—and what Roger had said about his feelings for me. Could it be true that he was genuinely fond of me? I knew he liked and respected me in a certain fashion, but could he really be interested in me as a woman and not merely a cash cow?

  And that kiss outside the restaurant. I’d never realized Roger was capable of that kind of raw, savage emotion. On some level it was exciting to know that the easygoing Roger had some interesting and complicated facets to his character, fiery passion and keen temper, and that I was able to bring them to the fore.

  But then, half in love was not really head over heels in love. Roger had not confessed to being in love with me. On the other hand, we’d met only a few times, mostly surrounded by others, and none of them were dates, so love was not likely to happen.

  And if Mom and Dad, all the other couples in my family, the Vadepallis, and more importantly, Renuka and her husband, who were closer to our age, could start with basic liking and let it mature and grow into something beautiful a
nd lasting, why couldn’t Roger and I?

  As Roger had pointed out, Mom and Dad and the Vadepallis had given me every opportunity to get to know him better, and for his part he was trying, too. Also, like he’d said, in our culture, there couldn’t be a more solid foundation than what the two of us had—complete support from both families combined with mutual affection.

  There were so many pluses when I thought about marrying Roger. I made a mental list. According to Mom, our horoscopes were a good match. His parents and mine had bonded in an instant, something that hadn’t happened with the other guys who’d come bride-viewing to our house over the last few years. Roger and I got along well. And last but not least, I found him very attractive—another thing I hadn’t felt with any of the others. Not even close.

  Okay, so if I’d really let him court me, if things had gone well for us, and we’d ended up getting married, I’d have had to start a whole new life—give up everything that was safe and secure and so easy to take for granted. Living in this big, comfortable house with my parents and Pamma had lulled me into a sense of security, and it was difficult to imagine a future without it.

  Roger had served me a tremendous jolt by leaving me standing on the sidewalk the previous night. Perhaps I needed a wake-up call like that—to take a hard look at where my life was going. I had no other interested suitors. There had never been any.

  This had been my last chance at grabbing a life with a certain amount of promise. If I’d wanted any kind of marital happiness, I was in no position to throw away an opportunity like this.

  There were no guarantees in life, and this proposal hadn’t come with a warranty either, perhaps not even a limited one, but it was the only offer I’d had. And yet I had chosen to cast it away.

  Unable to sleep, I wandered over to the window and opened the blinds. I was bathed in moonlight. Not quite a full moon, since that had occurred last night—but still ethereal and lovely. I’d completely forgotten that Roger’s debut had occurred on full-moon night. I recalled it as a pristine and beautiful night, crisp and clear, making the stars appear to be almost within one’s reach.

  Roger had probably planned his debut to coincide with purnima, an auspicious time. Perhaps his parents had advised him to do it—after consulting an astrologer about lucky dates, astral projections, best chance for success, and all those old-fashioned beliefs. A December full moon, coming at the beginning of the winter solstice, was believed to be full of promise for new ventures. How appropriate that Roger had his opening on just such a night.

  And . . . oh God! He had more or less proposed to me last night, too, albeit in an angry and most unconventional fashion. We had met on a full moon day, had our first evening together outside the Ganesh temple on a full moon, and he’d proposed to me on a full moon.

  Three times? Was that some weird coincidence? Was it a sign from the Gods?

  With my eyes fixed on the moon, and my mind in overdrive, I was finally willing to admit that I was ready for a commitment—willing to set aside my ego and make a concession.

  Yes, I was a spoiled brat. I had a mean temper, as Dad had pointed out. And yes, I had a chip on my shoulder. Perhaps if I’d had a sibling or two I’d have been less self-centered?

  And with that understanding came another, more significant realization: I didn’t want to lose Roger. I couldn’t afford to lose him.

  Alas, it was too late to win him back.

  Chapter 31

  The next morning, gritty-eyed and exhausted from analyzing and lamenting over my mistakes all night, I trudged downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of skim milk. I hadn’t bothered to change out of my pajamas and robe.

  Dad, Mom, and Pamma were sitting around the kitchen table, drowning in newspapers. Pages were scattered on the table, the counter, even the floor.

  “What are you guys doing?” The paper mess was so contrary to Mom’s habitual neatness. “This place looks like a newsstand caught in a tornado.”

  Mom clapped her hands and beamed. “Come here, dear. Look at all the reviews for Rajesh’s play.”

  The reviews! I shut the refrigerator door with a thud before I could reach for the milk. Oh no, amidst my self-centered pondering, I’d forgotten all about Roger’s big night. Again. “So, what are they saying?” I fervently hoped it was good. “And exactly how many newspapers did you buy?”

  Dad waved a page at me. “Every paper I could find at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning. Take a look. Didn’t I tell you that boy was smart?”

  “Yeah, Dad, you did.” Short of twirling his nonexistent mustache, Dad was doing everything a proud father would do. He and Mom looked like the parents of a newborn baby boy, bursting with satisfaction. Pamma’s dentures clicked briskly as she read a review through the reading glasses perched on her nose.

  “They’re calling him a fresh and brilliant new voice on Broadway,” Dad informed me.

  I gathered up some of the newspapers and settled myself in the family room. With a sense of rising euphoria, I read the reviews in the major papers: Vadepalli’s Mumbai to Manhattan is a promising debut. . . . A cleverly crafted tale of the macabre, the morbid, and the malicious.... Refreshing and vibrant.... Vadepalli’s debut is stellar.... Vadepalli is a master storyteller. . . . An intriguing mix of urban crime and the paranormal with a side order of spicy Indian chutney. . . .

  There were a few negative reviews and some ho-hum ones, too. It wouldn’t be realistic if there weren’t. But those were from the lesser-known critics. And anyway, nobody was that perfect. But Roger had come close, that charming devil. He was probably walking on air right this minute, crooked grin and all.

  Oh God, I missed him. I’d been with him only a day and a half ago, and it already seemed like ages since I’d seen him. Why hadn’t I done something to stop him from leaving the other night? Apologized to him, at the very least? He had described me aptly: I was sitting atop a very high horse, a bitter woman so full of scorn that I couldn’t see anyone or anything on the ground.

  He was right. So damn right.

  By rejecting Roger, I had thrown away the best thing that had ever happened in my life. Was it too late to make amends? If nothing else, Roger had a tremendous capacity for goodwill and forgiveness. But would he be big enough to forgive me and my arrogant ways? I had whittled away at his patience and kindness time and again. Would he be willing to help me dismount that imaginary horse?

  I’d never know if I didn’t try, and I’d never forgive myself, either. As much as I hated it, it was my turn to pick up the phone and call Roger. Even if he wanted nothing to do with me, at least I could apologize and get that load of guilt off my chest. I didn’t want to feel like a first-class bitch for the rest of my life.

  Picking up the address book resting by the phone on the end table, I leafed through it. Sure enough, Mom had listed the senior Vadepallis’ and Roger’s numbers. She even had his cell phone penciled in. That was probably the best way to catch him.

  Upstairs in my room, I shut the door and retrieved my cell phone from my purse. With shaky fingers I dialed Roger’s number.

  On the fifth ring, he answered the phone. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Roger. This is Soorya.”

  “Oh . . . hi.” His voice was subdued, distant, but more seductive than ever, and it felt like a shot of electricity rocketing up my spine.

  I swallowed to moisten my dry throat. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

  “No, I’m on the road.”

  “You’re traveling?” I tried to keep the dismay out of my voice, but failed.

  “Just going out for breakfast . . . and running an errand.”

  “Oh.” Of course he had to eat. I felt tongue-tied, but managed to say, “Congratulations, Roger. I’ve been reading the reviews.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without your parents.”

  “I know.”

  His tone was cool. “I’ve had a long couple of days, Soorya. I have to—”

  “Roger, wait,” I interrupted him. “I’
d like to apologize for my behavior the other night.”

  I could hear him take a deep breath. “What brought that on? Did your mom and dad ask you to apologize?”

  “No. I’m doing this entirely on my own. I was out of line.”

  “Okay. Apology accepted.”

  “I’m sorry about all the times I’ve been rude and nasty and . . . difficult.” Now that I’d broken the ice, I wanted to finish what I’d started.

  “That’s all right, Soorya.”

  “Do you mean that, Roger, or are you just saying it to get rid of me?”

  “I always mean what I say.” He was silent for a minute, making me wonder if he’d hung up or his phone battery had died. But he spoke again. “I suppose I’ve given you sufficient cause in the past for some of that resentment.”

  “Can you blame me? When we met, you came across as a cold, calculating guy who wanted a rich wife and nothing more. Later, you went and told my parents about your feelings for me, yet not once did you have the decency to tell me to my face.”

  “I wasn’t sure how you’d handle it, Soorya. You’d made it very plain that I was a drifter, not exactly your type. You know what I mean.”

  “Hmm.” I knew what he meant. And I was glad we were talking, really talking like mature adults—instead of squabbling.

  “Besides, if I told you that I liked your personality, you wouldn’t have believed me anyway,” added Roger. “You’d think I was lying to you just to get my hands on your money. You have a very suspicious mind, Soorya. Maybe that’s an asset. It’s probably what makes you an effective lawyer.”

  “It has served me very well in my profession, thank you,” I informed him. “I don’t need to defend myself on that count.”

  “You don’t, but it’s a deterrent in your personal life. It won’t let you live life to the fullest—you always assume everything in this world comes with a catch—the fine print that’ll bite you on the ass. And that chip on your shoulder about your appearance is so damn big, you can’t see past it.”