The Marriage Pact

by Pullen, M. J.

  For a moment, she debated turning around and going upstairs through the dining room, and avoiding the latest drama altogether. What was it this time? The special vanilla extract being flown in from Madagascar for the cake icing had been waylaid at the border by the U.S. Customs Department? She sighed and moved into the room, clearing her throat to announce her presence.

  “Hi, sweetie,” said her mother, her tone resigned and sad.

  “What’s wrong?” The question elicited a loud sob from Nicole and Ravi held her tighter.

  “Ravi’s mother is not attending the wedding. He spoke with her this afternoon.”

  Marci spoke slowly, sensing a minefield ahead. “Um, okay. I—I thought we already knew that? Hasn’t she been saying for months that she wasn’t coming?”

  This time Ravi answered, over Nicole’s head. “Well, yes, but I think I was always hoping that she would change her mind by now. My mother can be very stubborn but I didn’t think she would actually miss the wedding. I’ve been telling Nicole not to lose hope, but at this point it seems really unlikely she will attend.”

  “Oh,” Marci said. “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded gravely. Marci was a bit surprised to see Nicole this upset. She’d been very nonchalant about Mrs. Argawal’s refusal to attend until now, so Marci had never explored it with her. Now, it appeared that it was bothering her more than she’d let on. Poor Nicole; she thrived on approval, more so than Marci, and failing to earn it from this very important person was obviously crushing her. She wanted to say or do something to comfort her sister, but could think of nothing.

  Ravi, however, had it covered. He held Nicky by the shoulders, pushing her back from him just a little. He produced a couple of tissues from somewhere, wiped her eyes and (really gross) snotty nose with incredible tenderness, and then kissed her eyelids. Watching such a sweet, intimate gesture, Marci felt odd that she and her parents were witness to it. “My love,” he said in a soft, deep voice Marci had never heard him use. “This is my mother’s mistake. I am sorry for you, and for us, because it is so hurtful. But I am more sorry for her that her stubbornness will cause her to miss out on my wedding to the most beautiful woman I have ever met.”

  Nicole smiled through the fresh tears. He wiped them with the back of his hand and held her chin up as he continued, “We can do anything together, right?”

  Knowing her stubborn and petulant baby sister, Marci expected to hear an argument or a “Yes, but...” Nicole, however, nodded obediently, her eyes fixed on Ravi’s. Marci had never seen her sister so soft and compliant, especially not after mercilessly running down every wedding professional in Atlanta over the last several days.

  “We have the rest of my family supporting us, and our friends, and your wonderful family.” He gestured to acknowledge the three of them. “And, most importantly, we have each other. We will always have each other, and if my mother cannot see that, it is her loss. Not ours.” Marci saw her dad glance over at her mom and give a tiny nod as Ravi spoke. He liked his new son-in-law. Nicole was in good hands.

  Nicole was a different person with Ravi in town, and over the next few days, Marci found herself wishing he’d flown down sooner. When they returned to the caterer for a second tasting—the first had not lived up to the bride’s expectations—Marci went to provide a third opinion. Chris, the heavyset catering manager, looked like a nervous cat as he covered a tiny table with food samples. He was tired and pale, and there were sweat rings beneath both arms on his black smock. He gestured a little too desperately at the first dish, inviting them to try the re-worked vegetarian samosas, with more curry and less cilantro.

  For her part, Marci could not taste a bit of difference from the first batch of samosas last week, but apparently Nicole was very happy with the changes. She clapped her hands in delight, and gushed about how they were exactly as she’d imagined, helping herself to another bite. Chris let out a sigh of obvious relief and took them through the rest of the wedding meal.

  The rest of their last-minute errands followed a similar pattern. Nicole was entirely pleased with everything, occasionally checking with Ravi or Marci for their opinions as well, but doing so in a way that really only invited compliments and excitement. Things seemed to go by much more quickly than they had over the past couple of weeks. When they stopped at an outdoor mall for ice cream in the late afternoon, Ravi and Nicole held hands and pointed at things in shop windows. For the first time since high school with Beth and Ray, Marci felt like a third wheel.

  #

  The wedding was a two-day affair, short by Indian standards and about fifty times as long as the standard Presbyterian ceremony. Nicole and Ravi had chosen carefully from the traditional ceremonies to combine their heritages as closely as possible, and leaving out bits that would most painfully highlight his mother’s absence. At the combination engagement/rehearsal ceremony on Friday night, however, Marci caught Nicole surveying the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of her future mother-in-law. To a mixture of community sadness and relief, Mrs. Argawal did not appear.

  Because much of Ravi’s family were practicing Christians, the wedding service itself was to be held in the Thompsons’ home church at 4:00 on a Saturday afternoon, with a more Indian-influenced reception at an inn down the street that evening. Reverend McClosky, who had baptized both girls and been a friend of the family for decades, would be sharing officiating duties with an Indian minister who knew both Hindu traditions and Biblical scripture.

  There was a ladies’ brunch Saturday morning, and by the time everyone gathered in the Sunday School rooms in the basement of First Presbyterian at 2:30, Ravi’s sisters and cousins, and Nicky’s sorority sisters were chatting easily across the cultural divide. As maid of honor, Marci was charged with escorting Nicole upstairs to the pastor’s office: a small, private space with an adjoining bathroom so the bride could get ready undisturbed. In theory. The reality was that every two or three minutes, someone popped into the room looking for something, delivering food, taking pictures, or asking questions.

  Even when the door stayed closed for more than five minutes, the hubbub was ever-present. Up and down the stairs and in the hallway below, there was a steady stream of footsteps, giggles, and calling out for this kind of makeup, these color panty hose, or a certain shade of nail polish. For the ceremony itself, Nicole had opted for a traditional American white wedding dress. The bridesmaids—all ten of them—would wear a rainbow of elegant saris and bejeweled sandals. Between the ceremony and reception, Nicole would change into her own ruby-red sari, hand embroidered with silver thread.

  Marci put a “do not disturb” note on the door and locked it so Nicole could get out of her brunch outfit and into her wedding dress. Assessing her sister for the first time that day, Marci thought she looked sort of pale. No, wait, she looked green. “Nicky, you okay?”

  Nicole nodded, held up a finger, and ran to Reverend McClosky’s bathroom to vomit.

  “Oh, no,” Marci said, coming up behind her. “Are you really that nervous? Was it the eggs? I thought mine tasted a little undercooked...”

  Nicole shook her head and held out a hand to be helped up. Marci wiped her face with a wet cloth, doing her best not to disturb the perfect wedding makeup Ellie had already painstakingly applied. “We’ll have to get El to re-do your lips, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s okay,” Nicole said, color returning to her face. “I’m just glad I got that over with. Don’t tell anyone, okay? Promise?”

  “Got it over with?”

  “Yeah, it only happens once a day, usually,” she explained. Marci must have looked as worried as she felt, because her sister immediately followed with, “Oh, God, no—it’s nothing bad. It’s just that I’m—well, we’re—”

  “You’re pregnant.” The light had come on.

  “Yes. Six weeks. Please, please, please don’t tell anyone, okay? I don’t want Mom and Dad to know until after the wedding.”

  “Oh my God, Nicky,” Marci said. It explained so much abo
ut Nicole’s recent behavior. A thousand questions ran through Marci’s mind, everything from how she was going to get out of drinking champagne tonight, to where they were going to fit a baby in their tiny walk-up in DC.

  “I know,” Nicole said, reading her mind. “But isn’t it wonderful?”

  This wasn’t the word Marci would have chosen, exactly, but the look on her sister’s face said it all. With the color back in her cheeks and her hair swept up gracefully, Nicky looked beautifully adult. Like a mother. The smile took up her whole face; she was radiant.

  “Of course it is,” Marci said softly, taking Nicole’s hand and squeezing it. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

  “Ravi is over the moon. He’s the only one who knows. It happened when we were home for the bachelor party, actually.”

  “Ew! In your childhood bed? Was I at home when this happened?”

  “Worse,” Nicole laughed. “At the hotel! With all those people in the room!”

  “Oh my God—I don’t think I want to hear this. What are you, an exhibitionist? Gross!”

  “Don’t be silly. We went to the bathroom.” She said this with a “well, duh” tone that Marci remembered hearing frequently during Nicole’s teen years.

  This brought up more icky mental images than Marci could handle, as she fought off her curiosity about whether the bathroom meant the shower, the toilet, or just the vanity counter. “Shhh...” she said to Nicole and to her own brain. “Don’t tell me anything else. Let’s get you ready so you can give this baby a daddy.”

  They hugged awkwardly and stepped out into the office to begin the excruciating process of wrestling Nicole into all the undergarments that would be holding her together under the enormous dress. It was not until Marci had zipped up, fluffed and powdered the rosy bride; stood for seemingly hundreds of pictures; and walked as gracefully as she could down the aisle in the sandals that did not want to stay on her feet, that it occurred to her that her niece or nephew would be just over a month younger than Doug’s child.

  Between the ceremony and reception, all the bridesmaids and Nicole were painted with henna by four of Ravi’s very talented aunts and cousins. Because the henna lasted for about two weeks, Nicole offered that anyone uncomfortable with painting could abstain, but no one did. Most of the girls stuck to having their hands and arms decorated, first with henna and then with a seemingly endless supply of noisy metallic bangles. But a few brave souls, plus Nicole and Marci, had henna applied to their faces as well. The effect was exotic, and gorgeous.

  When they arrived in the limos at the Waterford Inn, just a few miles from her parents’ home, Marci could scarcely believe the transformation. In the front, it looked like the same antebellum mansion she had always admired as a child. The long driveway, lined with oaks and Spanish moss, took them up a hill nearly a quarter mile from the road, where it circled an old fountain that still functioned and had been fitted with lighting. The house itself was two stories, a faded mossy green, with six enormous columns out front holding up the second story wrap-around porch, and still seeming to defy Sherman and his cohorts to set foot on the property. When she was very young, she’d always imagined the mansion was haunted by the ghosts of Southern belles and Rebel cavalrymen.

  Once they entered the inn, however, everything looked different. Red, gold, and purple drapes had been hung in nearly every room, creating an almost tent-like feeling and making the pre-war American furniture look out of place. Wonderful, pungent smells from the kitchen filled the entire downstairs as Chris the caterer worked his magic. They could hear the sounds of laughter and clinking of glasses from the back of the house. With the long wait between the ceremony and reception, Nicole had ordered that everyone start eating and drinking before her arrival.

  Ravi was waiting for them when they got halfway to the kitchen. He took Nicole’s hand and steered her upstairs, where they would have a few moments of alone time before making their grand entrance into the party. Traditionally, this was probably the time for the consummation of the marriage. Funny, Marci thought, because the bride was already knocked up, but tonight it was just a moment of rest to fuel the anticipation of Nicky’s appearance and give the bridesmaids time to hit the bar before the first dance.

  The beautiful day turned to a beautiful evening, and even though the sun had not yet set, the volume of pine trees around the yard made it seem darker than it was. The reception was staged outside on the mansion’s back lawn, where several tents had been erected with more red and gold drapes and zillions of little white lights. The ancient swimming pool was also lighted and filled with floating lotus blossoms. The large back deck now boasted the bar and the DJ booth, and a temporary wooden dance floor had been set up on the lightly sloping back lawn surrounded and crisscrossed by paper lanterns. The fantasy atmosphere captured the magic of the day. No wonder Nicole spent so much time on the phone, Marci thought appreciatively.

  She located Suzanne and Jake, stationed beneath one of the regal oaks behind the dance floor. As Marci made her way over, Beth and Ray joined them, as did Rebecca and a tall blonde man in an expensive-looking suit. Of their group, Rebecca was the only one who’d taken advantage of the “and guest” option on the invitation.

  When invitations went out, Nicole had e-mailed Marci in Austin with her list of Marci’s friends who were invited to the wedding, and Marci had gently hinted that if Nicole needed to trim the list, Rebecca wasn’t strictly necessary. Nicole, however, had fond memories of visiting Rebecca in the sorority house when she came to Athens as a high school junior and it had either escaped her notice that Marci and Rebecca had drifted apart over the years, or she simply didn’t care.

  When Marci arrived at the group, Suzanne pressed a cocktail into her hand and Jake kissed her on the cheek. “You look amazing,” he said, admiring her pale blue sari and the henna design on her face and hands.

  “Cool, huh?” she said, showing off her arms while the bracelets jingled.

  “Very, um...exotic,” Ray said as diplomatically as he could. “It’s not permanent, though, right?”

  “Don’t mind him,” Beth said, elbowing him in the ribs. “We don’t get to many Indian parties out in the boonies. Ray’s not exactly accustomed to appreciating other cultures.”

  “Sure I do,” Ray said with a grin. “Fixed a carburetor for a guy from New York just last week. We even got past the language barrier.”

  “Well, I think it’s sexy,” Jake said. Marci wished she didn’t blush so easily.

  “Marci, have you met my date, John?” Rebecca interrupted. “He’s a dentist, just like your dad!”

  “Hi there,” John said. “Congratulations.”

  “Isn’t he adorable?” Rebecca said, smacking him lightly on the torso. “Don’t you think so, Jake?” She batted her eyelashes inexplicably and rocked a little on her heels. Obviously Rebecca had been making the most of the open bar. A brief awkward pause was fortunately relieved as the crowd turned toward the house as the DJ announced Ravi and Nicole’s exit from the house.

  Except for the notable absence of Ravi’s mother, the evening was perfect. The DJ combined beautifully the standard American wedding reception fare (“YMCA,” “Chicken Dance,” “Twist and Shout”) with fast-paced Indian music. The latter brought all of Ravi’s side of the family to the floor in synchronized displays with lots of arm motions. As the evening wore on, they were joined by increasing numbers of white guests spurred on by the welcoming smiles of the family and copious amounts of alcohol.

  Even Marci’s father, who seldom drank more than a single beer or glass of wine, indulged in several cocktails over the course of the evening and was persuaded to join the dancing by two of Ravi’s more attractive and giggly teenage cousins. In fact, the only person who did not dance at some point in the evening was Aunt Mildred, who kept her usual post on the bench seat nearest the door, ready to complain about the skimpy outfits of the young girls and the demise of true Southern gentility to anyone foolish enough to sit next to her.r />
  The seven companions were huddled around a poolside table where they had been camped out for much of the evening, drinking and talking between dances. As the event wound down and the older relatives of both sides yawned, stretched, and made their way to the newlyweds for final hugs and pieces of advice, the remaining guests crowded the dance floor for drunken swaying to low-key ballads in both English and Hindi.

  When the initial strains of “Wonderful Tonight” echoed over the water from the dance floor, Ravi and Nicole extracted themselves from a crowd of older women and made their way to the floor. Rebecca jumped from her seat, nearly knocking it into the pool, and grabbed John by the hand to head to the floor. Beth looked at Ray, who shook his head. “Oh, come on,” she whined. “We’re never out without the kids.”

  Ray relented and let his wife lead him to the floor. Marci turned to Jake and Suzanne, ready for the next conversation, but Suzanne was staring across the pool at Sanjay, Ravi’s very handsome friend from college. He looked especially good in the white linen caftan he wore tonight, which highlighted his dark skin and easy height. “Mmm...” Suzanne said, chewing the straw in her empty rum and Coke glass. “I wouldn’t mind making his mama mad.”

  “Suzanne!” Marci said in exaggerated outrage. But Suzanne was already pushing out of her seat and adjusting her top so it showed more of her cleavage. In seconds, she had sauntered to the other side of the pool and was chatting with Sanjay, who looked not at all unhappy to have his conversation with another friend interrupted.

  “Guess it’s just us,” Jake said. “Wanna dance?”

  “Sure,” Marci said, feeling a little wobbly-kneed as he took her hand. To distract from this, she asked the question that had been on her mind since her arrival. “So what’s up with Rebecca?”