Destination Wedding

by Diksha Basu

  “It’s so hot in here,” Radha said to David at the opposite end of the lounge, near the big windows. She took off her Eileen Fisher black cardigan under which she was wearing a black, sleeveless tunic top over a pair of black leggings. While planning what to wear for the journey, she had googled “best travel outfits” and scrolled through a slideshow of celebrities in airports. How did women travel in such tight jeans and high heels?

  “How do I look?” she asked David. She hadn’t had her arms bare outside a beach or a bedroom in nearly two decades and the skin on her shoulder was wrinkled in a way no models in magazines ever wrinkle but it didn’t matter. Let young people waste time worrying about their bodies, their perfect bodies—she was happy with this one, wrinkles and all, especially sitting here right now drinking a glass of wine with David.

  “Beautiful,” David said. “Better than anyone else in this entire airport.”

  This was exactly why she could never trust David’s compliments. If she had asked Neel the same question, he would have looked at her, really looked at her, and said, “None of us can compete with the youngsters anymore but you look quite good for your age. I don’t know why you always complain about your upper arms—they’re only slightly big for your body.”

  But David always took compliments too far—she knew perfectly well that she didn’t look better than young people, and by saying that she did, he undid the compliment. Never mind. The bare arms were not about him, they were about herself. It was what she told all her clients all the time—needing external validation is risky. She glanced quickly at her husband—ex-husband—sitting there talking to their daughter and her best friend. Why was Neel swinging one arm continuously? She noticed the Fitbit on his wrist. Right, his step count.

  David, meanwhile, was flipping through a guidebook on India. On the cover there were three poor children smiling and showing teeth so white you’d think they belonged in Hollywood.

  “Let’s go sit with Tina and the others,” Radha said to him.

  “May we join you?” she asked as they approached Tina, Marianne, and Neel. How silly to be so formal with her own daughter and ex-husband.

  “Of course,” Mr. Das said. “Come, come. Have a seat. Nice to see you, David Smith. Radha, I was just telling the girls here that I am following in your footsteps. I have met someone. Well, I have met someone over email and I am about to meet her in person.”

  Tina drained the rest of her drink.

  “Meera and Rakesh introduced me to this woman in East Delhi who runs a matchmaking agency for widows,” Mr. Das was saying. He turned to David and added, “Meera and Rakesh are Shefali’s parents, David Smith. Meera is my sister. They’re the ones paying for all of our rooms at the club. Yours as well. You probably know that. Anyway, this Mrs. Ray has clients all over Delhi and even the United States and I think maybe Singapore now. And she introduced me to Mrs. Sethi and we’ve been in touch over email these past few months.”

  “I have to use the bathroom,” Tina said, and she got up and walked away from the group.

  Now her father was going to start dating. And he was discussing it so openly. She stood near the bar and looked back toward her father, still alternately tugging at the neck of his turtleneck and swinging his arm, speaking to her mother and David.

  “You aren’t a widow,” Radha said, slightly more softly, perhaps, than she had intended.

  “Widower,” David said. “Male widows are called widowers. But there’s so few nobody even uses the right term for them.”

  Mr. Das looked over at David and nodded. Smart man.

  “He is correct,” Mr. Das said. He lifted his glass in appreciation and continued.

  “And you are correct as well, Radha. I am not a widower; you aren’t dead. But there are so few male widowers that Mrs. Ray also works with male divorcés. Not female ones, though, so, Radha, you’re out of luck.”

  “It sounds like a scam,” Radha said. “And I have David; I don’t need some strange matchmaker in East Delhi.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Das said. “Anyway, this Mrs. Sethi seems absolutely lovely.”

  Even though he was playing it cool now, Mr. Das had also been rather surprised when his sister suggested this. But the world was changing, Mr. Das thought. He had been so embarrassed by the idea of divorce at first, thinking Indians didn’t get divorced unless they were academics or artists, but clearly India had been changing behind his back if a widowed woman was running a matchmaking agency for widows and divorcés in Delhi.

  Tina came back to the group with another drink and put her full glass down at the edge of the table that was filled with empty dishes and used cutlery and crumpled napkins. The woman clearing up plates and glasses came over to their group to collect the used dishes. She looked from Marianne to David and back to Marianne again and said, “Gosh, don’t you look just like your father. Lovely.”

  “He isn’t my father,” Marianne said.

  The woman ignored her, picked up the used plates and glasses, and said, “It’s nice to see families traveling together. You have a nice trip.”

  “I suppose I do look a bit like you, David,” Marianne said to break the silence.

  “God this turtleneck is tight,” Mr. Das said. “Radha, you were wise to wear a sleeveless top. It looks decent too.”

  “I really hope the flight isn’t delayed much longer,” Marianne said. “I’ll go check.”

  She got up and walked toward the front desk to check the flight status. Poor Tina was going to have an exhausting week ahead. Marianne called Tom. He didn’t answer. She checked the flight status—there were no further delays—and then tried again. He answered groggily, “What’s wrong?”

  “I just wanted to hear your voice once more before I left.”

  “That’s nice,” Tom said. He had fallen asleep with his light still on. He felt around his sheets to find his glasses and put them on and reached for his watch on the bedside table. “I miss you already.”

  “Did you turn the light off before you fell asleep?” Marianne asked.

  “Of course not,” Tom said. He leaned back against the wall and yawned.

  “And put your glasses on the bedside table before you sleep. You’re going to break them in bed one of these days and you’ll be really stranded,” Marianne said. “Did you confirm your dental appointment for tomorrow?”

  “I canceled it, actually,” Tom said. “My mother is coming down for the day and she wants to see the Oculus.”

  “I can’t believe a train station has become a tourist attraction,” Marianne said.

  “I can. It’s beautiful architecture. You just take it for granted because it’s in New York and not, I don’t know, in Budapest somewhere,” Tom said.

  Marianne smiled.

  “Get some sleep,” she said. “And take your mother to Century 21 to shop after you see the Oculus.”

  “It’s her favorite store in the city. Then she’ll try to drag me to Nordstrom Rack and we’ll argue and then feel guilty and have a cup of coffee together and talk about my sister’s poor life choices in order to reconnect,” Tom said. “Have a good flight, Marianne. I really do miss you already. I’m going to leave my light on to sleep because it just doesn’t feel right to switch it off myself.”

  Marianne hung up the phone in time to see Mr. Das and David marching out of the lounge. Was a life partner supposed to be a window or a mirror? Marianne wondered.

  “David Smith here says I should get a pair of wireless headphones,” Mr. Das said. “Want to come along?”

  Marianne waved at them to go ahead and she returned to Tina and her mother sitting alone together.

  “Auntie, I like what you’re wearing,” Marianne said.

  “Thank you, darling,” Radha said.

  “I wish I could just embrace my thighs and wear short skirts. Not that your arms need embracing. I mean you
r arms are really nice,” Marianne said.

  “Relax,” Radha said. “I know what you mean. It’s easier to embrace your imperfections once you’re older. You girls—although it’s really very silly to call you girls now—you ladies are at a hard stage. It gets easier, I think. I’m glad you two decided not to bring your boyfriends along. This will be a nice trip for you.”

  “Andrew and I broke up. I told you. Remember? Anyway, I didn’t think anyone was bringing boyfriends along. It’s a really juvenile word,” Tina said. “I’m going to go see what Papa is doing.”

  Radha thought of stopping her, of asking her to stay, but she knew there was no point. She and Neel had been divorced for nearly a decade and she had met David two years ago, but Tina still had her anger. She didn’t seem to have the same anger toward her father, though, as he was preparing to go off and date some woman he barely knew. What was he trying to prove?

  Tina was also thinking about what her father was trying to prove as she walked out near the entrance to the lounge and sat down on one of the chairs there. From here, when the sliding glass doors opened, she could look out at the main terminal and she could also look into the lounge. A woman in a dark blue skirt suit sat at the front desk, her blond hair pulled into a neat ponytail, the computer screen reflecting in her glasses. This part of the lounge was cold, near the door, and Tina pulled her jacket closed and leaned back into the chair. The woman at the front desk was probably younger than her, Tina thought. Suddenly, at thirty-two, it felt like the whole world was younger than her. The woman at the desk looked up and caught Tina’s eyes and smiled. Tina smiled back.

  She envied that woman, so sure of herself. This woman who knew exactly how to do her hair and wore neutral lipstick and came to JFK every day to work and probably went home to a comfortable apartment in Queens, maybe with a cat, and watched one episode of a television show while knitting a throw. She probably went to yoga classes and left actually feeling calmer.

  It had been a while since Tina had done anything from beginning to end. Maybe she would teach herself knitting just to get the satisfaction of a finished product. All the television shows she developed went nowhere. She had picked a difficult career for someone who liked finished products. Everything in television was forever in progress, pre-production, production, occasionally post-production, and then rarely, so rarely, actually on-screen. She didn’t know the odds when she first started. Maybe she could run a marathon to accomplish something concrete but that seemed tiring.

  The woman took off her glasses, leaned back, and said, “Where are you flying to today? Are you on the delayed flight to Heathrow?”

  Tina nodded and said, “And on to New Delhi from there. My cousin’s getting married.”

  “A big Indian wedding!” the woman said. “What fun. I’ve always wanted to go to India. I’m jealous.”

  The woman looked around at the empty lounge and continued, “I get jealous of everyone who comes through here. I’ve never even left America. Soon, I hope. Maybe for my honeymoon.”

  She held up her left hand and pointed at her ring.

  “Congratulations,” Tina said.

  “Japan is where I really want to go, though. Have you ever been?”

  Tina shook her head.

  “My fiancé wants to go to South Africa but I’m pushing for Japan. My second choice is Brazil but he’s been there once before so that probably won’t happen. Compromise, right? That’s what they say about marriage!”

  She looked so happy. Tina said, “Congratulations again. I hope you make it to Japan soon,” and walked out of the lounge.

  MONDAY EVENING

  British Airways Flight 143, London–New Delhi

  SOMEWHERE OVER TURKEY, SICK OF reading, sick of movies, and sick of sleeping, Radha got up and walked to the flight attendant galley area to get a ginger ale and look out of the window into the dark sky. She never drank ginger ale except on flights.

  There was nothing to see beyond darkness outside the small window near the flight attendants. A male flight attendant in dark blue pants and a tucked-in blue shirt was tidying up the galley area.

  “Started in Heathrow or coming in from somewhere?” the flight attendant asked.

  “JFK,” Radha said.

  “You must be tired. Ice cream?” he asked Radha.

  She shook her head. He opened a small chocolate ice cream bar for himself and sat down on his seat.

  “Restless more than tired,” she said. She looked down the dimly lit aisle of the plane and said, “I’m traveling with my ex-husband, current boyfriend, and daughter.”

  “Forget ice cream. Need a whiskey shot in that ginger ale?” he asked.

  “How long do you spend in Delhi?” Radha asked.

  “I’m here for forty-eight hours and then doing this same route back to Heathrow,” the flight attendant said. He got up to throw away the ice cream wrapper and then restocked the small wicker basket with packets of chips and biscuits. “But then I’m taking a month off and going on a cruise with my wife, son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughters. I’ve never been on a cruise before.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Radha said. “A family holiday.”

  “I get seasick on boats,” the flight attendant said. He was dreading this holiday but his daughter-in-law had planned the whole thing and his wife had never liked the daughter-in-law much and always felt guilty about it so she had agreed to this cruise and forced him to also sound enthusiastic. He would try one of those motion sickness wristbands.

  A small beep sounded and he looked up and said, “Six C. Off I go. I bet they just want a glass of water.”

  He filled a plastic glass with water and said to Radha, “This way I’ll save a trip,” and went down the aisle.

  Radha leaned against the bathroom door and looked at all the passengers. Next to her own empty seat she saw David’s face lit up by the light of his Kindle. He certainly was handsome.

  “Is this door stuck?” came Mr. Das’s voice, suddenly frantic, from inside the bathroom. “Help! Hello? Flight attendant! Pilot! Tina! Anyone?”

  He pushed against the door and Radha said, “Ow, no, Neel, stop pushing, you aren’t stuck.”

  She moved away from the door and Mr. Das burst out of the bathroom and said, “That was terrifying. You know I’m always worried about getting trapped in small spaces. And an airplane bathroom would be the worst. Imagine the embarrassment of having to knock and bang and shout to get rescued and then all the passengers stare at you as you return to your seat.”

  “Are you nervous about going back to India?” Radha asked Mr. Das.

  Mr. Das looked at her then he looked down the aisle and said, “You know people cry more easily on flights? Something about the altitude affects your emotions, believe it or not. I was watching an episode of The Office and nearly cried.”

  “Some of those episodes will make you cry at any altitude, though,” Radha said.

  “True.”

  “We were a happy family the last time we made this trip all together,” Radha said.

  “Ice cream?” the flight attendant, now returned to the galley, asked Mr. Das.

  “I would love some, thank you,” Mr. Das said.

  “I love this time of a flight,” the flight attendant said. “The silence, watching everyone sleeping or watching movies or reading. It’s such a forced break from the world.”

  He went back to the galley to get himself a cup of coffee. In the third row Radha could see Tina and Marianne fast asleep. Tina’s face was covered with her blanket and her arm was draped over the side of her seat.

  “I’m going to put her arm in so it doesn’t get knocked,” Radha said to Mr. Das.

  “I’m going to ask the flight attendant if he can spot a nervous flier by the way they stare at him during takeoff and landing,” Mr. Das said.

  Radha gently moved her daug
hter’s arm up to her side, away from the aisle. She then covered her exposed arm with the blanket and touched her fingertips to Tina’s hair. Tina, always a light sleeper, could smell her mother’s perfume and opened her eyes and peered out from behind the blanket to see her walking back to her seat. Then she looked ahead and saw her father in the galley at the front of the cabin talking to the flight attendant. She could see him nodding and nibbling an ice cream bar.

  Radha sat back down, leaned into David, and said, “I’m nervous about this trip.”

  David put his large hand on her leg and left it there.

  TUESDAY MORNING

  Colebrookes Country Club, New Delhi, India: Jet Lag Is So Nice at First When You Wake up Early and Energized

  OF COURSE ROCCO GALLAGHER WAS here for the wedding. Why was Tina surprised? Early her first morning in India, energized from jet lag, she was sitting out on the porch outside the cottage she was sharing with Marianne for the week. There were about twenty cottages around the grassy knoll. Tina had a lilac shawl around her shoulders and was looking out onto the Colebrookes gardens trying desperately to conjure up a sense of nostalgia. Home, she thought, then slapped dead a mosquito against her right calf. She grimaced at the trace of blood on her palm, looked around, wiped it against the cushion on the next wicker chair, and scratched her calf.

  She had never lived in India but she had always enjoyed the feeling of looking like everyone else here. In America, Lizzie Ainsley in middle school had thrown out the plastic fork and spoon from Tina’s lunch tray one day and said, “I read a book that said Indian people only eat with their fingers so I guess you don’t need these.”

  It was chicken nuggets and tater tots for lunch that day so Tina didn’t need the cutlery but she still made a point of walking back to the steel cutlery table, getting replacements and using the fork to spear the crumbling tater tots and deliver them to her mouth.