But her mind couldn’t stop trying to connect dots, to draw a connection.
Just how much could go wrong when the wedding week had only just begun?
Altaf,Uncle of the Bride
Call me old-fashioned, but if you don’t rein in your girls, you bring what follows upon yourselves. The reality is, Hena was once a very good girl. Things went downhill after my brother died.
Latif was a pillar of our community. A rare breed who, despite the heights he reached, never forgot where he came from. The wealthier he became, the more generous he grew. You know the Pakistani American community center by Boulevard and Tenth Street? The South Asian domestic violence shelter in Pembroke Pines? They were both funded entirely by him. He hired the architects. Reviewed the plans himself. With wealth comes responsibility—it’s what he always said.
My brother was not only a financial pillar of our community, he was also its patriarch. People turned to him for counsel. He gave seed money to new entrepreneurs in the community to pay it forward. He was the sort of man who wanted to lift all boats. Even when people spoke ill of him, he paid it no mind. He knew a man of his stature was bound to attract envy.
His death sent shock waves through our community.I’d long suspected Frida didn’t appreciate her husband’s way with money. This was confirmed upon his passing. She stopped contributing to any of his causes. It was over. Just like that.
I tried to reason with her. Remind her of the importance of respect and honor, of keeping her husband’s legacy alive—but she wouldn’t let me begin the conversation. While Luma is a dear girl who has thrived in spite of her family situation, Hena is an example of how the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Frida let her run wild, and without her father’s guidance to keep her in place, what else could anyone expect to happen?
While I do not condone the unseemly gossip around here, who can blame us for feeling this way? Personally speaking, I believe she and her mother destroyed my brother’s legacy. I’m not sure I can ever forgive them for that.
10
•
Lulu’s tricolored gown—blending bronze, copper, and silver—glinted in the overhead lights, draped perfectly against her body. She waited for the wedding planner’s cue to walk down the aisle, after which the wedding party would follow, dancing down the aisle to their choreographed routine.
All of them, save Hena. She lingered along the sidelines, knowing she’d only ruin the polished routine they’d practiced for the past few weeks if she joined.
Hena’s own dholki had been a simple affair at Ammi’s home, where family and friends sat cross-legged with a simple drum while singing traditional Punjabi songs. Lulu’s dholki, on the other hand, was Bollywood perfect. Fairy lights studded an archway draped with marigolds. The bloodred carpet was framed by flickering lanterns on either side, leading to an elevated stage where a velvet couch rested in front of an intricately carved backdrop.
From the sidelines she watched the wedding planner nod. Her sister stepped into the hall to cheers. Khaled was seated onstage, dressed in a golden kurta with a matching vest. His face lit up when he saw Lulu. He helped her up the steps.Once they were seated, the DJ lowered the music, and the dhol-walas—the main event—began their drumming.
The groomsmen and bridesmaids entered the hall dancing to a bhangra beat as they made their way toward the dance floor. The music was rhythmic, so loud it vibrated beneath Hena’s feet.
She looked down at her freshly painted nails. After the chaos of the airboat ride, Lulu had sent everyone off to the resort spa. The men opted for sauna time and massages, while the bridesmaids chose pedicures, facials, and fruit smoothies. It was a much-needed reset. Hena had even laughed listening to Maheen retell the python rescue, painting Hena more as a superhero than the scared bystander she’d been.
For the first time since she’d arrived, there had been no cutting looks cast in her direction. The group took her in as one of their own, joking about their worst first dates and giving each other skin care pointers. Even Courtney—whom Hena had been a bit wary of, given her snark about Lulu’s wedding venue choice—turned out to be sweet, flagging down the server for an extra smoothie when Hena’s ran out.
She spotted Courtney among the dancers. She was in a copper-colored sari, sidling up to Reza. He was trying his best, but he was clearly a half beat behind the others. Hena watched as Courtney drifted closer. Brushing her shoulder against his arm, she showed him the move. He tried again, and she patted his arm, nodding encouragingly.Yep,thought Hena.Behind every rumor, a seed of truth.Really, who could blame her?
Winding her way through the crowded room, Hena found her mother seated toward the front. She was chatting animatedly with Gita, who was leaning in while Ammi laughed. A real laugh, her eyes crinkling. Hena’s chest constricted.When was the last time Hena had made Ammi laugh? Or the last time they had any sort of easy, laid-back interaction? Growing up, she’d attributed their tense relationship to her father. The threat of his unstable mood lurking around every corner. But he had been dead for well over a decade now, and they were no closer than they’d ever been. Maybe the two of them were simply oil and water, never meant to gel.
Both women paused their conversation as Hena joined them.
“How are you feeling?” Hena asked her mother.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Ammi scowled.
“Because you’re sick,” Gita retorted. “Because we care. That’s why.”
“Hmm.” Her mother said, but didn’t say more.
Hena understood. It was one thing to be sick, another for it to be the only thing anyone wanted to talk about.
“How many people are here tonight?” she asked, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Seems like way more than the previous two days.”
“I believe two hundred people RSVP’d,” her mother said. “Tomorrow’s party will be north of three hundred.”
That made sense. The more significant the event, the bigger the guest list. Tonight was mostly a dance party—a light lead-in to the mehndi and shaadi to come. The thought of the shaadi made her shiver as memories of her own doomed event crept to the surface. And she couldn’t help but wonder: would Nasir’s parents actually show?
“I hope the power holds up,” Gita said, nodding toward the window. “The incoming storm looks intense.”