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“Hey, look—”

But I shoved her and made my way inside, pulling the door shut behind me.

Here it is. My last chance.





18


KAAVI


Three Months before the Wedding


THERE’S THAT HORRIBLE clichéd saying that they use in books and in movies—about your life flashing before your eyes just before you die. Well, clichéd or not, that’s pretty much what happened to me onstage, with Spencer down on one knee presenting me with one of the ugliest rings I’ve seen in my life.

I should have known that today would end up being a fucking dumpster fire. First, my usual hairdresser, the one I booked for all my blowouts because he was the only one who could do my “not trying too hard” waves just right, called in to say he was “sick.” Oh please, like I didn’t follow him on Instagram and know he was out partying the night before at some politician’s fiftieth birthday party. Even hungover, he would have been better than his less-than-subpar colleague who did such a piss-poor job that I spent an extra hour getting my hair swept into an updo instead.

I’d just made it home and was setting up my ring light to make a quick video about my makeup “look” for the evening when my mother rang my cell phone. Yes, that’s right, she called my phone when she was just downstairs. She only did this when we had company and she didn’t want to yell in the house like she normally did.

“Kaavindi, hi, you’re back from the salon, no?” I knew from her put-on, honey-drenched voice that this wasn’t going to be good.

“Aunty Rasika and Uncle Laal have dropped in for tea. Why don’t you come down and say hello?” Making the call in front of our visitors ensured I wouldn’t refuse. She could have just texted me, of course, which she did right after hanging up to tell me to wear the floral Karen Millen dress I’d had delivered from London last week.

It was a trap, and I knew it even before I went downstairs to be introduced to Aunty Rasika’s sister’s son, an investment banker from New York named Ashwin, who was down in Sri Lanka for “a holiday.” Yeah right, he was on the prowl for a bride if I ever saw it.

Not that there was anything particularly wrong with Ashwin, if you disregarded the fact that he had about as much personality as a soggy piece of papadam. He was wealthy, as was evident from the designer clothes he was sweating through, and from a reputable family. His father exported seafood, and his uncle was a minister, I was told, emphatically. But if I wanted boring, wealthy, and well-connected, well, I could have had my pick from the never-ending parade of sons and nephews of my parents’ friends that have been buzzing around from the moment I graduated college.

“Kaavindi, you know you can’t keep doing this,” my mother warned, after I spent a good hour being charmingly polite to Aunty Rasika and Uncle Laal, and appropriately aloof to the nephew, whose name I was already forgetting. They had eventually left, and I had to get ready for my event, even though this visit meant I wouldn’t have time to shoot my video now.

“Doing what, Amma?” I asked, innocently.

“You know what! Why are you like this, aney? You know what your horoscope says! You have to get married before next February or you’ll never get married at all! If Saturn enters your house, then everything is finished.”

Given half a chance my mother would schedule her bathroom visits according to her astrologer’s calendar. The threat of Saturn hovering over my house (whatever the hell that even means) has been her worst nightmare for as long as I could remember, but it had never been a problem for me until now. Besides, I was pissed. Today was supposed to be about me and everything I’ve accomplished. Not about a fucking marriage proposal.

“Are you serious, Amma?” My voice was a hiss, just in case anyone else was around. In a house as large as ours, you never knew who might be listening in. “You know what a big night it is for me and you choose today of all days to bring him here? Have you lost your mind?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your hair and makeup were already done, so why waste the opportunity? Although I don’t know why you decided to put your hair up like that. It ages you. Why didn’t you get a blow-dry instead?”



* * *



—

I WAS ALREADY late when we pulled up to the auditorium, so I didn’t pay attention to the directions I had been given and made my way backstage instead of to my seat, and had to be ushered to the right place by a young intern who kept telling me that I was an inspiration and wanted to take a million fucking selfies with me. I mean, it’s not bad press; I just wasn’t in the mood. Besides, I hate it when someone takes a selfie on their phone instead of mine—there was no way I could tweak it to make it look right before it got posted.

Thank god everything seemed to settle down from there. I took my seat and listened to the glowing introduction of me and my charity. It wasn’t easy, you know. Setting up a foundation like this was hard work. I had to practically beg my dad for the money and space to get started, and even then he only agreed if Pink Sapphires was a branch of Fonseka Jewellers, and not its own separate entity. I suppose he was right—I mean, it was a huge tax write-off.

Thanks to all my hard work, Pink Sapphires was finally starting to take off. We’ve been providing so many opportunities for these young women to take control of their lives. It really has been rewarding, seeing it grow from a tiny operation to winning national-level awards in just a little over a year. The SheGives-Lanka Woman of the Year award was such a big deal. Fonseka Jewellers had to buy out so much advertising space from the chair’s husband’s newspaper just to secure it. It really was such an exhausting negotiation.