Ayesha At Last(99)
“Everyone is going, if only to see if the tramp actually makes it to the nikah this time or runs away with the caterer,” said Farzana.
“Ammi, I have to go. I’ll visit soon.” Khalid hung up.
Zareena smiled at him. “I think you just got your sign.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Ayesha wasn’t sure what to expect when she walked into the Hollywood Princess banquet hall on the last Saturday in July. Hafsa, Samira Aunty and Nadya, the assistant/new BFF, had been running around with self-important expressions on their faces for weeks, tight-lipped about everything: colour scheme, centrepieces, decor . . . All was shrouded in a cloud of secrecy. Hafsa was going to get her surprise wedding after all.
Most South Asian weddings were multi-day occasions, with the mehndi henna party, nikah wedding ceremony and walima reception all as separate events, but Hafsa wanted to keep things simple with a one-day extravaganza. From discreet hints dropped by Samira Aunty, Ayesha knew that the decorations alone had cost over six figures, the entire tab covered by Masood.
Which probably explained the smile on Sulaiman Mamu’s face as he greeted Ayesha and the rest of the family in the banquet hall parking lot.
All amusing familial observations vanished when Ayesha walked up to the main entrance with her grandparents, Idris and her mother. The Hollywood Princess banquet hall had been completely transformed into a Mughal-era palace.
Ayesha walked around, marvelling at the intricate details. Hafsa had commissioned a scaffold to extend across the entranceway of the banquet hall, bearing a plasterboard replica of a palace entrance, complete with mosaic tiles arranged in Islamic geometric patterns and two thin pillars that framed a small dome and marble arch. Thick Persian rugs covered the floors, and chandeliers twinkled red and green. The pillars inside the banquet hall were decorated with more multicoloured mosaic tiles, and tabla and sitar players, seated on a gold-fringed rug in the foyer, strummed classical Indian music. Ayesha spotted Hafsa by the grand hall, wearing a headset and a pink-and-cream lengha dress, her makeup dramatic.
“You should be hiding in the bridal room,” Ayesha said.
Hafsa placed a hand on the microphone of her headset, her smile radiant. “I wanted to make sure everything was running smoothly. What do you think?”
“I’m speechless.”
“It’s from the movie Mughal-e-Azam, remember? I couldn’t get it out of my head after we watched it. I think it will be great for business.” She gestured toward a table set up at the entrance, where Nadya sat surrounded by flyers and business cards. A large pink sign proclaimed HAPPILY EVER AFTER EVENT PLANNING. Beside it, another table advertised Masood’s Better Life Wholistic wrestling life-coach services.
“This way we can claim the wedding on our taxes,” Hafsa said. “It was Masood’s idea.”
A female server in a white-and-red Anarkali dress, with an embroidered prayer cap set at a rakish angle, walked past with a tray of mango lassi.
“Is that the dress Madhubala was wearing in the movie?” Ayesha asked.
Hafsa nodded. “All the male servers are in white sherwanis with turbans and fake swords.”
Ayesha shook her head. “I can’t believe you did all this in one month. I’m so proud of you.”
Hafsa looked down. “I had a lot of time to think. Ayesha, I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I was competitive and jealous. I hope you can forgive me.”
Ayesha hugged her cousin, holding her close. “Just tell me you’re happy.”
“Masood is solid,” Hafsa said. “I know we’ll do well together.”
Ayesha nodded, relieved and impressed that Hafsa was capable of making decisions devoid of drama and lies.
Hafsa fiddled with the heavy gold-and-crystal embroidery on her tunic. “I was jealous because I knew Khalid liked you, not me.”
Ayesha didn’t know where to look. “Nothing happened.”
Hafsa burst out laughing. “I know that! Duh. But in his heart, he was in love with you all along. He was marrying me for his crazy mother. You can’t blame me for being angry about that.”
Ayesha gripped her cousin’s hand. “I don’t blame you for anything.”
Hafsa shook her head impatiently. “I know you don’t.” She took a deep breath. “If you’re still interested, I think you should go for it. Khalid is a good guy. He might even be good enough for you.”
Hafsa wiped her eyes, smearing some of her mascara. She looked ruefully at her henna-covered finger. “There goes my makeup. I should fix it before the video rolls. Masood will be here any minute on his white horse. There isn’t an elephant to be had for love or money in Toronto.” She turned toward the bridal room, then turned back. “Don’t be mad, but I invited Khalid to the wedding.” She smiled mischievously. “Just promise me one thing: If you’re going to make a scene, do it after the cake cutting. You wouldn’t believe how much I paid for the Taj Mahal cake.”
KHALID was wearing the navy blue suit, paisley tie and pocket square again, hair slicked back and beard trimmed close to his face.
As he walked into the hall, the groups of young women gathered by the entrance paused in their chatter to stare at him, but he didn’t notice. His hands were clammy on the wedding present Zareena had picked out, some sort of crystal bowl and gift card. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Ayesha.