My So-Called Bollywood Life(40)

“Right now we have to go see some outfits for you.” Her mother wrapped an arm around her shoulder and leaned in to press a sloppy kiss against her cheek. “This is all for you, beta. Don’t be rude, otherwise your grandmother is going to throw her shoe at you.”

“She’d have to be paying attention first,” Winnie muttered, slowing her step as her mother and Nani marched ahead into the store.

“I bet you she can hear you from back here,” Bridget whispered at her side. “She has superpowers.”

“Don’t I know it,” Winnie replied as she entered the store.

Everything in the boutique was new, including the shiny hardwood floors and crystal-clear mirrors, with that fresh, rich smell that only came from new Indian fabrics. All the clothes were packaged in thick plastic, so somehow that scent straight from India was trapped, and released only when the outfit was pulled from the bag.

    Winnie looked around at the walls lined with hanging rods filled with covered clothes, and she took a moment to inhale. It was oddly comforting.

“Winnie, come here!” her mother said. She was holding up an electric pink ankle-length skirt while Nani showed off the matching halter top and chuni.

“Oh!” Bridget said. She walked over and ran a hand along the rhinestone-encrusted bodice. “Sparkly.”

“It’s too pink,” Winnie said as she moved closer to them.

“This is the present we wanted to give you,” her mother said. “Not this particular outfit, but we know that you have a dance coming up to raise money for your festival….”

“So I am buying you the lengha you’ll wear,” Nani said as she patted Winnie’s cheek.

“Oh,” Winnie said. “A lengha? For school?” She’d been hoping to just wear a black dress.

“I think this is perfect for the function,” Nani said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Winnie’s grandmother’s and mother’s faces grew stony.

“Uh-oh,” Bridget said. “I think I see the anklets I want. Off I go!” She slid away to another section of the store.

“Wearing a lengha or a salwar kameez is traditional for Indians attending a function like your dance. What, are you ashamed of your culture?” Nani asked.

“I thought I raised you better than that, Winnie,” her mother added.

“And people wonder where I get my drama. Of course I’m not ashamed. Hello, Bollywood movie junkie. But a hot-pink lengha will draw too much attention, and I’ve been doing enough of that on my own lately.”

    Winnie’s mother sighed. “Beta, that’s the point. Raj will be there all dressed up.”

“That doesn’t matter to me.”

“Well, it should. What if he tries to make you jealous again and brings Jenny?”

There was no way she’d ever be jealous if Raj took someone else to the dance, and although the idea of looking better than Jenny appealed to her for a hot second, she didn’t need to show up her ex and his on-again, off-again girlfriend. “Still, the dance is, like, a few weeks away, and—”

“And you need time in case there are alterations,” her mother said. “You know very well alterations can take weeks. Are you really going to say no to me, beta?”

Winnie looked between her mother and her grandmother, who were both staring at her with smiles full of encouragement and excitement. They wanted to do something nice for her. Maybe if she found something plain enough, she wouldn’t look too conspicuous. She slowly reached out and touched the lengha.

“If I say yes, I need veto power.”

“Done,” Nani said. She held the chuni against her chest. “Well? Let’s play dress-up.”

Winnie smiled. It was no surprise that her love for wardrobe montages came from her family.

    After forty-five minutes of trying on clothes that were either too fancy, too colorful, or too gaudy, Winnie pushed the dressing-room curtain aside. She was back in her yoga pants but hadn’t put her sneakers on yet.

“Ma, are we almost done? I want to eat at Shalimar’s before they close. I could really go for some kebabs right now.”

Bridget was nowhere to be found, and Winnie’s mother and grandmother weren’t even paying attention to her. They were consumed in a conversation with a short, stout woman gripping a worn black leather purse. Dev’s mom. The moment of recognition gave Winnie a jolt.

“Hi, Sharda Auntie,” Winnie said as she approached the woman.

“Hello, beti, tu kaisi hai?”

“I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”

“Fine, fine, thank you.”

“We’re getting Winnie an outfit,” her mother said. “It’s a gift from her nani.”

“Oh!” Dev’s mother grinned at Winnie. “So nice to have a nani who cares so much, no?”

Winnie nodded. “Yes, absolutely. Ma, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve tried on everything. I think we should go….”

Winnie’s mother made a flicking motion with her fingers. “This girl, nah? So picky. Did you see anything while you were shopping?”

Dev’s mother tapped a finger to her lip. “You know, my friend Jyoti who works here was telling me about the latest parcel from Delhi. Jyoti! Jyoti, come here.”