“Her aunt believes cutting nails on a Saturday brings bad luck.” Parvati slipped into the seat beside Zara, nodding a brief greeting.
“You don’t mind if I leave Aphrodite’s head there.” Zara’s bracelets jingled softly when she patted the plaster hair. “I don’t want anyone to trip on their way to the buffet.”
“Was that a rhetorical question?” He shuddered under Aphrodite’s sightless gaze. “Yes, I mind. Could you not find someone on staff to take it, or even reattach it to the body?”
“I could put it in your lap. Or would that be too exciting for you?”
Her sharp tone made him bristle. “Is this the part where we talk about how you’re the fun one and I’m the stick-in-the-mud?”
Smirking, she stood. “This is the part where I leave you and Aphrodite to get acquainted, because she isn’t going anywhere until after dinner.”
Before he could respond, Zara was up and hugging a woman at the table beside them. Then she was at the next table, shaking a man’s hand. A few moments later, she was twirling a little girl in a pink party dress, and after that she was talking to a woman in a wheelchair. She rejoined the table, launched into a story about her cat that had everyone in stitches, and followed it with a dissection of her ill-fated singles table dates from the last wedding season.
“Who else is wondering Why me? How did I wind up here when all the cool people are at the couples table? and Why am I such a loser?” Zara raised her hand, her gaze sweeping the table like she was a stand-up comedian onstage. “You don’t have to worry. I enjoy matching people up, and with my track record of success, you won’t be single for long. You’ll also avoid any potentially embarrassing situations like doing the nasty in a supply closet with the supposedly single best man who isn’t single, or kissing the groom’s twin brother who is actually the groom.”
“To be fair,” Parvati interjected, “they were identical twins and she didn’t know I’d taken the other twin home with me.”
“Just be careful what you wish for,” Zara continued. “I wound up playing naked chess in a hotel room with a chess grandmaster because I made the mistake of taking off my clothes and saying, Let’s play. I like chess but after a night of drinking and dancing, Rook to queen’s pawn six wasn’t really the kind of fun I was after.”
And then she was gone in a whirl of laughter, leaving Jay with a mind full of images that were not suitable for a family wedding.
“She’s going to miss the buffet,” Jay pointed out when their table was finally called.
Kamal gazed longingly across the room, where Zara was talking to three aunties in brightly colored saris. “She’ll be back. Just make sure you don’t stand beside her unless you have a change of clothes.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Jay prided himself on never making the same mistake twice. He’d brought an extra suit just in case he had another sartorial disaster.
“So, what’s your poison, Jay?” Zara joined the buffet line a few minutes later. “Let me guess. Something dark and spicy that packs a lot of heat. Maybe a rista? Or a naga curry?” She studied him, shaking her head. “Hmmm. Not so exotic. I think you’re more of a vindaloo. Rich and complicated with hidden depths. Every bite satiates your taste buds and leaves you craving more.”
Unsettled by her seemingly casual yet unnervingly accurate assessment, he turned his attention to filling his plate from the lavish spread. Indian uncles used the buffet as their basis to judge whether or not a wedding was a success, commenting and critiquing on the type of food, the spiciness level, the timing of the meal, and the variety of dishes. As he made his way down the line, Jay couldn’t imagine they would find cause for complaint. His disappointment came not from the quantity or variety of food but because he had to return to the table before he got to the end of the buffet, due to the insufficient size of the plate.
“My aunt and uncle catered the dinner.” Zara joined him at the table, her plate piled high. “They own the Spice Mill. I don’t get down to their restaurant in Sunnyvale very often, so this is a treat. Did you get a samosa? No one makes them the way Jana Auntie does.”
“I have more than enough.” He gestured to his mountain of food, the scents of cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves making his mouth water.
“If you had enough, you wouldn’t be devouring my samosas with your eyes.” She speared a small samosa with her fork and dipped it in one of the small pots of chutney that had been placed on the table while they were at the buffet. “Eat this. I have four more weddings to attend this summer. I need to pace myself.”