One of my aunts was married for the first time when she was forty-nine. I’ve never felt pressure from family to get married, and no one finds it strange that I’ve never had a boyfriend. I was expecting aunts and uncles to ask me about my love life at my brother’s wedding. What they wanted to know was “what’s your novel about?” Word circulated that I’ve been writing a novel, and everyone wanted details! “I would rather not go into my novel until it’s published,” I answered, and imagined my Catholic aunts downloading it on their kindles around Christmas time. ”I think I need more scotch….”

The wedding was at an art museum’s gardens, a Hindu-Catholic fusion wedding, and I was one of the bride’s maids. My brother and his wife were married beneath a wedding canopy decorated with tropical flowers, sitting down, surrounded by our parents, the Hindu priest, bowls of oranges and bananas and coconuts, and sweet burning incense. My sister-in-law’s parents had to feed my brother, and my parents had to feed my sister-in-law. “You must promise to ask this woman for permission every time you want to spend money from now on,” the Hindu priest said to my brother. “Your duty is to keep her happy.” He promised that he would. The Catholic priest, after forty-five minutes of Sanskrit and strange chanting from the Hindu priest, had my brother and his wife recite the traditional vows. The river was slowly moving and the sun was setting over the water in orange, yellow, pink. I felt the breeze and imagined committing myself to a woman years in the future, imagined sharing decades of my life with her, imagined what it feels like to be committed for years and years. My mom was not just sobbing but wailing in the background, and my sister-in-law, who looked stunning with her head covered in a red veil and elaborate gold jewelry, was distracted by my mom and began tearing up in the middle of the vows. Everyone was in tears then.

People from India know how to throw a wedding. The wedding involved five straight days of partying, plus their three engagement ceremonies in India and trips to Napa Valley and Las Vegas for celebrations. There was a cocktail hour after the ceremony with “chaitinis” and “mango lassis,” followed by dinner, and speeches from parents. One of the groomsmen asked me to disappear into the dark woods with him to smoke cigarettes (which I like on occasion) and told me that everyone knows I’m “the cool sister” and my sister is “the uptight sister.” I’m the sister who used to party with my brother and his friends, the sister who has kept all his secrets, the sister who taught him to study hard and play hard in life, the sister who showed him how to tie his shoelaces in kindergarten. My brother and I are best friends, and I would do anything for him. What I hadn’t banked on was his groomsman — an ER doctor — pushing a bunch of drugs on me (Xanax, weed, Ecstasy, Valium, Attarol?) and attempting to kiss me, despite the fact that my brother had mentioned to him that I’m into other ladies. I left him in the dark woods with his stash of drugs, storming up the steps in my high heels and a fancy dress that made me feel too vulnerable in this straight setting.

The groomsmen got drunk, and one by one, blatantly came onto me, while the bride and groom danced and everyone else was coupled off. The ER doctor apologized later and said that he wished I were straight. Other guests started asking me, “Where’s your Asian boyfriend?”  I miss the days of hanging out with my brother and his friends and feeling like “one of the boys,” when I was viewed as a pal, not a prospective sex partner. We would have adventures, compete, arm wrestle, get stoned, turn our dad’s liquor closet inside out. The difference between me and other women out there is I don’t bat an eye in the presence of men. Men don’t make me nervous, they don’t make me shy, they don’t affect me on a physical level, so I want to hang out and be friends. Let’s play video games. Let’s tell secrets. Can’t we be friends?

My sister tattled on the ER doctor for smoking a cigarette and lectured him on how she saw the fine print in the guide book about a cigarette fine. Classic. We headed to a bar downtown for the after-party.

Check out the henna before it fades!

My baby brother is married, and the ceremony was beautiful. After 5 days of partying, I’m waiting for my energy to return to write more. But here are some snapshots.

my little brother.

my gorgeous and talented sister-in-law.