Chapter Nine: Arranged Marriages

Sonia only had five dollars, which paid her cab fare up until about five blocks from her street. She had changed on the plane, and ignored the weird looks people were giving her as she sprinted down the sidewalk. It was harder than it looked to run in a sari, an Indian dress made out of six yards of material. Sonia's was azure. It had once been her mother's, the very sari she wore disembarking her flight into America.

She made it to Preity's house without incident. She burst in. Everyone present, an all-Indian group of women, turned simultaneously and squealed with delight upon seeing her.

Her friends ushered her to the front of the room once the reunion had dispersed, and Preity stepped forward to hug her as best as possible with henna designs stretching from the tips of her fingers to the crooks of her elbows.

"Who is he?" Sonia demanded in Hindi.

"Remember Shekar?" Preity said, a blush appearing even on her dark skin. She looked radiant, her skin shining with turmeric, her hair hidden under a veil. Red, the color of her wedding sari, always had been a good color for her.

Sonia raised an eyebrow. "The one who always said your skin was the color of dog doo?"

"He's grown up since then," Preity insisted. "He got his engineering degree in the UK and when he came back, our parents arranged out marriage."

Chetna chuckled. "Even in America, Indian youth isn't allowed to arrange our own marriages."

"Well, it's not like this is a child marriage," Lakshmi said. "Preity's twenty. Even in India, it's so outdated."

"Enough about this marriage business," Jhumpa insisted. "Tell us about Tulsa. Lots of cowboys?"

"It's a city," Sonia said. "No cowboys, but everybody rides rodeo at some point. Just not me. And I'm in a neighborhood with greasers."

Mithwa raised an eyebrow. "White trash? I feel so sorry for you."

Sonia shook her head. "They're not trash. Just poor and trying to be cool. Like us."

"Except we don't try to be cool," Preity cut in. "We accept the fact that we're nerds."

"Speak for yourself, F.O.B.," Mithwa teased, causing them all to break out in laughter. F.O.B. meant "fresh off the boat," as in come newly from India. None of them were Fobs, but it was like the term "greaser": once an insult, now just a label.

Preity's mother ran in. "The groom is here!" she said breathlessly. "Hurry up, you girls!"

"Why's it such a big deal that the groom is here?" Jhumpa muttered. "The groom isn't here, now that's interesting. Scandal, betrayal, desertion…"

"Sounds like a bad Hindi film," Sonia said.

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Soda felt like grabbing Two-Bit by the collar, shaking him and demanding to know where Sonia was when he pulled into the DX. Instead, he settled for nonchalantly asking, "Any news from Sonia?"

"Yeah, she called. She'll be back in three days, her friend's getting married, she sends her love, blah blah blah."

"Oh," Soda said, disappointed. "Nothing else?"

"Yeah, she's the queen of Jhansi."

"Two-Bit!"

"Whaaaat?"

"Where's Jhansi?"

"I dunno. I asked her on the phone, 'Anything else you'd like to say?' And she said, 'yeah, I'm the queen of Jhansi.' Then she hung up. But she was being sarcastic."

"You know, somehow I'd figured that," Soda muttered, turning to the gas tank.

"Oh, but she called Friday," Two-Bit said, fiddling with his new switchblade.

It was Monday. Soda's head whipped around so fast he gave himself a crick. He grimaced and rubbed his neck as he exclaimed, "Whaaaat? She's coming home today?"

"I guess."

"What time?"

"I think her flight comes in at two."

Soda glanced at the clock. It was three-thirty. Sonia would have been back in Tulsa and at work by now. "Two-Bit, who's getting her from the airport?"

Two-Bit dropped his switchblade. "Oh, shit, I was supposed to."

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Sorry so short.