The Fake Wedding Date

I don’t like drama. I avoid drama. I don’t even like shows with a lot of drama.

So why did I ever agree to being this guy’s date to a wedding? The son of a mother who is my mom’s social enemy? And this wedding of some prominent people in this community? I hardly know those people. They’re only a year or two older than me. I made my exit from this giant social community because of how toxic it was. So did my date. Why did we come back?

I fix my cobalt blue and forest green saree, Gods know why I decided to wear one. At my ripe age of 25, I still don’t wear them often even though most women in my culture start wearing them around the age of 18. I don’t identify as a woman though, so that’s there. The blouse is sleeveless and a little long, so at least its not too uncomfortable, especially for this heat.

“Need help, my mango lassi?” Gul, my unfortunate date asks. “Or are you just nervous?”

“Don’t call me your mango lassi. A, you sound like an Indian character some white woman wrote in her rom-com. B, no nicknames.”

“We gotta make this,” he gestured to the two of us, “Look real.”

“Why?”

“Oh c’mon, you know why. This whole ploy to piss off our parents and to prove a point to everyone. The point being that they suck.”

“I don’t know why I agreed to this.”

“You were drunk. Which is remarkable for a vampire.”

“Pfft.”

Its true, I was very drunk when I agreed, but he was also drunk when he made the plan.

It started in Europe. Well a little bit before that for me actually. I finished a year working in a hospital as a means of improving my resume and making some coin for medical school. Except I was rejected. And my parents, they didn’t take it too well. They went on and on about the mistakes I made in college. How because I didn’t fit their box of perfect daughter, I didn’t make it in. Oh sure I could try again, but what if I don’t make it in again? What will they do with an unwed daughter in their home? Thats what it is with Indian parents once a girl hits their 20’s. When will she get married? It was then that I realized, they don’t want me to become a doctor simply to support my dream, no, they want me to get married to a doctor. So to find a proper doctor husband, why not be a good doctor wife? It turns out they want me to be a stay at home mom once I get married and have kids. I never once expressed my desire to get married and have kids. I told them this. Honestly after years of butting heads, I realized, I have to cut my parents off my life. Sure I have my little brother that I love so much and I probably won’t be able to see much until he also reaches adulthood and can make his own decisions, legally at least. I found a research opportunity in Europe, where I’d travel with a group of other researches and track a virus going around. Enter Gul, who was working on the business side of things for the same company.

His story? He’s a year older than me, with a single mother that’s an absolute bitch. His younger sister is a carbon copy of their mother. The father is a vampire that isn’t in the picture. The sister is a human but Gul’s a vampire. Not the one that turned me of course. He was in a long-term relationship with a girl named Savannah. His mother had a rich boyfriend too. But his mom cheated multiple times and Gul exposed that. So, getting revenge on her son, she made up a fake past girlfriend and a fake kid that Gul fathered but doesn’t pay for, and Savannah, having grown up with a flaky dad, believed it,and dumped him. Gul was heartbroken over this. So, he too went to Europe.

We first bumped into each other in Paris, during the company party. At the time, I was still human. Well, human witch anyway. We hadn’t seen each other in years, and even then we were never really close. It was our mothers that were running in the same social circles, and we just never became actual friends. We hung out a few times here and there, slowly becoming friends. Then around New Years, I was talking to my parents, hoping that after so long without talking, maybe they’ll accept me as-is once more, and I could visit home.

Instead they rehashed old wounds and said I was dead to them for running off to Europe.

So, once again in Paris, alone and sad, walking along the Siene, my depression becoming too much… I drowned myself in the Siene.

But then, one of the lead scientists in our project had sensed me and rescued me. I was reborn, ironically on New Years as a vampire. A week later, I ran into Gul again. I told him what happened. He invited me over for drinks, just the two of us. We got really drunk. We started dumping our trauma. Then Gul, who apparently watched way too many dramas, came up with this stupid plan. We would return that May, after our respective work programs ended. And we would pretend to be dating. We’d piss off our parents, and everyone would question the rivalry. We’d also expose basically all the aunties and uncles for being horrible people.

And here we are now. A wedding. In June. A month of us dropping casual hints of dating. Now, being each other’s date to a mutual friend’s big fat Indian wedding.

Gul and I take off our slippers, and out them in neighboring cubbies outside the wedding hall. Other guests are arriving as well, putting their slippers away too.

“Do you see our families yet?” Gul asks, adjusting his matching blue kurta.

“No.”

“Me neither. You’re mango jasmine perfume doesn’t help me smell em’ either.”

“Lets just get this over with.” The wedding band is playing music inside, and I have stop myself from covering my ears. 6 months of vampirehood and I’m still unable to handle loud sounds.

“C’mon,” he steps closer to me and leans. “Its a wedding, we’re supposed to have fun. And its going to be even more fun once people start noticing us together.”

“This is so awkward.”

“I get that you’ve never dated anyone before, but you at least know that girlfriends,” he slides my shaky hand into his, “hold their boyfriend’s hand when going out.”

“We’re not actually together, remember?” I whisper-yell, so that no one can hear us.

“How are we supposed to make people believe this,” he holds up our entwined hands. “And stir up drama?”

I sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. Besides, I agreed to this.”

“Exactly, Rani. Remember what our parents did to us.”

I look at him, the pain in his eyes reflected into mine. Vampires can feel each other’s emotions when they touch. Our pain isn’t exactly the same, but they’re so similar I can hardly tell which is mine and which is his. Its not just the events of the past few years. Its our entire lives. We get paraded around like our parents’ trophies. We are given high expectations, and when we meet them its not enough. And if we don’t do as we are told, we are emotionally abused, get threatened to be cut off, etc. All for social status. It reminds me of the fantasy books I read, the ones that involve royalty. We aren’t allowed to find what we truly want for ourselves, no we have to fit in the box our parents create for us.

I let him hold my hand as we walk up the short flight of stairs into the wedding hall. Its decorated in traditional south Indian decor, with yellow and red flowers decorating the walls. The bride and groom are already sitting on the stage, the bride wearing a beautiful red saree and her hair up, decorated with roses and adorned head to toe in gold jewelry. The groom is wearing a white salvar, with a traditional white turban. The priest is preparing the rituals. The sounds of people talking and the band are too loud for me, and I have to close my eyes and breathe. I’ve always had really bad social anxiety, so the sounds and the lights to by enhanced senses are feel more overwhelming. Gul squeezes my hand, and I open my eyes. I’m actually grateful for his touch. Even though we hold no romantic feelings for each other, we both have become very good friends.

There are red cushioned chairs scattered about the hall, and people take their seats, quietly chattering among themselves. I recognize some faces but I don’t make my way over. I’m not ready yet.

“I think they’re serving buttermilk. I’ll get us some, you can find us some seats.”

I nod, and he lets go of my hand. I watch the back of his head for a few seconds longer, my hand tingling from his touch. I swallow down my anxiety and find a few seats that were not already surrounded by people. I run my fingers through my hair, that sits just above my shoulders in waves. I check for the peacock clip that I had enchanted to make sure it wouldn’t fall. It sits there, unmoving as expected.

Suddenly, I could sense my family near me. My mom’s Gucci Flora perfume, my dad’s Gucci Pour Homme, and my brother’s axe body spray, because teenage boys have nothing better to wear apparently. I know they’re behind me, but I don’t turn. I’m still on good terms with my brother, we talk regularly, but I haven’t held a proper conversation with my parents in a very long time.

“Rani?” My mom asks. Shoot. I turn to look at her. She’s wearing a green saree, I think its new because I haven’t seen it before. “I didn’t realize you were coming.”

“Well, here I am.”

Her eyes scan me over, those judging brown eyes. I have the same eyes, I’ve been told. “You look very nice. I thought you hate wearing sarees.”

I shrug. “Thought I would for the occasion,” I look at my brother, who was smiling nervously at me. “Hey buddy. You look nice.” He’s wearing an orange kurta, a phone in his hand. “I think I saw your friends closer to the stage.

“Okay, catch you later.” He speed walked away, leaving me alone with my parents.

“Your friends are probably around here too.” I say to them.

“We’ll find them later. Rani, what are you doing here?” My dad asks, crossing his arms.

“I’m a guest at this wedding. I was invited.”

“You loudly proclaimed that you hated everyone here.” My mom pointed out.

“I don’t hate everyone. Just a lot of em.”

“You’re here alone, don’t you think you look strange, attending a wedding on your own?”

“Here we go again,” I mutter, putting a hand on my head. “Don’t you have aunties to gossip about? Someone’s saree is probably the wrong shade of orange, why don’t you go talk about that like y’all usually do.”

“Just because my social life is so colorful-”

“Colorful?” I scoff. “Tell me mom. Do you have any friends that you can truly call you friend? Someone you can trust with yourself? Ups and downs? What about you dad?”

“At least I have plenty of friends. I have plenty of people I can rely on. Unlike you, who selfishly cut out your parents that gave you the whole world and people you were once close to. You know how long it took to for me to be able to look at people again?”

“I have friends, albeit a small circle, but reliable. And they’re not fake. Its not like I’m a criminal. I’m making something of myself. I’ve chosen my own kind of life.”

She thinks about this, and then tilts her head. “You’re on your own, what kind of life is that? You’re alone here, we aren’t sitting with you. Your devoted brother won’t. You have no friends no boyfriend. You’re life is sad.”

“Oh please woman, my life isn’t sad. I’ve achieved a lot, and I’m paving my own path, besides,” I smirk, a dangerous little smirk that my parents know too well, when I have a secret ace up my sleeve. “I have a date.” Gul appears on cue with the buttermilk.

“Sorry I was out so long, here you go.” He hands me my cup.

“Thanks, hun.” I take it from him.

“Hi aunty, hi uncle.” Gul greets, his face with a neutral smile. My parents look between me and Gul. Shock slowly spreads across their faces. For dramatic effect, Gul pecks my cheek. “Your daughter looks stunning, doesn’t she?” The look on my parents’ faces is priceless. My dad recovers first.

“Gul is your date?”

“Yeah.”

“When?” My mom asks, voice cracking.

Gul and I share a knowing glance. “Europe.” I say.

“Europe?”

“I always joked about finding a hot boyfriend in Europe, didn’t I?”

“Oh c’mon, Rani,” Gul flirtatiously runs his fingers through my hair. “Be more specific. We found each other again in Paris.”

My parents hearts are racing with anger and shock. “Why?” My mom grunts, probably unable to say more than one word.

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to get a boyfriend ever since I was 21?”

“Why him?”

“Oh c’mon mom, don’t be mean.” I made a pouty face. Unable to contain their anger, my parents stomped away, muttering to each other how they should have aborted me when they got the chance. My heart stings, but only a little.

After all, I’ve heard that so many times, its almost laughable now.

“You were right Gul,” I say, looking at my parents finding places to sit. “That was fun.”

“Its only getting started. My mom was watching,” he points with his chin toward the right. “She is so mad.”

“You are not kissing my cheek again.”

“Why? Should I have kissed you on the lips?”

I glared at him.

He needs to stop watching those stupid TV dramas.