A girl in the world barking up the wrong tree, a creature conditioned to employ matrimony

[motherspider.livejournal.com]

*Let it never be said that Esmerelda Rosier does not know how to throw a wedding. With a month to arrange everything, she swept her schedule clean, let the business languish, and began placing orders almost as soon as Evan and his bride-to-be left the estate. Her wandwork is not quite as deft as it once was, but she refuses to see a healer, and she doesn’t need wandwork to tell the florist that the roses were to be red, true red, not this flaccid pink, and to send a Howler to the baker demanding why the red velvet cake tasted like sweetened ashes, and to harangue the seamstress why the bride had not been even scheduled for her third fitting of the white dress Esmerelda had negotiated her into, as clearly the first two fittings had failed to demonstrate to her that everything needed to be taken in at the waist. Whatever the guests of this affair might think or gossip about, they’ll get no bump in Amrita’s abdomen to prove it.

She can hear Evan pacing outside the dressing room, and has to go out to tell him--repeatedly--that he cannot see her before she walks down the aisle and he should go kill the squirrels outside or something, anything to get him out of the way so she can personally finish buttoning the thousand and one buttons that go up the back of the dress. But the last time she lectures him on this, he catches a glimpse of the bride in the mirror over her shoulder anyway and grins.

“You’re beautiful,” he says over Esmerelda’s shoulder.

“Out, it’s bad luck,” the bride orders, and then, and only then, does he obey.

When she finally takes her seat in the very front of the chapel, Esmerelda’s chin is high but she clutches Dearborn’s hand fiercely. The ceremony begins, and it’s finally all out of her hands.

The door to the chapel opens and the light is blinding even though the forecast predicted rain over the reception, and there she is, shimmering like a vision, painted with the charmed designs of her culture on her hands, wearing enough skirts and petticoats and undergarments that Esmerelda had to resist the urge to catalogue them individually in a spreadsheet. Everyone turns to watch the bride proceed but Esmerelda’s gaze sweeps the crowd and then, finally, lands where she knew it would: on Evan.

He is standing there, hands held before him, frozen in the process of being wrung. His knuckles are white. There’s a tiny bit of hair sticking up at the back of his head, the part she always charmed firmly down when he was as boy, and suddenly her vision goes blurry. She looks up and blinks once, twice, pulls out the bright red handkerchief out of her bright red handbag sitting on her bright red skirts. It is acceptable to cry, she supposes, but she doesn’t want to. Not for this, the thing he manipulated her into doing, this ruinous match. But the look on his face--

When Evan was five, she took him to the hall that holds the Rosier family tree. She pointed to herself and Dearborn on the tree, how other families intertwined, and how he, someday, would marry someone who also had a tree like this one and have children, and when he did, the tapestry would grow further up because it had been enchanted very long ago to do so. All this was his, and he belonged to it as much as it belonged to him. He gave the whole thing a wide, encompassing look, finally resting his little palm next to his own name as if to cover a hole, and then turned to her and asked, “Why isn’t she here already?”

And Esmerelda smiled, and told him that she would come along in due course, that he might meet her on his own or they might introduce her to him, but what was most important was the fact that she would become family, and that he should care for her as well as he cared for her or Dearborn. That is what made her worth putting up on the tree.

Looking at him now, watching this woman come up the aisle, there is so much of that boy in him that, for the first time in all of this, Esmerelda is willing to allow that perhaps it will not all end in calamity. Perhaps they will grow old and happy together as she and Dearborn have, and the grandchildren birthed from surrogates will still be grandchildren. Perhaps they will love each other until they both rot.

The ceremony is beautiful, and Amrita is radiant, and they don’t have eyes for anyone but each other, and when they kiss at the very end, it is a brazen, full kiss, and when he finally pulls away, his mouth is smudged with her lipstick. He ducks his head to murmur something into her ear as the audience rises to its feet, and she laughs and runs her thumb over his bottom lip to try to rub off the lipstick, and they leave the church together, arm in arm, so boldly and arrogantly in love that even Walburga can barely muster a scandalized little sigh.*

Comments

[motherspider.livejournal.com]

What am I supposed to do, become some wrung-out old rag? Ridiculous. Besides, the dress is enchanted to turn bright scarlet at midnight, when they're to go through the Cabinets. If that isn't enough to bring peace I don't know what will. I don't have to start sobbing in the church to convey my feelings.

[fatherfarther.livejournal.com]

Not like Bella. Good lord, did you see that?

[motherspider.livejournal.com]

Oh? Do tell, I like to keep unflattering stories about her handy on the off chance Evan goes off and falls desperately in lust with her again.

[fatherfarther.livejournal.com]

Weeping on Roddy's shoulder for half the vows. I still think they should've drowned her. The man is a saint.

And, well. Not much cause for worry there, I don't think.

[motherspider.livejournal.com]

You think this'll last, then? He won't get bored?

[fatherfarther.livejournal.com]

I never have.

*He murmurs it in her ear as the song reaches its end, and turns her, holds her close for a moment, before they stop and he draws back, still holding her hands in his. For all either of them have their sporting on the side, it's the truth. He's every bit as in love with her as when they first danced together on these very lawns, the day he got in a fistfight with his cousin and brother-in-law and hexed Cygnus of all people, and made the best and most important decision of his life--was it really thirty years ago, now? It feels like less. But he is, after all, very drunk.*

[fatalfrenzy.livejournal.com]

*Bellatrix loves weddings. Not what one might expect, considering her own less-than-fairytale marriage, her naked contempt for her husband and most men; in truth there are probably expensive cauldrons that are more romantic than she is. Still, something about the ceremonial pomp of everything, the white dress, the promising to love-and-honor. . . she may have no patience for finer feelings but duty to family and noble tradition resonate with her, deeply. It was that, more than any particular liking for any of the individuals involved, that had her sniffling through the ceremony, weeping, even, and that sentimentality lingered long enough for her to take a turn around the dance floor with Rodolphus after only minimal coaxing.

But now he's off making nice with the Higgses and she knows herself better than to even try, so she's strolling the reception with champagne flute firmly in hand, her tears long since wiped away, looking for someone to bother. And that someone appears, in the green-robed guise of someone on the bride's side, and she quickens her pace. Her walk doesn't betray her intoxication in the slightest--tipsy and in high heels is practically her default state--but her crooked smile does, as she plunks down next to Jyoti.*

Lovely wedding.

I assume you're with the bride.

[camphorflame.livejournal.com]

*Parvati has chosen this moment to squirm out of Jyoti's arms and onto the ground. She toddles over to the new woman, giggling wildly at her new freedom.

Juggling a bored, hungry, and fretful Padma, Jyoti looks the woman over. Her comment doesn't particularly reek of racism, and neither does her demeanor. And after all, there are only seven total brown people present.*

Yes. And you are with the groom?

[fatalfrenzy.livejournal.com]

Cousin. I'm Bellatrix--

*But then the little thing closes the distance and is clutching at her skirts and her smile becomes plastic, brittle. The twin urges to kick it away and to pick it up and caress it are strong, so compelling and utterly at odds with one another that she only sits there, stiffly. The little girl takes fistfuls of black silk and mouths them and Bellatrix only watches as if it's happening to someone else's robes, slack-faced and unmoving as a marble statue.*

Er.

They're lovely.

[camphorflame.livejournal.com]

Parvati.

*It's a sharp but calm warning - Parvati may be the bolder twin, but she listens better than Padma. She stops gumming the skirt, but doesn't let go of Bellatrix.

There's an assumption that people on polar ends of the money spectrum are raised in a house without love - that the extremely poor cannot afford it and that the indulgently rich cannot give it. For the Patils, Jyoti believes it is true, and it is not a stretch for her to imagine that this Bellatrix has not had much love in her home life.

She decides against pulling Parvati back to her, to allow Bellatrix (who is clearly not a mother) a chance to experience something maternal. Besides, Padma is fussing and taking up all her energy.*

Sorry, they're teething. You can hold her, if you like.

[fatalfrenzy.livejournal.com]

I'm-

All right.

*And before Bellatrix even rightly knows how this has happened from coming over here to bother this woman, she's leaning over to hoist the little girl up into her arms. She's done it before, after all, with Draco and others, so it's not that alien to her. And she has had quite a bit of champagne, and even laid her head on Roddy's shoulder, if only briefly--and the girl's face is pleasing, and she has a nice clean-baby sort of smell about her, none of that dreadful curry masala nonsense or whatever it is. Bella's grin widens, her voice draws out into a coo, and she touches a manicured fingertip to Parvati's little nose.*

--and aren't you just a pwecious little thing?

[camphorflame.livejournal.com]

*Jyoti smiles. Bellatrix isn't so bad at playing maternal.*

Her name is Parvati, this is Padma.

*She turns her other daughter around to face Bellatrix. She looks as though she might burst into tears at any moment - something Jyoti is praying against, because wiping the thick lines of kohl around her eyes would take ages.*

And I'm Jyoti.

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

*Evan may have been in love with Bellatrix seven years ago, but he's got no illusions about what she is. And, as little as he cares for the entire rude Patil clan, Evan sights Bellatrix picking up the baby and all he can think of is the things he knows she's done--in fact, things he's watched her do--to children that size, and a bizarre paternal instinct rears its head. He hustles over as fast as he decorously can and arrives just as Jyoti introduces himself, a brittle smile pasted to his face.*

Bellatrix, I see you're meeting my new nieces--

[fatalfrenzy.livejournal.com]

--oh thank God--

Evan! Jagrati and I were just-- here you are, darling--

*The charm of the little painted child has evaporated almost instantly, and it's immediately and with obvious relief that she shoves the thing off on the bride, who's arrived only moments after Evan in a swirl of ivory skirts--and how precious, that they'd gone with white after all.*

--just having a chat. You look well.

[camphorflame.livejournal.com]

*Jyoti practically jumps up at Evan's arrival, but Padma stops her. Instead she can only smile up at her new in-law, fixing it as she listens to Bellatrix butcher her name. But when Amrita comes, Jyoti quickly sorts Padma out and stands.

Of the people in the conversation, Bellatrix is probably the only one unaware of what Amrita is, and as she flippantly hands off Jyoti's daughter to a werewolf, Jyoti's stomach plummets. She believes that Amrita isn't dangerous now, but she knows Rajiv will not be comfortable with her holding her daughter. And her promise to bite everyone in the family thunders through her.

But this is her wedding, and they can worry about that later. Rearranging Padma, she calms herself and opens up again.*

If I may, this wedding is beautiful, congratulations.

[bhaiji.livejournal.com]

*Despite knowing full well that the twins would be coming, the Rosiers have made no effort to provide them appropriate food. Rajiv is stopping every caterer he can find, looking for some strained carrots or even some juice. But most of them look him and his kurta up and down and move away after stiffly telling him to find the seemingly Vanished head caterer.

This wedding is everything Rajiv hates, and he's doing his best to hide it. Stony to begin with, his face has become almost completely impassive. That is, until he sees the Patils.

He's behind them, able to see exactly where their eyes are directed. Jyoti and his girls are talking to some gora, but the Patils don't appear to want to engage either of them. Last night Jyoti had all but begged to for Rajiv to introduce her to them, and if it were not for that, Rajiv would never approach them. But for her, he moves up behind them.

There's an awkward moment as he follows them where Rajiv cannot decide what to call them...sahib and memsahib? Mister and Missus? After a moment's contemplation, Rajiv clears his throat.*

[cellarandmoon.livejournal.com]

I--

*And after all that--all that sturm and drang and shame and worry over the thing--the baby is thrust unceremoniously into her arms, and Amrita takes one shallow, gasping, corseted breath and looks completely stricken for a moment. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out, and as she looks into the face that's laughed at her from a little photo for months, there's a marked resemblance between them: the makeup on each is in imminent danger.

She speaks to Jyoti, but doesn't quite meet her eyes.*

Parvati?

[camphorflame.livejournal.com]

*Her reaction completely endears Amrita to Jyoti, for all Rajiv's recent talk about her cruel grin and exploiting India. Jyoti crosses over to her, thinking their her children too, and she wants them to know their aunt.*

Yes, and this is Padma.

*Padma's fussing has stopped now. Not because her hunger has disappeared, but because of all the attention - both the girls thrive on it. She isn't quite smiling, but she has one finger in her mouth, clearly trying to be cute for the new people.

Jyoti holds her out.*

Would you like -

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

I can take her.

*Evan takes the baby carefully from Jyoti, his brittle smile gone soft as he watches his new wife hold the other.*

Hello there. Aren't you just sweet enough to eat?

[pricklypatils.livejournal.com]

Rajiv.

Hello.

*It comes out stiff and clipped and formal; and after he speaks the two of them turn they stand there just as stiffly, wearing identical expressions of careful, miserable neutrality. It is a long and grudging moment.*

It's been a long time.

[bhaiji.livejournal.com]

*Nothing feels appropriate for this high gentry occasion. Especially given Baldev's words - it's been six years precisely. Almost down to the date, now Rajiv thinks on it.*

It has.

*Out of formality and not interest, he asks his next question.*

I trust you are well?

[pricklypatils.livejournal.com]

*Aarshati makes a noncommittal noise of assent.*

And you and--yours.

[bhaiji.livejournal.com]

*Much as Rajiv would love to say he and his have been spectacular without them, it would not suit his purpose of introducing Jyoti to them.*

We've been well. I've become full librarian and my wife Jyoti is head of the Oriental Division in the Bodleian.

And we've been blessed with two girls - Padma and Parvati.

[pricklypatils.livejournal.com]

How. . . nice.

And that's them over there, I see--

*But over Rajiv's shoulder she sees their daughter too, and her groom, and something odd passes over her face. For his part, Baldev is impassive, white-knuckled.*

Yes.

[bhaiji.livejournal.com]

*Of all the moments Rajiv has been dreading today, this is the worst. When Jyoti first asked, Rajiv had said no, full stop. But when she pressed him for a reason, other than her own protection, Rajiv could not admit to it. Quite simply, he has no idea how to actually ask these people to meet his dalit wife without being snide or defiant. Part of his attraction to Jyoti was initially that she was everything his parents would hate - a career girl, an older and unmarried woman, a harijan...Inevitably his love for her outgrew this, but there is still that edge in him that wants to childishly flaunt her as a totem of their worst prejudices.

He has carefully planned this statement and delivers it duly.*

My wife and children are eager to meet you.