Two Months Later (August Eighteenth, Vivienne's Sixteenth Birthday)
"No! The streamers go over there! My god… Yes, now the banner, above the chandelier, and don't mess it up! It's worth at least triple your yearly salary. The balloons go there, there, and by the other tables, and make sure to get the new cloth for the tables! Ma'am doesn't like this orange one; a blue one will match the theme much better. After that, arrange for the catering, they are still wondering what time they are supposed to set up. Write the number in the contacts, idiot, not the guest list! God, I need more competent people,"
I sit in the corner of the grand hall my dad booked for my birthday celebration in the afternoon, listening to the organizers we hired bicker and yell out orders in a mix of Hindi, Tamil, Punjabi, and even a little Sanskrit, fixing things to perfection. Many of my relatives from all over the world are coming for my sixteenth birthday, kin from every continent except Antarctica. Three days after my day out with Caspian and Belle, I went to India with my mom, dad, and brother and we stayed for a little less than two months, just returning home about five days ago with both sets of my grandparents, though they are leaving right after my birthday party.
The hall my father booked is in the closest city to our small town, about twenty minutes away from the northwest border. The organizers have about thirty minutes before people start arriving. The entryway is very posh, with marble tiling, grand mosaics on the high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, luxurious furniture, and well-trained staff always ready. We booked out the entire building, with areas for the reception, kids' party, adults' party, teens' party, and a large lounge. The whole area is covered in blue decorations, ranging from sea-foam blue to navy blue, robin egg's blue and royal blue, turquoise, and ocean blues and greens. Specially bought cream and sea-foam blue furniture line the rooms, and even the staff are dressed in blue dresses and coats of their choice.
I am wearing a long Indian lehenga skirt that reaches my ankles, with different layers of peacock blue and green with a gold trim on the bottom. The top is a deep royal blue with gold and silver wave designs on the trim, rising up in the back, and covers my shoulders but leaves my arms open, covering my stomach like a crop top, leaving my belly button bare. It doesn't show much of my muscles, so I'm very much comfortable in my attire. My chunni, a long veil-like scarf, is an ocean-blue net with the same gold and silver wave pattern on the border and it is pinned to my left shoulder, reaching down to the edge of my skirt.
I wear no make up besides a little lotion for my hands, and I have my hair out in waves, down to my knees, with a small crown made of the top portion of my hair, making a mini crown with the rest of my hair flowing down, and a small diamond flower pinning it together. In my ears I wear ornate gold earrings with emeralds and sapphires my grandma gifted me along with the matching necklace, and they both aren't too heavy. In my nose a gold ring the size of a water bottle cap is fixed in, with a gold chain hooked into the hair behind my ear.
On my arms I wear a few gold bangles and on my ankles I wear silver and diamond anklets, not like the ones I use for dance, but much more fragile and small ones. To finish up the look, my mother insisted I wear the gold heels that she bought me, with studded diamonds and block heals that raise my height to six feet. I have practiced for a while and I can proficiently spar in heels if needed, so I can walk with grace, elegance, and poise amongst my family today.
I look around the room while the preparations continue. Large windows open to a balconies with a view of the city line against the sky, mountains in the far distance. The walls are a seafoam blue in honor of my birthday, and many round furnished dark oak tables sit in rows on the far side of this room, the reception room. Blue balloons in every shade lurk around every corner while a few doors lead in and out of the kitchen, where private chefs will prepare food for everyone. The floor is black and white marble, giving a nice look to the entirety of the room.
I head into the teens' room, where I'll be spending most of my time, along with relatives and family friends my age, and look to see what all the commotion is about. The middle-aged woman is yelling at Indian men and women around the room, setting up the most decorations here. This is where the cake cutting and main events will take place, besides the meals.
Cream colored plush sofas and chairs line the left wall with a few glass tables. The floor is the same black and white marble and the ceiling is one great mosaic of an ocean, with a beautiful crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room, embedded with ornate opals and sapphires. In the middle of the room is a large glass table where I will cut the cake, and in the front of the room is a long table filled with snacks. The entire right and back wall are made up of floor to ceiling windows that show a beautiful view. An entrance to the balcony is present in the right corner, with a set of French doors. The air faintly smells like vanilla cake and the atmosphere is upbeat despite people the yelling at each other while they hang a large banner over the cake-cutting table and set balloons in specific places, even measuring out and cutting pieces of a baby blue satin cloth that covers the tables. A few streamers in every shade of blue are being hung from pillars and attached to the banner while some hang from the chandelier and others on the walls.
I then study the workers, a little curious. The middle-aged woman, Sonia Grewal, has thick black hair streaked with gray cut to her shoulder blades. She has deeply tanned skin, in a way that says she had a childhood full of sun, and her eyes are a cutting hazel with a few eyelashes framing them. Her nose is a little stubby and she has slightly chubby cheeks and thin downturned lips. Mrs. Grewal also has a petite figure with small arms and torso, and she has long legs which hold her to a height which is about five feet and five inches. She wears a forest green saree, fiddling with the edges very once in a little while. Her nails are bitten down and she has a large diamond ring on her ring finger, so she is married. From her posture I deduce that she is both nervous and a little frustrated from the work she is doing now.
I scan the other workers quickly, mostly noticing how they seem determined to do their jobs. The men wear white shirts and gray or black dress pants, while the women wear mostly colorful sarees.
I head to the next room after waving a hello to Mrs. Grewal. The kids' room, for kids, toddlers, and babies younger than the age of thirteen. I look around and see they have done a fantastic job. A few coolers and ornate boxes with snacks in them are locked up, and I spot a set of keys hanging on the wall. There are a couple of cribs and beds pushed to the left wall, and the walls are painted baby blue, with baby mobiles hanging from the ceiling. The floor is a gray-blue soft, plush carpet and a couple of toys lie here and there for children to play with. In the right corner is a desk for the babysitting staff to take a break. I see most of them chilling right now and they wave at me before continuing their conversation.
Next I head out the door to the adults' room. The walls are painted navy blue and the marble floor is completely white marble, with a few streaks of silver here and there. Blue balloons hang around in the corners and large streamers hang from the pillars. Tables are arranged into neat rows, covering the right half of the room. The left half is taken by a long table with a variety of snacks and drinks. Behind the table more large windows let in natural light. Each table on right side of the room has close to ten chairs around it, making for conversation groups amongst the older generation. I don't find anyone else here besides a few staff who are preparing trays and drinks.
I head to the last room, the lounge. The lounge has white marble flooring and cream-colored walls, with cream colored sofas and chairs, too. In the very back, a bar with a staff person is getting ready to serve drinks and snacks. I find my mother, father, and brother sitting together on one couch. I stay in the shadows and study them for a moment.
My mom wears a rose-pink anarkali, with rose and petal designs in silver thread around the waist and the borders. Her chunni, the same pink color with the same petal designs around the border, is pinned to each of her shoulders strategically, covering up her shoulders and neck loosely. Her long, thick black-brown hair is pinned up in an elegant twist and she has light makeup, a touch of lipstick and a little eyeliner. In her ears she wears small round earrings with pink diamonds, and she wears her wedding ring proudly on her finger. She wears the matching necklace and a few pink glass bangles. On her feet are rose gold heels with a large heel, bringing her five feet and two-inch height to five feet and five inches.
My dad wears a black and white tux, with my brother in the same outfit. His hair is gelled back while Varun's remains in its messy waves. I remember the plan that my father told us about this morning. All the visitors will gather in the hall for thirty minute approximately. Then, my family and I will greet them one by one personally and direct them to the correct lounge according to age. Adults over the age of twenty-one and seniors immediately are led by staff to the adults' room. Teens and young adults from ages thirteen to twenty-one will be led to the teens' room. Kids, toddlers, and babies can be dropped off at the kids' lounge if that's what the parents prefer.
First, there will be meeting and greeting time, then everyone will gather in the reception for dinner. Afterwards, there'll be time for talking until the cake comes out and everyone gathers in the teens' room, which is also the largest room. I will continue to open presents and when I am done, everyone will be served cake and ice cream. Then people will be allowed to simply mingle and head into the lounge.
The rest of the day goes by in a blur, with everything going according to plan and me ending up with about five hundred gift boxes.
In the beginning, I greeted all of my relatives, most of which I remembered their names and relations to the family. I chatted about religion and politics along with embroidery projects and new accomplishments with the elders, I impressed the adults with my vast knowledge and variety of skills, I had fun with all my cousins around my age and we did the usual – games, pranks, jokes, the whole package, and I took a turn visiting all the little kids and babies, in which there was a mutual adoration.
By the time we get home, it is eleven at night. I am a little tired, and a look around me tells that Varun is close to collapsing and my parents are tired. I guess greeting and hosting close to five hundred people does that to you.
My parents, grandparents, and Varun walk in front of me and into the house. I sense something unusual in the garden, something dark and creeping, something that wishes to be hidden. I glance at my family.
"Mom, I'm going to go check on the roses for a little bit. We can cut the cake in a few minutes, okay?" I whisper this to her in Hindi, not wanting to be heard by the creeping presence. My mom gives me a little nod and they all go inside, closing the door behind them.
My senses go on overdrive. I hear every crunch of grass underneath the feet of the intruder, I smell a faint whiff of an expensive cologne along with the smell of my roses. I can almost taste the fear and anger coming off the intruder, making me creep around even more carefully. My eyes pierce the darkness and I can make out the silhouette of the trespasser. The warm air sits on my skin, not a breeze to be felt, waiting like me for the trespasser to make their move. I take careful steps because of my noisy anklets, and I carefully lift my skirt so I can walk in the grass. I take a small pebble and carefully take aim at the kitchen window. Tap tap tap. Three pebbles in succession. If my father heard, he would be coming outside in a few seconds, quiet enough that the intruder won't sense him, but I still can.
Almost ten seconds later, I detect my father's presence. I make my presence a little more obvious, so he knows I am here. He takes the opposite side of the garden, and we follow as the trespasser, who seems a bit familiar, walk towards the back. The six-foot figure bends down and picks up a rock, about to throw it at one of my windows. In the next moment, my dad has the person tackled and on the ground. I switch on the outdoor lights and make sure that no one comes out of the house.
When I look to the intruder, I wipe all emotions off of my body language and expressions. I stand stiffly while my father stands, bringing up Noah to a standing position.
Noah has twigs and leaves in his hair, and he wears a t-shirt and jeans, with tattered sneakers. He looks like he's been living in a forest. Noah looks me up and down, his gaze lingering on places where my skin is revealed. Dad notices and turns him away from me, looking at his face.
"Noah Castor? Mayor Castor's son?" My dad asks in an incredulous voice.
"Right, I-uh I was wondering if I could take your daughter out on a date," Noah stammers out. I shake my head at my father, letting him know that I don't like Noah.
"You dare come onto my property and obviously disrespect my daughter with your filthy eyes, then ask if you can take out my daughter?" Dad growls, the expression on his face scaring Noah.
"Y-yes sir," He replies. I have to admit, the kid can persevere, but that's not a particular skill he should hold on to right now.
"Get out before I beat you, boy, or I'll call the police and your mother," Dad says before Noah runs out, running until we can't see him anymore. My dad then proceeded to curse in Hindi words so vulgar I dare not repeat them or their translations.
"Papa, can we go inside now?" I ask, a little weariness leaking into my voice. Dad just takes my shoulder and leads me inside.
"I will tell your mother what happened, and I promise no one will freak out. But from now on we have to put more security on you," I groan, but he holds up a hand, "It's for your own good. My daughter is getting more beautiful by the day and it seems the boys are noticing," He says, incredibly sad.
I roll my eyes, but a blush creeps up my cheeks.