9

AMAYA

Four Days before the Wedding

Bombs in movies usually had those digital clocks that let you know how much time you’ve got left in big red numbers. I’ve heard that weapons experts claim this is ridiculous. Real time bombs don’t tell the hero exactly how much longer they had to save the day. If you found a time bomb out in the field, all bets were off. You just had to diffuse it as fast as you could and hope for the best.

Just like I had no clue how long it would take for Aunty Josephina to read the letter.

And there were so many variables. Too many things that could go wrong.

I ticked them off in my head as I tried to relax a little and enjoy the party.

What if she didn’t read it? Chances: Nonexistent. There was no way she was going to let a juicy piece of potential gossip go to waste.

What if she didn’t believe it? Chances: Slightly higher, but this is the same woman who I overheard telling her friends that she’s avoiding oily food tonight because she didn’t want to attract evil spirits on her way home, so it does sound like she would believe just about anything.

What if she didn’t tell anyone? Chances: Slim to none. Information like this can’t be kept to oneself. Aunty Josephina would probably implode. The question is who she would tell, who they would tell in turn, and whether everything would move quickly enough.

Would she take the news directly to Mr. Fonseka? Chances: Middling, but she’d have to explain how she ended up with the envelope in the first place, and if there’s one thing I could guess about Aunty Josephina, it was that she’d do just about anything to save face. It’s not like she could say that it magically appeared in her handbag or something.

I noticed her peering into her tote a few times through the evening, though she had enough sense not to pull the envelope out at the table.

I looked over at Kaavi, who fluttered around, greeting the guests. I couldn’t believe how ridiculous I was earlier today. All I had to do was go up to her and ask—Kaavi, why did you say your parents wanted me here when it’s clear they had no idea I was coming? That’s all I had to do. But yet—

But yet, here I was, my words catching in my throat whenever I thought about it. Why was that? When did I become so intimidated by her? By all of them?

I started to stand up. Perhaps I could just ask her now.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Fonseka’s voice boomed out over the speaker. Everyone automatically turned toward the stage that the band had vacated and where Mr. Fonseka now stood, looking smart in a navy blue formal shirt that clashed ever so slightly with his wife’s dress. I sat back down.