point out. However—damn her!—she’s married to a handsome lawyer and has the cutest twins. One girl, one boy. Blonde. Can you imagine how image-worthy that family is? Compared to me?”
“That sucks,” Kimberly said, and Amarjeet nodded vigorously.
I downed the last of my melon sake martini as our Japanese waitress arrived with tapa-sized platters of food. She decorated the table with strikingly presented salmon sashimi, fried udon noodles with chicken and veggies, soft-shell crab tempura, and a salad of field greens with shrimp and avocado in a tangy citrus sauce. We thanked her, ordered another round of drinks, then picked up chopsticks and dove in.
As I swirled up udon noodles, I sighed. I’d devoted the last three years to Triple-F and totally believed in the work we did, funding services to families in need. I had ideas for new sources of funding, ways to cut administrative costs, all sorts of things to improve the organization. My current boss was an idealist, Candace was Ms. Practical, and I combined both qualities. “Damn it, I’d be the best CEO. So, any brilliant ideas? Aside from suing Triple-F? Or getting married?” Finally, I popped the noodles into my mouth.
Kimberly wiggled her left hand so her solitaire engagement ring sparkled in the evening sunlight. “I vote for marriage.”
“I’ve wanted to get married since I was six,” I reminded her.
“So have I.” Amarjeet mixed wasabi with soy sauce. “We’re twenty-seven, Jade. What are we waiting for?”
If it were that easy, I’d have been married years ago. “Duh. Prince Charming. So far all I’ve found are frogs.”
“As have I. And I, personally, am tired of kissing frogs who remain frogs rather than transforming into princes. In fact—” She broke off as our second round of sake martinis arrived, then went on, “I may agree to let my mother look into an arranged marriage.”
My jaw dropped. Her mom had been talking about arranged marriage since my friend was old enough to dress her Bride Barbie in a red silk sari. I’d never thought Westernized Amarjeet would go for it.
“Oh my God,” Kimberly said, “it’s so Dark Ages.”
“Not in India,” Amarjeet responded.
“You aren’t in India,” I said. “You were born in Vancouver, Canada. Not two miles from where we’re sitting.” The three of us had attended the same elementary school, where we’d become best friends forever long before anyone had invented that term.
“Indian families care more about tradition,” Amarjeet said softly. “You know my parents. You’ve been to my sister’s wedding here, and heard me talk about my brother’s in India.”
I nodded. “Not to mention all those cousins. Seems to me, every few months someone in your family is getting married.”
“And a lot of them are arranged.”
“But you’ve always resisted,” I said, as Kimberly said, “It’s archaic.”
Amarjeet raised her shoulders, smooth and brown against the Kelly green top she was wearing, and rotated them as if to ease out tightness. “Dating hasn’t worked. Perhaps too much choice is a bad thing. I’ve wasted time. I want to get married and start a family.”
“I’m impatient too,” I admitted. Good friends and a great job were all very well, but I’d always dreamed of a husband and children. It was time.
“So,” Amarjeet said, “you and Triple-F want the same thing.”
“True.” But how to achieve it? Jokingly, I asked, “Are you suggesting we get your mom to arrange me a marriage too?”
Amarjeet’s eyes sparkled with humor. “She would so love to do that.”
“So would your granny, Jade.” Kimberly bowed her head and spoke in a dreadful Chinese accent. “Me, ancient Chinese grandmother, say sweet innocent granddaughter marry nice respectable Chinese boy.”
The three of us laughed. Yes, my mom’s mother had a slight accent, but she’d been in Canada since, at 18, she married a Chinese-Canadian—in an arranged marriage. She was fluent in English, had obtained a degree in fine arts in her 40s, and now, in her mid-70s, was stylish, attractive, and anything but “ancient.” The sentiments Kimberly had expressed were, however, bang on. Granny had grown to love my black Québécois papa, but she’d never quite forgiven Mom for not marrying a Chinese man. She hoped I would make up for my mom’s disobedient behavior.
“Okay,” I said, “let’s agree my goal—for personal and work reasons—is to find Prince Charming and get married. Leaving aside arranged marriage, what’s my best strategy?”
“Meet lots of men,” Kimberly said promptly.
“I have. I’ve wasted years dating frogs.”
“Hone your frog detector,” Kimberly said, “so you don’t waste time.”
I nibbled on crab tempura. “How about this? I’ll date like crazy—even let Granny fix me up—and on the first date I’ll decide whether the guy has Prince Charming potential.”
“What if he doesn’t?” Kimberly asked.
“He’s a write-off. On to the next guy.”
“It’s not a bad plan,” Amarjeet said. “But it could take time to find the right man. What about the job promotion?”
Our conversation had helped me realize my problem. In my dating life, I had lacked the focus I brought to my work. I’d hang out with an okay guy for months, knowing we had no future. Now I had a plan and a goal, actually two goals: marriage and promotion. I was highly motivated—I’d be realizing two dreams—and when I was motivated, I could achieve great results. “I’ll go on lots of dates. I’ll go on a date every night. If I apply myself, how long can it take?”
“Months,” Amarjeet said, “or longer. If your granny arranged a marriage, you could have a fiancé in a week. I’m sure she has men in mind.”
“No, I believe in free choice.” That was how my parents, who’d married against both their families’ wishes, had raised me. And look at how solid and loving their relationship was.
“I have a better idea.” Kimberly’s blue eyes sparkled as brightly as her ring. “Have you seen the posters for ‘It’s Raining Men’?”
“The bachelor auction?” What woman could ignore the posters featuring hot guys in everything from bathing suits to tuxes, all holding umbrellas? “The one that benefits the new children’s wing at the hospital? What does that have to do with my problem?”
“You could buy a faux fiancé. The children’s wing is a great cause, right up your alley. Bid on an amazing guy, tell him to pretend you’re engaged, and trot him around to the office.”
“Deceive them? I can’t.”
“Why not?” She stuck out her chin. “They’re all set to break the law by discriminating in favor of image-perfect Candace.”
“They might not. I could still get the job.”
“Even
