Page 9 of You’re So Vein

“What are these?” I frown as I pick them up. “I hope you’re not doing accounts. I told you, I’ll take care of them—”

“Marriage resumes.” Papa pats the stack lovingly. “I haven’t forgotten my promise to you. I will find a husband worthy of you.”

Great. Now I’m all choked up again.

When Papa first got sick, he struggled with hospital. He’s like me; he doesn’t do so great without a mission to get behind. He needs to be fixing something, solving a problem. And he couldn’t solve the problem of having cancer, so I gave him something he could solve – my non-existent love life.

I never imagined I’d want my parents to help me find a husband. In Indian culture, it’s traditional for parents to arrange the marriages of their children. These days, this looks more like the parents calling up all their friends and acquaintances, or scouring websites of marriage resumes, and arranging introductions with matches they think you might like. My friends all think it’s archaic, but I find it sweet. It’s not as if I’ve made great choices on my own, and who knows me better than my parents? It makes Papa so happy to be sorting through the marriage resumes. It will make him smile to see his daughter married. If I keep him smiling, then he won’t get sick again.

As for the actual marriage… my life is such a mess, maybe a husband helping out would be a welcome change? Swoony romances are great in the pages of a book, but in real life, they turn into disaster. Whereas my parents’ marriage was arranged between their two families, and they have something even better than swoony love – a real partnership.

Augustin’s eyes dart to the stack, and to me, and back to the stack again. “You… you’re getting married?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. To anyone other than you, I’m a hot commodity.”

He raises an eyebrow, like he knows it’s a lie.

“My daughter is brilliant, and creative, and she may make terrible roti, but she flies helicopters!” Papa beams at him. “Perhaps you’d like to add your resume to the pile?”

A choking sound comes from Augustin’s throat. “Pardon me, my curry went down the wrong way,” he wheezes, clutching his throat. “It’s a generous offer, but I must decline. Your daughter is a little too… boisterous for my household.”

“That’s my mating call.” I bat my eyelashes at him. “Have you fallen in love with me yet, darling, or do I need to be more unhinged?”

“I think you should consider this,” Papa says to Durant. “I know that you fight off all kinds of advances from the ladies, but my Beta is a real catch. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!”

“The most famous gift horse in the world became a huge issue because none of the Trojans bothered to look inside,” Augustin says. “Think on that.”

I roll my eyes. “Great. Ancient Greek jokes. Did Patroclus tell that one to you himself?”

Augustin’s eyes flash. I’ve touched a vampire nerve. “When I’m mayor, I won’t have time for dating. I’ll be too busy dealing with the stormwater issues, giving the rosebushes a proper prune, and declining all the tourism director’s kooky ideas.”

“This village needs a little kookiness!” I shoot back. “You can dust off your calling cards, duelling pistols and carrier pigeon sonnets, because soon you’ll have a lot of free time for dating. I’m running against you, and I’m going to win.”

“Not this again.” Augustin frowns. “You can’t run.”

Papa’s eyes light up. “Oh, Beta, you’re running for mayor? That’s wonderful.”

And that right there is all the reason I need to do it. Already, Papa’s voice sounds clearer. He’s sitting up straighter. I beam at him. This is perfect. He might not be able to run anymore, but that doesn’t mean he can’t manage my campaign from his hospital bed. It’s the ideal project to help him recover.

“She’s not running.” Augustin huffs. “The paperwork was due weeks ago. And I’ve never been in a pistol duel. Everyone knows swords are the superior duelling weapon when fighting for your lover’s honour.”

Urgh, he’s even more insufferable as a vampire.

“I have the town charter right here.” I wave my phone in his face. “It doesn’t say anything about disallowing a late candidate, as long as I get council approval. And I will.”

“Not from me.”

“Luckily, we don’t live in a dictatorship where you’re the only council member, so I’m not worried.”

“More’s the pity,” he mutters under his breath. “Sixty people showed up to stab Caesar and he only had twenty-three stab wounds. Group projects are filled with people who don’t pull their weight.”

“Julius Caesar is your role model? You have ambitious plans to conquer the known world, change the calendar, and introduce the Romans to British cooking?”

“I have always wanted to have a salad named after me.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ve got this election in the bag.”

“Oh, this is exciting! You shouldn’t have counted your votes, Augustin. Get that pad and pen over there, Beta,” Papa plumps the pillow behind his head. “I have all sorts of ideas I want to share with you. First of all, a botanical garden with a gorilla statue. Second, a drinking fountain on the green that distributes hot chai instead of water…”