Other Stories”

My daughter was going on a trip to Europe that she’d been dreaming about for a year and planning for months, with the boyfriend she’d dumped and then got back together with a few weeks earlier. Lucas was already over there with two friends, and as we drove to the airport I had the feeling that her flying alone across the dark, empty ocean was practice for her real departure, to college, a month from now.

Through no fault of our own (naturally), we were late. Our wives, you see, had decided to tag along.

On the first, my uncles and I greeted guests and directed them to the staircases (for men) or the elevators (for women). On the second floor, the men sipped tea and cracked jokes and sat waiting for food. Although our guests supported various factions in the long war—the Afghan National Army, the Americans, even the Taliban—everyone seemed to be getting along. The real party was on the third floor, where my aunts and girl cousins organized dances and orchestrated the bride’s entrances.