Name game

(Inspired by the StoryaDay.org prompt to write a story involving a wedding.)

"So, do you plan to be Carlson or Gupta-Carlson?"
I stared at the man who forty-eight hours later would become my fiancé slightly aghast.
"I was planning to be Gupta."
His face contorted in pain. "What's wrong with my name? Are you ashamed to be a Carlson?"
"Well, uh, no. It's just ... you know, I've always been a Gupta. Why change it now?"
He glared into the beer mug sitting in front of him. "Because you're going to marry me!"
"What century are you living in, anyway? How many women do you know who change their last names just because they get married these days?"
"My sisters did."
That was the clincher. To be accepted into the larger fold, I needed to follow a system of values I didn't subscribe to. To remain a Gupta would mean living a life amid raised eyebrows, whispered remarks, and stares. It seems that in the heat of the moment I conveniently managed to forget that being born the daughter of immigrants from India and integrating almost entirely with the culture of America's Midwest had already made those unstated critiques a part of my daily life. Always a misfit. To truly fit, I would have to bleach my skin white.
Or become a Carlson.
"Himanee Carlson?" I said the name out loud.
The combination seemed foreign.
"How does it sound?"
My boyfriend -- the man who soon would be my fiancé and then later my husband -- stared at me in disbelief. "Who cares how it sounds? It's your name now."
"I don't know if I like it," I said.
He threw his paper napkin at me in despair, got up from the table and said he was going for a walk.
I shrugged, and took another sip of my wine.
And I began to think.
Carlson? Or Gupta-Carlson? Or Gupta Carlson?
Which one made the most sense?