Yours, Eventually

Chapter Twenty-Two

Twenty-Two

Asma pulled up in front of a former warehouse converted into trendy lofts in Oakland where Fatima’s cousin lived. She took off her sunglasses and checked her cell phone, which had been ringing nonstop since she left home. Five missed calls from Maryam, the last one just minutes ago. The calls would continue until Maryam managed to get her on the phone.

“What’s wrong?” Asma asked her sister.

“Nothing, why?”

“You called me five times.”

“I was just calling to say hi. I—Boys! Put that down!”

Asma could hear her nephews in the background. “Maryam, let me call you back later this afternoon.”

Maryam was back on the phone. “I’ll be busy. I have to take Aunty Bushra and Lubna to physical therapy. I’m like the family chauffeur. You know, Saba should be the one driving them but she’s been busy doing God knows what with Tariq. I keep having to remind her to cool it, they’re not yet married.”

“How’s Lubna?”

“Loving the attention. Aunty and Lubna got so used to Kamran cooking that he’s still doing it! Naveed’s here almost every day bringing us food and—Zaki! I said to put that down! You’re going to ruin your lunch.”

“Maryam, I really have—

“I wish someone would cook for me. This whole thing has been so hard. I don’t know why Aunty turned down Farooq’s offer to have a physical therapist come to the house for Lubna. She knows I have the children to look after. Zayd, I’m going to count to three. One—”

“Maryam—”

“Two—”

“Maryam!”

“Good. Now leave, I’m trying to talk to Asma Khala. Like I was saying, it would’ve been so much more convenient. I don’t know why Aunty is being so formal with Farooq. He and Lubna are practically engaged, apparently he asked Saba for Lubna’s ring size.”

“Maryam, I need to go.” Asma couldn’t hear anymore. Her stomach was going sour with every word, and she didn’t want to ruin her lunch with Fatima. “I’m late.”

“For what?”

“Lunch with Fatima.”

“Fatima? Fatima Malik?”

“Yes, Fatima Malik. Do I have any other friends named Fatima?”

“Jeez, Asma, what’s with the attitude?”

“Sorry, it’s just that Abu is acting like he can’t remember her.”

“Of course I remember her. Maybe you can find out what happened with her husband. I heard they split up because he was cheating on her with a law student. How cliché.”

And with that, Asma hung up on her sister.

—

“This place is amazing!”

Asma took in Fatima’s cousin’s loft—floor-to-ceiling windows, exposed brick and pipes, and an open floor plan with stainless steel appliances. What appeared to be extremely expensive artwork adorned the walls.

“I know, I feel like I’m on a TV set. Some legal drama about a high-powered, kick-ass attorney with a great job, a fabulous apartment, and a fridge stocked with fancy Italian sodas. You want one?”

“Sure,” said Asma gazing out the window.

“God, the way the aunties used to talk about my cousin,” said Fatima, shaking her head as she opened the fridge. “Even my mom—her own aunt! You should’ve heard her when she bought this place. ‘Now she’ll never get married,’ she said, ‘she’s too independent.’ Yes, because what man in his right mind would want to be with a woman who makes good money and owns a home.”

Asma settled on a barstool across the counter from Fatima, who popped open a drink.

“Fatima, I owe you an apology,” Asma said.

Fatima looked surprised. “For what?”

“For not believing you when you had your suspicions about Salman.”

“Asma, please—you’re not responsible for him cheating.”

“No, but I shouldn’t have tried to convince you that everything was okay. I should’ve encouraged you to listen to your gut.”

“I’d had the gut feeling for a while. But I was in denial.”

“You were under a lot of pressure. You know, with your fertility journey.”

Fatima was quiet for a second.

“The thing is,” she said, then stopped. She drew in her breath before starting again. “The thing is that the cheating wasn’t even what I was worried about. It was everything else. I was so mad at my parents—but they said exactly what I was thinking deep down. I knew people would talk—about me, about my family. You know what the aunties are saying—that it’s my fault. I didn’t give him what he needed so he was forced to get it elsewhere.”

Asma remembered what the aunties said at the ameen.

“I keep thinking about what will happen if we break up,” Fatima continued. “People will be trying to set him up again before the divorce papers are even signed. And I’ll be an old divorced hag at twenty-seven.”

“It’s so unfair,” said Asma.

“It is. But I keep telling myself that this happened for a reason. I mean, I agreed to marry him for my parents’ sake. I did what they wanted me to do, and what did it bring me? At least now I’m free from my pathological need to make them happy. It’s not possible.”

Asma sat for a second to take things in, to process Fatima’s words on the futility of living her life for the sake of pleasing others, even her own parents.

“Anyway, enough of this. I’m so sick of thinking about it,” Fatima said. “What’s new with you? What’s this I hear about you and Omar Khan?”

“What did you hear?”

“You know he’s the hot single guy on everyone’s radar. My cousin heard that he’s seeing someone.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Okay.” Fatima smiled.

“We are! I mean, I like spending time with him. He’s fun, he’s cute.”

Fatima raised her eyebrows, amused.

It was the first time Asma had spoken to Fatima about a guy other than Farooq. She felt inexplicably embarrassed. She shook her head and made a face. “You know he had that whole thing with Iman. Even though Rehana Aunty said she’s not interested anymore.”

“So, what’s the problem, then?”

“I don’t know—he’s so smooth and charming and has that whole finance-guy thing going on. He’s not someone I imagined myself with.”

“You mean, he’s not Farooq.”

“Definitely not Farooq. The complete opposite.”

“You can change your mind, you know. Allow someone else in.”

Asma gulped down her Italian soda to avoid saying out loud to Fatima what she felt confused about inside. That she was beginning to wonder if she already had.

—

When her phone rang during the drive back to Sacramento, Asma assumed it would be Maryam again. But instead, she saw the number for her old hospital on her caller ID.

“Hello, Asma?” Dr. Saucedo’s voice was instantly recognizable, though it sounded a bit more strained than Asma remembered.

“Dr. Saucedo, so good to hear from you,” Asma replied. “How are things in the ER?”

“That’s what I’m calling about, actually,” Dr. Saucedo replied. “I had a patient come through who asked for you when he was admitted. One of the Green Meadows residents. A Mr. Shepard?”

“Again?” Asma asked. “Tell me it’s not another case of Legionnaires’. Last time I spoke with the health department, they assured me that they were going to make sure all the air conditioners in the facility were replaced in the next six weeks.”

“Well, apparently they didn’t follow through on that,” Dr. Saucedo replied. “Because I’m told we’ve had three more cases of bacterial pneumonia come through in the last month. And unfortunately none of the residents here were on the lookout for it. I only realized it myself when Mr. Shepard was admitted.”

“How are his stats?” Asma asked. “If he gets testy, just ask him about his granddaughter, her name is Olivia.”

“Asma,” Dr. Saucedo said, her voice threaded through with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I called because Mr. Shephard didn’t respond to this last course of antibiotics. He passed away this morning.”

“No!” Asma said, feeling the barrier that usually kept her professional life separate from her personal life crumble. She pulled the car over to the side of the highway and punched the button for her hazard lights, her eyes already filled with tears.

“I’m so sorry nobody here caught it,” Dr. Saucedo said. “I wish I’d followed up myself.”

“I should have done it,” Asma replied. “Even if I wasn’t working at the hospital, I should have made sure Green Meadows was in compliance.”

“That wasn’t your job, Asma,” Dr. Saucedo replied. “It was incredible work for you to identify the pattern in the first place. Nobody else here did. You’ve got a real gift.”

Asma felt her face crumple into tears. For Mr. Shepard, but also for herself. It was why she hadn’t yet accepted the job offer from Sierra Oaks. She missed the ER, missed relying on her instincts to make decisions when seconds counted and lives hung in the balance. It was what she’d wanted ever since Farooq broke his leg falling into that ravine. Or perhaps even before that. Maybe she’d wanted this ever since her mother died. She wanted to be the one in control, making the decisions. So maybe she could make a difference for people like Mr. Shephard. Maybe, if she’d taken the job at her old hospital and remained in the Bay, Mr. Shepard would still be alive.

—

Not even Asma’s lingering melancholy over Mr. Shepard’s death proved to be enough to get her out of the child’s birthday party that Iman was coordinating that weekend in San Jose. Despite Asma’s explanation that she simply wasn’t up for it, Iman insisted. It was Mr. Ibrahim’s first party since his heart attack, after all, and everyone who was anyone was going to be there.

Asma took her time getting ready for the party, hoping that by dragging her feet she could delay their arrival. And, indeed, they were already running a half hour late when she finished dressing and came downstairs. She plopped down in front of the TV as she waited another half an hour for Mr. Ibrahim to change his clothes after deciding that a sherwani was too formal for a child’s backyard party.

After the two-and-a-half-hour drive, which would’ve been shorter if her father hadn’t insisted on driving, they were over an hour late. They walked into the backyard through the house’s side entrance and Asma’s mouth dropped open in amazement. Not because they were some of the first guests to arrive—besides, of course, the child’s non-Desi friends from preschool who were already there—but rather, because of the party’s décor. It was a frog-themed party Pinterest board come to life.

Frogs were everywhere. From the frog lanterns adorning the trees and bushes, to the frog plates and green utensils, to the frog-shaped cake pops and cookies on the dessert table, to the real-life aquarium set up in the corner. Asma couldn’t find a place to rest her eyes where she wouldn’t be assaulted by a frog.

Iman, chatting with a man wearing a frog costume, spotted her family from across the yard. Her smile was fixed in place while talking to the frog but disappeared as she marched over to her family.

“You guys didn’t wear green?”

“Oh no!” Mr. Ibrahim said. “I knew you mentioned how I was supposed to dress. I just couldn’t remember.”

“You guys are going to throw everything off.”

“It’ll be okay, Iman,” Asma said. “There’s enough green at this party for all of us.”

“That’s true—it really came together.”

“It’s beautiful! Exceptional!” Mr. Ibrahim crowed.

“You’ve outdone yourself” was all Rehana could say.

“You know what else is going to be green?” Iman asked. “Alia Memon. She was dying to coordinate this party, but Noreen was adamant that I do it.”

Iman looked around the backyard admiringly. “This is so much better than that sheep-themed aqeeqah Alia coordinated last month for her cousin’s new baby. It’s like, we get it—it’s an aqeeqah. You don’t need to inundate us with sheep to remind us that they’re being slaughtered.”

“Don’t you think this is a bit much?” asked Asma.

“No way.” Iman turned on her heel, gesturing for her family to follow. “This is a milestone birthday!”

And as Iman led them farther into the backyard to show off the rest of the décor—“I can’t wait for you to see the party favors; you’re never going to guess what they are!”—Asma took in the huge banner hanging over the frog cake: Happy 3rd Birthday!

—

Two hours after the start time noted on the invitation, the party was in full swing. Children jumped in the bouncy house frog while their parents huddled in little packs around the backyard.

Like tadpole schools, thought Asma.

Asma stood by herself on the side of the yard, the only woman at the party her age without a husband and a child. She ate a frog-shaped cupcake, mesmerized by the man in a frog costume making frog balloons for a group of children. She had spent the first hour of the party texting frog pictures to Omar and giggling over his snarky replies. She was about to find Iman and see when they were finally allowed to leave when she saw some party latecomers entering through the side gate: Sophia and Yusef.

She and Sophia had texted occasionally over the past few months, but Asma hadn’t spoken to her since moving to Sacramento. Asma was so surprised to see them she nearly stumbled putting her cupcake down on the table to greet Sophia with a big hug.

“What a pleasant surprise!” said Asma. “I didn’t know you two were coming.”

“Of course! Uncle is my father’s cousin,” Sophia said, looking just as happy to see Asma as she was to see them.

So not only were the Waheeds now wealthy, Asma thought, it turns out they had rich and well-connected family members too.

Asma shook off the realization and turned to greet Yusef, who stood next to Sophia, silently marveling at the scene before him in the backyard.

“This place is a trip,” he said.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Sophia agreed.

“And let’s hope we never have to again,” added Asma.

“Oh!” Sophia said, her face lighting up. “You weren’t planning a frog-themed bridal shower for Lubna?”

Asma felt a jolt at Sophia’s words, like a fiery gust of wind. And then a wave of nausea quickly followed.

“What?”

“Farooq called us with the news on our way here. We’re thrilled!”

Asma felt the blood drain from her face. Farooq had proposed. She suddenly felt dizzy and her legs threatened to give out from under her.

“Are you okay?” Sophia looked at Asma with alarm.

“I’m just…too warm. I need to sit down.”

“Quick, sweetie, grab that chair.” Sophia ushered Yusef toward the folding chairs on the side of the yard.

Asma sat down on the chair Yusef brought her and took the bottle of water that Sophia snagged from a table nearby.

“It must be the heat, I didn’t realize it was going to be so hot today,” said Yusef.

Asma put her head in her lap. She wanted nothing more than for Sophia and Yusef to stop talking and leave so she could process the news. She squeezed her head with her knees, hoping to simultaneously drown out their conversation and convey that she needed time to herself.

It did neither.

“Can’t say this whole engagement didn’t take me by surprise,” Sophia said.

“Me too,” said Yusef.

“Although I suppose we should’ve seen it coming.”

“Really? It seems so fast to me.”

“Me too, but I think that’s how people do it these days.”

“I guess. Perhaps I’m just too old, I don’t get these millennials—or are they Gen Z? Are we millennials?”

Their voices sounded increasingly remote as Asma shut her eyes, willing everything away. She wanted nothing more than for the people around her to disappear so she could give in to the overriding emotion coursing through her in that moment—grief. Because it seemed no matter how hard she’d tried to convince herself that she was moving forward and had done the right thing in getting out of Lubna’s way when it came to Farooq, that didn’t mean she’d stopped loving him. She had been a fool to think otherwise. All she wanted to do was cry into her hands.

But instead, she was in the middle of this unhinged green frog nightmare of a birthday party being tended to by Farooq’s sister of all people. She had to hold it together. She forced herself to remember when she was a baby intern just starting out in the ER, the first time a patient crashed right in front of her. The woman slumped over, and when Asma felt for a pulse, she had none. It was the moment she knew she could be a doctor—and a great one—right then, when she refused to give in to her own panic. She simply refused to feel it, and then she set to work saving the woman’s life. That was what Asma decided to do now, with her grief. She shoved it down, knowing it could have her later, and stood up and smiled at Farooq’s sister. Made small talk for a few minutes surrounded by manic frog paraphernalia and then told Iman she was catching a ride home. Finally, when she got back to the house in Sacramento after the most expensive Uber she’d ever taken, she locked herself in the upstairs bathroom of their house, turned on the shower, and sobbed into a hand towel.