Chapter 33 Maya #2
I try to remember if Dina ever had an interest in cooking.
I wonder if she’s given up coaching now to take up the helm of her father’s restaurant.
But then I remember her brother, Deen – who would keep stocking a supply of freshly baked goods in Dina’s house whenever I visited.
Who gave me knowing looks when Dina and I were still dating in secret, refusing to tell anyone about what we really meant to each other.
Who had been passing out food to the crowd at the football match two weeks ago.
It would make sense if he was the one who was responsible for the relaunch.
I still remember how important that place had been to Dina’s father, and how often he served me dinner there when I had clearly overstayed my welcome.
Dina’s parents never minded me hanging around.
Even then, the restaurant wasn’t booming with business; I can’t even imagine how it survived after Dina’s father passed away.
Mentally, I start taking note of the time and date of the relaunch, but then I stop myself. I can’t just show up to Dina’s father’s restaurant to celebrate a relaunch. Just because Dina said something nice about me to a reporter doesn’t mean she wants to see me.
I try to go about my day as usual, but try as I might, I can’t stop thinking about Dina or the restaurant relaunch.
By the time the afternoon rolls around, I’m looking at the restaurant’s new website on my laptop, scrolling through the menu chock-full of Bangladeshi dishes.
I wonder if there’s something I can do for this place that means so much to Dina and her family.
Before I know it, I’m going through my phone and emails, trying to find old media contacts.
Surely, they must know people who they can send to the restaurant for the relaunch – reviewers, influencers and journalists – who can talk up the place.
The least I can do is try to help Dina and Deen make sure the launch is a success.
‘What’s this?’ Amma asks just as I’m finishing up a call to an old reporter friend of mine, who has promised to try to get someone to the restaurant. Amma is looking at the restaurant website open on my laptop, a crease between her eyebrows.
‘Just … a new place that’s opening up. I thought maybe we could go,’ I lie.
Amma looks up to me, her frown still intact. ‘Wasn’t Ekushey Dina’s family’s restaurant?’
I should have known Amma would remember. She has the memory of a goldfish half the time, but when it comes to remembering anything Bengali, she’s sharp as a tack. It’s a weird superpower.
‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘They’ve renovated, and they’re opening it up again. I thought maybe I could help them out. See if I could convince some reviewers or journalists to go to the launch.’
I expect Amma to be mad. She made it pretty clear last time Dina was brought up that she’s not her biggest fan.
To my surprise, though, Amma’s face softens.
She sits down in one of the chairs and indicates for me to sit down beside her too.
When I do, she gives me a serious look. It feels like she’s looking right through me, reading all of the thoughts in my head.
‘You still care about Dina,’ she finally says. It’s not a question, it’s a statement.
I can’t even refute it. I do care about Dina – of course I still care about Dina.
I nod. ‘Yeah, I guess I do. I know it’s stupid to, but … I can’t help it.’
‘You two talked at the match. I saw her come up to you afterwards,’ Amma says. I didn’t know that she had been watching.
‘Yes. She just … wanted to say congrats for winning.’
Amma frowns. ‘It didn’t seem like that was all she said. You were quiet afterwards. You’ve been quiet since the match – different. Is it because of her?’
I’m surprised that she noticed all of that. I guess I shouldn’t be. Amma has always been scarily attuned to how I am, and how I’m feeling. I guess it must come with the territory of being a mother.
‘No … and yes. It’s not her fault. She didn’t do anything wrong.
We’re on better terms.’ I shrug. ‘But I guess I hoped that we could go back to where we were before. Before everything happened. That we could be …’ My voice wobbles a little and I feel the pinprick of tears behind my eyes.
Which is ridiculous, of course, because it’s ridiculous to miss my teenage relationship.
It’s ridiculous to still be hung up on my high-school sweetheart.
It’s ridiculous to still be in love with a girl who broke my heart and never even looked back.
Amma takes my hands in hers, peering at me with kind eyes. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt, Maya.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘Which is why I’m trying to put her out of my mind.’
‘No …’ Amma shakes her head. ‘This is hurting you. Trying to forget about her.’
I’m taken aback by her words. Of all people, I would have thought Amma would be against me and Dina being together again.
‘But you said that she was bad news,’ I point out.
‘I’m not convinced that she’s good news, but if she’s important to you, if you still care about her in this way, there must be something about her. And you shouldn’t try to forget about her, if it hurts you. Maybe you should try to talk to her.’
Amma’s about-face is definitely encouraging, but I don’t know how to tell her that it’s too late.
That I might not be able to forget about Dina, but it’s clear Dina has never had a problem with forgetting me.
I’ve thought about her every day since we broke up, and while Dina may have said she missed me, I doubt she thought of me much after she left me on my doorstep, heartbroken.
‘I don’t know if I can,’ I say.
Amma gives me a sympathetic smile. ‘You can. You can do anything.’
I let out a chuckle, because Amma has been telling me that since I was a kid.
It’s what has spurred me on to do all of the things that I’ve done, it’s what gave me the confidence to take on all of the opportunities that I’ve had.
I’m not sure if I would have had the bravery to travel across the world to join a professional football team if it wasn’t for Amma and her ever-present encouragement.
But this isn’t the same thing as any of that.
It requires a different kind of bravery.
It needs me to brush off my old wounds, sew up my broken heart and put myself out there again – ready to be wounded and heartbroken anew.
I’m not sure if I have that in me.