Meeting the Parents
MEETING THE PARENTS
There was a knock on the front door the day after Kian had been suspended. It was a Saturday, and both his parents were home. They were having lunch in the sitting room. His dad muted the television and gave his wife a look. It reminded Kian of the look they used to exchange when Mehdi had police and lawyers visiting the house. He feared the worst for a moment, felt his body go cold, his underarms suddenly, impossibly sweaty within seconds, but then remembered Mehdi wasn’t there, and that they’d been told the police wouldn’t be involved with the fight.
His dad got up to see who it was, and seconds later his mum followed to stand in the hallway. Kian remained in the living room, his plate of rice and chicken stew on his lap, untouched, as his ears pricked up to hear who was at the door. They were in the back room, so he could only piece together bits of the conversation. It was a man at the door, who had a thick accent like his parents. He heard words like “people like him” and “stay away.” It was only when he heard “Shirin,” though, that he put his plate down on the coffee table and moved to the door. His mum was by his dad’s side, the front door half open. The man was almost shouting and Kian’s dad was speaking just as loudly back, both talking in Farsi now. Kian could understand Farsi pretty well, though he struggled with certain phrases.
“He was defending her,” his dad was saying. “As a friend, nothing more.”
“You’re meant to be a Muslim family. What is this about the school saying they ‘hang around’ together? The school telling me to be careful. My Shirin is a good girl—a good Muslim girl—so tell your dirty son never to contact her again.”
His dad said, “Goh too saret,” and Kian knew it was something insulting because Shirin’s dad exploded at this but was met with a door in his face. When his parents turned, they saw Kian standing there, clutching the living room doorframe, his face pale.
“Stupid baboon,” his dad said. “That man is a laughingstock in this city, and he says we’re a bad family?”
His mum was rubbing her husband’s shoulder, though her own face was furious. It softened slightly when she said to Kian, “He is right though. You should probably leave that girl alone now. They suspended her, as well, from the school.”
“What? Why would they do that?”
“Probably to make a point,” his dad said, before muttering something unflattering in Farsi.
“I need to speak to her, see how she’s doing…” He began to make his way out of the room, thinking of nothing but seeing Shirin.
“No,” his mum said, putting her hand on his shoulder to stop him. “We said you should leave it now, Kian. We’re lucky the police haven’t been involved.”
“Leave it? She’s my friend,” he said slowly, like they did not understand him.
“Maybe make friends with English girls,” his dad quickly retorted, at which his mum elbowed him in the stomach. “Her family are strict with her. She’s a girl—it’s different for them.”
Kian couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but rather than argue with them, he went straight to his bedroom. He logged into MSN and prayed Shirin would be online—but she wasn’t. He knew it was risky, but he called her mobile. On the second ring she answered.
“Hello?” she said in a quiet voice.
“Are you okay?”
There was a silence on the phone for a few seconds before she said, “Yeah, I’m fine. You probably shouldn’t call though.” She sounded distant, like she barely knew Kian, like he was a stranger to her. He figured she must have been upset and trying to keep it together.
“Your dad just came round to ours.”
“What? Seriously?”
Kian was pacing his room, too pent up to sit down. “Yeah, he was shouting the odds, said you were suspended? Which makes no sense—you were the victim in all this.”
“For two days. Mr. Rodgers said he had to make it clear that violence isn’t tolerated,” she said, seemingly without any emotion. He wondered why she wasn’t as outraged as he was, why she was speaking about everything so calmly when it was all so fucked-up.
“Your dad said we couldn’t see each other anymore,” he said, not really thinking.
“He was so mad last night. Said I brought shame onto the family for being involved in a fight. Then, when he found out we were friends, he got even madder. I kept saying we’re only friends, but he said boys and girls can’t be friends. Even my mum was on his side. It’s the only time they are united and it’s when they’re telling me off.” Her voice caught, and Kian could see her so clearly then—he knew she was crying. She had been trying so hard to keep it together.
“Shit! I’m sorry.” The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. “Shirin?” he said.
“Kian, why did you have to take it so far? You could have just pushed them out of the way or something. I kept telling you to stop. It was really scary. And now we’re suspended and it could go on our records. Our records, Kian. You know how important it is that I get out of here—what if unis see, and we can’t get into any good ones? What were you thinking?” Her voice was raised and accusatory; she’d never spoken to him like that before.
He felt outside himself then. He shook his head, though of course she couldn’t see him. “I got so mad. They’re always bothering you. I only wanted to help.”
“I just… You turned into something else then. I’ve never seen that side of you before. You didn’t need to take it that far.” Kian thought of his brother, and how resentful he had grown toward him—and how he was no different from Mehdi after all. “Maybe we should keep a distance for a little bit,” he said. “Until it cools down.”
There was a long silence. “You mean not see each other?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“That makes sense. I don’t think we’re good for each other,” Shirin said, before ending the call.
And that was that.
He sat his GCSE exams in the sports hall, and he knew Shirin would be in some of them. He looked around the room, and each time he spotted her she was either looking away or, if she had been looking at him, she quickly diverted her gaze elsewhere. After each exam he did not linger as the others did outside to discuss the test. It had been agreed between his mum and Mr. Rodgers that he’d sit his exams but did not need to attend any of the final-week classes, which he was relieved about. He went to a different college, instead of the school’s sixth form.
Shirin messaged him once, weeks after their phone call. She apologized and said she hoped he was doing well, and that she missed him. He wanted to reply, to say he missed her too, but what she had said had imprinted itself into his mind. It confirmed everything he’d thought about himself: that he was no good for her. So he didn’t reply. She didn’t message again and neither did he. They cut their ties effortlessly—that was how it looked from the outside at least, but he never stopped thinking about her, rehashing what they had said, or wishing things were different.