Chapter Twenty-Five
Her parents sat on the couch, clearly bracing for something terrible.
Sameera had a moment of hysteria as she stood before them, considering her options.
Surprise! I’m not Sameera at all but an AI-powered fembot.
Or Tom and I are secretly married! Or even I’ve been lying to you for years because I’m afraid you won’t love me if you know what I’m really like.
That last one was the most terrifying.
Yesterday, she had accused Tom of being a serial fake dater after he’d told her about his arrangement with Emily. As she looked at her parents now, their eyes filled with worry and fear, she realized with a jolt that Tom hadn’t been her first fake relationship, either.
On some level, she had been pretending for years, lying by omission to the most important people in her life. When that hadn’t worked, she’d tried running from them, except her heart hadn’t let her run far.
It was time to do the work. She realized Esa should probably hear this, too, but figured she needed to get this out in front of her parents and her sister while the time was right.
She took another deep breath and repeated, “Bismillah.” From her parents’ look of shock, she realized she must have said it louder than she’d thought.
“What is happening, beta?” Naveed asked. “Are you hurt? Sick?” He lowered his voice. “Do you need money? I know things have been difficult since that budmash Hunter left. Just say the word.”
Her father’s kindness made this even harder. “Tom is upset with me. I’ll tell you all about it. Brunch will be delayed, which is good, because right now, I want to talk about us,” she said, gesturing between them. “I want—I need—to tell you why I cut you out of my life.”
People pleaser, Nadiya’s voice taunted from yesterday. Sameera was so scared to cause offense, she ran from any hint of a fight. But she wouldn’t run now.
“I know I hurt you when I didn’t return your calls and stopped visiting for those three years after I moved home to Atlanta,” she said.
It was hard to look at them. “I hurt myself, too. I missed you all so much. But at that point in my life, for a variety of reasons, it felt easier not to spend time with you.”
“Beta, that is all in the past,” Tahsin broke in. “We don’t have to talk about any of this. It will only make us upset all over again.”
“We do need to talk about it,” Sameera said.
“Because it feels like we never discussed any of it—not really. I just popped back into your life, and we decided to pretend I had never been away.” Nadiya cleared her throat, and Sameera added, “I mean, when Nadiya forced us to meet, we just had a brief conversation and then never spoke about it again.”
“We thought that was what you wanted. We thought it would be easier on you, especially because of all that you were dealing with from that kaminay,” Naveed said, referring to Hunter with an Urdu insult.
His eyes were already shiny with unshed tears, and for a moment, Sameera thought about backtracking, about accepting this explanation, giving her parents a hug, and then salvaging what she could from this day.
Except when she looked over at Nadiya, her sister nodded at her to continue.
Her presence gave her courage to say this next bit.
“I think it probably felt easier for you, too, not to talk about this,” Sameera said. “But I’m worried we’ll end up right where we started if we don’t. I’m scared to say this, and I need you both to know that I love you very much.”
Now her father was crying, albeit quietly. “We love you too, beta.”
“Meri jaan, you are my star,” Tahsin added quietly.
“For a long time, I felt like your love was conditional,” Sameera said.
“That if I didn’t behave in a way that made you proud, that uplifted our family and community, then I was a failure.
” Tahsin started to interrupt but was silenced by a look from Naveed.
“I was praised for good grades, for memorizing the Quran, and I was punished whenever I asked questions or didn’t meet the expectations you had set.
I hated when you compared me to Nadiya.”
Reaching forward, her sister squeezed her hand, her expression communicating the promise she had made yesterday: My love for you does not depend on what you do or who you are. I’m here for you. Always.
“When I started struggling with my identity and my faith, I didn’t know what to do with those feelings.
I hid them, buried them deep. Except they kept bubbling to the surface.
I wanted so badly to be like the other kids around me.
I didn’t want to live a complicated life full of rules that didn’t make any sense to me.
I just wanted to be. But that meant disappointing you both.
For a long time, I lived a double life—behaving one way in front of you, and another way when I was out in the world—because I was afraid of breaking your heart.
That’s the reason I snuck out during senior year.
Why I hid my boyfriends from you in high school and college, and why I never told you about Hunter. ”
“Wanker,” Nadiya said automatically, and Sameera smiled slightly.
“I wish I were different. I tried to be different. But this is who I am. Imperfect, and a little bit broken. Muslim in background and culture, but not very Muslim in practice. I love where I came from, but it doesn’t define who I am now.
I’m still your daughter, and I want to share my life with you, if you will let me.
Even if it’s not the life you envisioned for me.
I’m tired of pretending and hiding, but I can’t stand to cut you from my life, either.
I hope you can accept me as I am. I want you in my life. ”
There was silence when she finished, and Sameera felt both a great sense of relief and utter panic.
What if her mother said something critical, or cruel?
What if her father told her in no uncertain terms that her decisions had been wrong, that she was a disappointment?
Her parents had both reacted badly in the past when they’d learned something about her they didn’t like.
She looked at her sister. Nadiya stared steadily back, her gaze warm and filled with love.
Sameera took a deep breath. If the worst happened, she knew she would be okay.
“We always expected great things from our children,” Tahsin said slowly. “We expected the same from ourselves, too. It was hard to pick up our lives and move to a new country. We had no choice but to succeed. But we have our own anxieties, our own . . . What do the kids call it, Naveed?”
“Trauma,” her father said.
“Yes, that,” Tahsin said. “Every parent carries the scars of their own trauma. We try not to inflict them on you, but . . .” She sighed.
“A part of me will always wish you had followed in our footsteps when it comes to religious practice, but that will never change the way we feel about you, Sameera.”
“We found our own path, and we made our own choices when we moved to the United States,” Naveed said. “Though we may not understand every choice you have made, beta, we love you, and we will always want to share in your life.”
“You are a part of my life. You always will be,” Sameera said, and it was a promise. She was crying openly now.
The patio door opened, and Esa slipped back inside. He froze when they all looked at him, a tableau of weeping family. “You’re crying again?” he said to Sameera. “Who do I have to punch this time?”
They laughed, and hugged, and when her mother pulled her in close, smelling of shower gel and her own particular perfume that always meant home, she whispered, “Every dua I make is for your happiness,” she said, referring to the Arabic word for prayer.
If nothing else came of this trip, Sameera would always be grateful for this moment, this perfectly imperfect feeling of peace.
“One last thing,” Sameera said, and they all looked at her. “I need you to listen and believe me this time: Tom and I aren’t together. We never were.”
She paused, reconsidering her words. Tom had kissed her; they had spent a lot of time together lately.
There was something there. She needed to be honest with her parents, and with herself.
“There might be something there, actually, but it’s all a bit complicated right now,” she amended.
Behind her, she saw Esa shoot a knowing glance at Nadiya.
Her parents looked confused. “What is so complicated? He clearly likes you!” Tahsin said. “He made you samosas, and every time Tom looks at you, he smiles. That cannot only be friendship, Sameera. I am surprised he has not yet proposed.”
Sameera shook her head, even if her mother’s words made her heart sing. “I told you before, we agreed to help each other out. I met him for the first time at my firm’s holiday party. About fifteen minutes before you met him on FaceTime, Mom.”
Tahsin’s eyes grew round with a sudden realization. “Are you saying that if I hadn’t hired him to cater the Eid party . . .” She trailed off.
“None of this would have happened.” Sameera nodded. “I probably would never have met Tom again. And you could have set me up with one of your friend’s sons,” she couldn’t help but add, feeling mischievous. Her mother face-palmed as her siblings laughed.
It was true—if it hadn’t been for Tahsin’s incessant meddling and jumping to conclusions, her and Tom’s paths might never have crossed again.
In such a large city, working in two different industries, he would have remained the cute caterer who brought her cranberry ginger ale.
Instead, Tom felt more and more like a necessity in her life.
Assuming he didn’t hate her now, of course.
“I told you that interfering in our children’s lives would backfire one day,” Naveed said to his wife, and she shoved him playfully.
“Perhaps you and Tom were not together before we came to Alaska,” Tahsin persisted, “but things changed once you got here.” She pinned her daughter with a shrewd look.
And since Sameera had promised to be more open, to stop hiding who she was from the people she loved the most, she couldn’t say no.
Because her mother was right, of course.
While she couldn’t speak for Tom’s feelings, especially in light of what had happened just that morning, she knew that for herself, she was halfway to falling in love with Tom.
Instead, she only smiled.
“We also have an update on Andy, too. I’m afraid the WhatsApp aunties will not be impressed,” Nadiya said, and her family settled in to hear the news together.