Chapter Fourteen
Before
Lots of people come to Arab weddings.
Hundreds. In addition to dozens of aunts, uncles, and cousins on both sides, pretty much every immigrant family from our parents’ native Palestinian town was on the guest list. Ali and I didn’t know half of them.
Luckily, our families were from the same town, so we didn’t have to put another entire town of people on the guest list. Ali and I sent about twenty-five invitations each to our own friends and, in his case, colleagues.
Our tradition was for the groom and his family to pay for the wedding.
Ali’s mom, Um Ali (which translates to “Mother of Ali”), and his sister Julia made most of the arrangements but included me in the planning.
That was when I first started to grow close to Julia, who was practical and pleasant and pretty much never had a mean word to say about anyone.
Being around her made me want to be a better person.
In the spirit of inclusion and getting along, I invited Um Ali and Julia to go with me, along with Mama and Lulu, to pick out my wedding dress. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was fortunate in them. I’d heard nightmare stories about people’s in-laws, but mine were genuinely kind.
“If you make my son happy, you make me happy,” my mother-in-law liked to say.
About three weeks before the wedding, I was at my future in-laws’ house with Julia finalizing the RSVPs and the seating chart when a name on the guest list caught my attention.
Ms. Elizabeth Martins.
I froze, staring at the name, unable to believe what I was seeing.
“What is it?” Julia asked.
“Do you know who this is?” I asked, unsure whether she was aware her brother had dated a white American girl for years.
She looked at the name I pointed to. Her expression grew serious. “You should talk to Ali about it.”
“Do you think this is OK?” My neck burned. “To invite this woman to our wedding?” Julia was reasonable. She couldn’t possibly approve. “Do you?”
“Amira,” she said in a calm, quiet way that reminded me of Ali. “No matter what I think, I will never speak against my brother. Never.”
“No matter what,” I repeated, stung. “I thought we’d become close.”
“I am your friend, and soon we’ll be sisters-in-law,” she said. “I would never speak against you either.”
“If I was in the wrong, I’d want you to be honest, to tell me so,” I said hotly.
“Speak to Ali.” She moved away, returning to the other end of the dining table to continue what she was working on.
“I would if I ever saw him,” I grumbled, mostly under my breath. It was tax season, which meant he worked long hours.
“I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”
“Fine.” I grabbed my purse. “I’ll see you later.” I walked out, got into my car, and drove until their house was out of sight. Then I pulled over and forced myself to take several deep breaths.
I couldn’t believe it. Ali invited his ex-girlfriend to our wedding without mentioning it to me?
Without making sure I was OK with it? Maybe he thought I wouldn’t care, that I understood that Lizzie Martins was in the past. But now doubt flooded me.
Maybe Baba was right. Maybe Ali intended to keep Lizzie around as his sidepiece.
My face was hot, and my chest felt like there was a heavy brick lodged inside of it. I wanted someone to vent to, but I was too embarrassed to let anyone know that my fiancé invited his ex to our wedding without telling me.
My phone buzzed. It was Ali calling. I sent it to voicemail. The same with a second call. And a third. Then he texted.
Hey I’m trying to call you. Can you pick up?
I wanted to continue to ignore his texts. To keep him guessing for hours. Days, even. But I’d never been any good at playing the long game. I furiously pounded a response into my phone.
Me: Maybe you should call your girlfriend and see what she’s wearing to the wedding I wonder if she’ll wear white. What do you think?
Ali: Pick up the phone so we can talk
Me: Now you want to talk???? I thought the subject of your girlfriend was off limits
Ali: If you just calm down I can explain
Me: Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!!! You’re the asshole here. Not me
Ali: Please pick up the phone so we can talk
I stopped responding to his texts and turned off my phone.
I needed to think. What should I do? What could I do?
The wedding was three weeks away. Everything was booked, the deposits paid.
It would be a huge embarrassment for both families if I backed out now.
I could just imagine the gossip. Everyone would probably assume that Ali dumped me.
Maybe she wasn’t a virgin.
I heard that once he got to know her, he found her annoying.
She talked too much.
She didn’t talk enough.
He’s handsome and has a good job. He could marry anyone.
What a hamara. Only a female donkey would think she could do better.
She’s not that young. Almost twenty-two.
They say she’s mejnoona. Crazy.
I shoved the unconstructive thoughts out of my head.
What I’d told Ali was true: I was basically a go-with-the-flow kind of person.
But not if the flow included his ex. I wanted nothing to do with any girl he’d slept with.
If the past was the past, then that’s where Lizzie should stay.
She definitely didn’t belong at my wedding.
I knew men could be idiots, but was Ali really this dumb?
I debated what to do. I didn’t want to go home, and I didn’t have a job to go to.
I’d decided that if the museum job came through, great, but if not, I’d actively look for my first full-time position after we got married.
I wanted to be free for wedding planning, and taking a new job right now would also limit the length of my honeymoon.
In the meantime, college graduation cash gifts were my spending money.
Mama heartily approved of this decision to focus on my impending marriage, Baba was neutral, and Lulu just rolled her eyes. “Way to put your life on hold for a man,” she said.
“I’m not focusing on a man. I’m focusing on my wedding,” I told her. “You only get married once.”
Now I wasn’t sure I was getting married at all.
Needing time alone to think, I went to a matinee—I had no idea what movie I saw—and then took myself to dinner.
I texted my parents to tell them I was seeing a movie and eating out with friends so that they wouldn’t worry.
I somehow managed to keep my phone off. When I finally got home, it was after nine o’clock.
Mama and Baba were watching cable TV news in the family room.
“There you are,” Mama said, keeping her eyes on the screen. “Call Ali. He said he’s been trying to call you but something is wrong with your phone.”
“My phone is fine,” I called back as I went up the stairs. “I just turned it off during the movie and forgot to turn it back on.”
I reached the sanctuary of my room and stared at the full-size bed covered with an old floral comforter that I’d picked out in high school.
Would I still be sleeping in this bed in three weeks?
Or would I be on my honeymoon? I changed into my pajamas, washed my face, and brushed my teeth before climbing into bed. I kept my phone off.
Ali didn’t track me down until the next morning as I was leaving the gym. Normally, I’d hate for him to see me at my worst, with sweaty hair and baggy clothes. I was never one of those girls who looked cute while working out.
“This is ridiculous,” he said.
“Tell me about it.” I walked past him toward the parking lot.
“Are you just not going to take my calls all the way up until the wedding?”
“If there’s a wedding.”
“Come on.” His voice softened. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” I reached my car and threw my gym bag in the trunk.
He followed me to the driver’s side. “Are you really willing to throw all of this away?”
I rounded to face him, my back against the car door. “You threw it away by being a cheating liar.”
“I’ve never been unfaithful to you. And I’ve never lied to you. Or anyone else. Ever.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“Julia told me you were upset to see Lizzie’s name on the guest list.”
I gritted my teeth. “If you tell me to calm down again, I swear I’ll get in this car and run you over. Probably more than once.”
“I didn’t mean to invite her, but I screwed up.
I asked Sara Carr, one of the girls in our JMU group, to email the addresses for our group to my sister Siham.
Sara was basically our social coordinator in college.
She planned every trip we took. She had all of our addresses.
I never expected her to include Lizzie on the list.”
“What are you saying?” I asked hopefully. “That you didn’t know Lizzie was invited?”
“I found out after the fact, after the invitations went out. Siham didn’t know about me and Lizzie, so she just added her to the guest list, no questions asked. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.”
It was plausible that Siham didn’t know about Lizzie.
As Muslims, none of us were supposed to date, guys included.
But many young men did, and most people, including their own parents, looked the other way, expecting their sons to ultimately come back into the fold by settling down with a nice Muslim girl.
For a man like Ali to be quiet, even to his family, about dating an American girl made perfect sense.
But that didn’t excuse the fact that Lizzie was still on the guest list.
“What exactly do you think there is to talk about?” I asked. “You should have picked up the phone, called Lizzie, and told her, ‘Um, you’re obviously not invited.’ It’s not rocket science.”
“Actually, I did. I mean, I tried to, but Lizzie went ballistic. She said that it would embarrass her in front of our friend group to be left off the guest list.”
“We wouldn’t want your poor girlfriend to be embarrassed,” I said acidly. “But hurting your future wife is OK, I guess.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” he said pointedly. “Look, there are about seven people I was really tight with in college. Lizzie and I were both in the group. We told everyone the breakup was mutual, that we’re still friends. Lizzie said if that’s true, she should be invited.”
I quelled an immediate urge to slap him. “Lizzie wants this. Lizzie feels bad about that. Maybe you need to step back and consider whether you’re still into Lizzie.”
“I’m not into her. In any way.”
“Really? But you’re so worried about her feelings. You know what I don’t hear from you? Any concern, at all, about what I want. How I feel.”
“All I care about is you.” His voice was tender.
He stared into my eyes in that way that made my knees turn to jelly.
“I absolutely planned to tell you, but I’ve been so jammed at work.
I needed to finish up a very challenging and time-consuming engagement and then focus on this.
I didn’t want to talk to you about it over the phone. ”
“That’s a dumb excuse for such a smart man,” I snapped. “When did you plan to tell me? After the wedding?”
“I know I made a mistake. I already texted Lizzie that she can’t come. If it hurts her feelings or makes her lose face with our friends, she’ll have to deal with it. I don’t want us ever to have to talk about Lizzie again. I meant it when I said that she’s in the past.”
“Then why does her name keep popping up? I feel like I’m playing Old Girlfriend Whac-A-Mole.” My tone was sharp. But even as I spoke, I felt myself softening. Ali was calm, as always, but I detected the note of desperation, the panic in his voice.
“I have never been sorrier about anything in my life. I know I effed up. The last thing I want to do is make you question how I feel about you or whether you can trust me. I am truly very sorry. I’ll spend our entire honeymoon making it up to you.”
“Oh really?” My anger dissolved as I ate up his apology. “What will that entail?”
“Anything you can think of.” He leaned in. Slowly. Giving me time to push him away if I wanted.
But this desperate, almost-groveling version of Ali was crazy sexy. “I do like the sound of that.”
Relief etched his face. “You’re the only woman in the world who matters.” And that’s how he kissed me. Long and slow, deep and passionate, showing me what I meant to him with his mouth and tongue far more eloquently than words ever could.
I always thought the crazy chemistry between us was a lucky gift. But maybe it was a curse, because whenever Ali kissed me like that, with everything in him, I couldn’t imagine ever letting him go. I was addicted to the way I felt when he kissed me. Beautiful, powerful, capable of anything.
“I want to go down on you,” he said against my lips.
“That’ll be some honeymoon,” I responded, the blood rushing through my ears. My skin felt alive, every nerve ending titillated and eager for more.
“No.” He kissed me again slowly, seductively, using his tongue to do things that made me lose my mind. “Now.”
That wasn’t going to happen. What I had going on down there was no fantasy. I wasn’t groomed. I had an appointment for right before the wedding. “I just worked out. I can’t.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do. Plus, it’s a jungle down there.”
“Is it?” Interest lit his eyes. “Let me see.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then at least let me feel.” We were between cars, shielded by the wall I’d parked in front of. He shifted so that people driving by couldn’t see me. His hand went to the waistband of my workout sweats.
“Oh!” I said at the electricity that shot through my body when he touched me. And there was no more talk, or thought, of my calling off the wedding.