Chapter Twelve
It had been a fortnight since the disastrous dekha dekhi meeting and the atmosphere in my house had become so tense that I had started avoiding going home straight after work. Instead, I was going running, occasionally with Malik, meeting Lucy and trying (and usually failing) to see Dina.
Ma and Baba couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to progress things with Zakariya. Apparently ‘there was no vibe’ and ‘his older sister is hard work’ weren’t good enough reasons to say no. Whenever they got the chance, they would try to persuade me to meet him again, listing all the ways he made sense for me.
‘He ticks all the boxes!’ Ma insisted the day after the meeting, as I got in from work and was taking off my coat. ‘Not only is he good on paper, but he’s also tall and good-looking. You can’t figure a person out from one little meeting. You need to see him again!’
‘Ma, please let it go,’ I said, trying to squeeze past her and upstairs to my safe space. ‘We didn’t connect at all. We’ve got nothing in common.’
‘Do you think your dad and I had anything in common when we met?’ she argued. ‘And we’ve been married for nearly thirty years!’
‘I need to go and change. I don’t want my clothes to smell of curry!’ This tactic didn’t work though, because as soon as I came down to set the table, it started up again. Then again through dinner. And again while clearing up. It was unbearable.
What was I supposed to tell my parents? That I had met Zakariya before at a nude drawing class? And that I didn’t like his holier-than-thou attitude? And that I was too busy getting through Noah’s list to waste time and energy on a man I wasn’t interested in? And speaking of Noah .?.?. what if I did run into him again? I didn’t want to be committed to someone I had settled for when Noah was still out there, somewhere.
I desperately wanted to talk it all through with Dina, but I hadn’t heard from her since the day she blew me off. Lucy was great .?.?. as great as someone who wasn’t Muslim, or at the very least, South Asian could be. She didn’t get the whole family pressure thing, about upholding traditions, fulfilling societal expectations. She – and most of my social-media feeds – were all about self-love, self-care, setting boundaries, putting yourself first, living your truth, prioritising your mental health.
HA. As if it was that simple. I tried saying this to my parents and not only was I scoffed at, but I was also told that ‘living your truth’ was a selfish person’s way of saying ‘do what you want with no consequences’. ‘Putting yourself first’ was another way of saying ‘to hell with everyone else’. And as for ‘setting boundaries’ .?.?. they laughed at that one. Well, Baba did. Ma rolled her eyes and said that if we wanted to live like shada manush, then how about she started with charging me rent and board?
Malik was also on at me about rejecting Zakariya. It was during one of our morning runs and after some probing about why I had rejected a perfectly decent ‘catch’, that I finally spilt out the sordid truth.
‘Is that it?’ Malik stopped jogging so abruptly that I knocked into him and the two of us almost toppled onto the tarmac. ‘You’re offended because of that? ’
‘Malik, you don’t get it,’ I replied tersely. Because he really didn’t. ‘You’re an Asian boy, the only son, a good-looking, fair-skinned success, with clout akin to royalty. You don’t know what it’s like being me, the stick I get for merely existing. The way Zakariya made me feel that day at the art class .?.?. It just wasn’t good, OK?’
‘Look, Dimple,’ Malik replied, his voice gentler this time. ‘Take it from me, as a red-blooded bloke. He spoke to you because he was interested in you. But he obviously didn’t know what to say. He probably wanted it to sound like banter but it came out wrong. Don’t shut this whole thing down so hastily.’
One Friday morning during work, Dina finally texted me:
DINA: It’s been too long and I know it’s my fault. Please come round for dinner tonight, I miss you x.
Ordinarily, I would have leapt at the opportunity to enjoy Dina’s amazing cooking skills and company, but something inside me felt reluctant. It had been too long. So long, in fact, that I no longer knew what to say to her and how to act around her.
‘Go,’ Lucy said encouragingly when the entire morning had passed and I still hadn’t responded. It was lunchtime and we had popped outside so I could get some fresh-ish air and Lucy could vape. ‘You guys have been friends for far too long. She’s made a move and reached out to you. Ignoring her is dishonouring your friendship.’
Deep down, I knew that Lucy was right. Pushing aside my fears, I texted back and then ignored the queasiness I felt the rest of the day.
It was freezing when I left the office for Dina’s house and I wrapped my coat and scarf tighter around me as I walked to the station and then proceeded to take them off the moment I went underground because it was so warm. I swear, it’s the drastic changes in temperature that make me snotty all winter.
As always, as soon as I got on the carriage, I did a quick look around to see if Noah was there. He wasn’t, of course. He never was. The chance of him getting on the train at the exact same time and in the exact same carriage as me was about the same odds as me winning the lottery. And I didn’t even play it, because gambling is haram in Islam. But still, I lived in hope.
‘Maya! Omigod, I’ve missed you so much,’ Dina exclaimed as she threw open her front door. ‘How is it that we only live a few Tube stops away from each other, but I never get to see you?’
Err, because you decided I was too boring for you and you’re too busy with your own fulfilled life?
I didn’t say this. Of course I didn’t.
‘Err, because you’re too busy being super-mum and superwoman, that’s why,’ I replied a little stiffly, giving her a half-hearted hug back. I moved to pull away, but she drew me in closer and squeezed tighter.
‘I’m sorry for being AWOL lately. I really am,’ she said when she eventually pulled away and I felt my anger and disappointment begin to thaw.
‘I’ve missed you too,’ I said quietly. There was a pause for a moment and then Dina smiled and switched the pace before it became too maudlin or uncomfortable. She had always been good at doing that.
‘Come in,’ she said, pulling me into the house and closing the front door firmly behind me. ‘I was just getting Sami ready for bed.’
Dina continued to chatter as I took my boots, coat, scarf and cardigan off, hanging it all on the end of the banister before following her upstairs.
‘Maya! Where have you been?’ Mohammed greeted me, coming out of the living room in a white shirt and PJ bottoms.
‘Salaams, Mo, it’s been a minute. What are you wearing?’
‘Don’t ask,’ he laughed. ‘I started changing and then forgot. I’ve been on call for a week, my brain is wrecked.’
‘Sami! Look who’s here!’ Dina called out and a second later a mini-Dina, complete with wild, curly brown hair and green eyes, came bounding out of one of the three bedrooms. Two-year-old Sami babbled something to me, in what language I had no idea, but Dina seemed to understand everything he said.
‘Hi, Sami,’ I said, scooping him into my arms and giving his chubby body a squeeze. ‘Look, I have a present for you.’ Putting him down and reaching into my tote, I pulled out the picture book I had bought for him on my way to the station. ‘And this is for you, Deens.’ I handed Dina a big box of Hotel Chocolat truffles.
‘My fave! Thank you. Mind putting him to bed?’
‘Sure. Will he let me? It’s been a while.’
‘He’ll let anyone with a book. Thanks, hun. Switch on his night light when you’re done, please and close the door otherwise he’ll keep coming out of his room.’
Sami took me by the hand and led me to his colourful bedroom, stuffed with more books and toys than I had ever seen belonging to one child. Climbing onto his bed, he pointed to his book and I took that as an invitation to read it to him. Sitting next to him on the PAW Patrol bed covers, I opened the book and began to read it in my best actress voice, choosing different voices for the various characters. Sami didn’t say a word but giggled and snuggled closer to me. He was so soft and warm and when the book was finished and I tried to put it away, he pointed at it again. And again. After the fifth read, he yawned and with a smile, I kissed the top of his head, which smelt like soap and berries and tucked him into bed before switching on his night light and turning the main light off.
Closing the bedroom door quietly behind me, I headed back downstairs. I could smell something delicious bubbling away on the stove and over the noise of the extractor fan and the TV playing in the lounge, I could hear Dina and Mohammed’s laughter. I walked into the tiny kitchen to find the two of them squabbling about what herbs to add to the stew they were in the middle of cooking and I took a moment to observe the scene in front of me. Dina was smiling, Mohammed was rolling his eyes and there were jars of spices, discarded onion peel, little toy cars and plastic beakers all over the counter. The fridge was covered in magnets, photographs and Sami’s ‘art’, but instead of seeing mess and chaos, I saw love. I saw comfort. I saw a family.
Maybe this was the whole point of marriage? To create a family; a club that only you belonged to, with its own schedules, own jokes, own values and goals. Maybe I had been short-sighted for not considering marriage to be an option until now? I kept thinking I had more time – there was no rush – but look at Dina. She met Mohammed at uni and she knew within a month of meeting him that she would marry him. It wasn’t as simple as that, though. He was doing medicine and didn’t want to get married until after he had qualified. She waited for years, growing weary and doubtful of his intentions. She thought he was keeping her hanging and that the reason he wouldn’t put a ring on it was because his mum wasn’t happy for him to marry outside of his culture. She was wrong on every count. He told his family as soon as he finished his final exam and they immediately came over with a formal proposal for Dina. His mum instantly fell in love with her – it’s hard not to – and now look at them. Happily married for four years, careers, a property and offspring that was about to double.
‘Tell me what’s going on with you,’ Dina asked over a gorgeous dinner of a tender lamb and aubergine stew, buttery vermicelli rice and a sweet and tangy fattoush salad topped with crispy flatbread.
‘I don’t know where to start,’ I sighed, enjoying another mouthful of the stew, the lamb falling apart in my mouth.
‘The beginning?’ Mohammed suggested. ‘I can’t deal with stories that start in the middle.’
‘Same,’ Dina agreed.
Sighing, I took a sip of laban – a salty and refreshing yoghurt drink – and started from the beginning like I was asked.
‘This is all so romantic,’ Dina gushed as though hearing the story for the first time.
‘Romantic? It’s creepy. Ignoring people on the Tube is an unwritten rule,’ Mohammed replied, unimpressed. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of this player.’
When I moved on to tell them about the list, Dina almost leapt out of her chair in excitement.
‘I LOVE that! What an amazing idea. And the best part is, you might run into him again!’
Mohammed scoffed at this. ‘It’s cool you’re trying new things, but please don’t do it for the sake of a stranger playboy. It has to be for you.’
‘It is for me,’ I reassured him. ‘It’s getting me out of the house and trying things I never dreamed of. Can you believe I read the whole of Ulysses ? It was over a thousand pages long!’
‘And you’ve taken up running,’ Dina said wistfully. ‘I’ve always wanted to be able to run.’
‘Why don’t you then?’ Mohammed added, unhelpfully. ‘What’s stopping you?’
Dina turned to glare at her husband. ‘What’s stopping me? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I have a full-time job, a toddler, a household to manage, a husband who works long hours and no family close enough to help me? Not to mention the fact that I’m pregnant. Are those good enough reasons for you?’ Dina’s voice got louder and more high-pitched, her usually pale complexion turning pinker as she continued. ‘Oh and let’s not forget that my body is already wrecked after carrying a ten-pound baby, an emergency C-section and then breastfeeding for two years. And I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in years!’
Mohammed fell silent and I looked between them, feeling a little panicked. Maybe everything wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. I reached over and clasped Dina’s hand.
‘I honestly don’t know how you do it,’ I said to her, as her eyes filled with tears. ‘But I’m here for you, Dina. We’re only three stops away on the Tube. If you ever need someone to watch Sami, call me! Or come round to mine and we’ll go for a run together while my parents watch him. They’d be happy to. Or I’ll come and look after him while you sleep!’
The tears Dina was struggling to hold in spilt over then, silently and I got up and gave her a hug. Mohammed, I noticed, hadn’t said a word.
After dinner, I cleared the table and washed the dishes while Dina dried and put them away. Mohammed had a night shift at the hospital and I was glad to have some one-on-one time with her.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked her as I washed the last dish and Dina put the kettle on.
‘Sort of,’ she said quietly. ‘No one ever really tells you how hard it is, you know? I’m lucky, I’ve married one of the good ones and he does as much as he can to pull his weight. But his hours are crazy and it’s not his fault he’s not around a lot. I feel so alone. Like my parents abandoned me.’
Dina’s parents had moved to Australia to live with her brother shortly after Sami was born. I couldn’t imagine having a child with no one around to help me. A wave of guilt hit me. I should have been there for her more, instead of selfishly focusing on my own life and resenting her for not having enough time for me. I was a terrible friend.
‘You’re not alone, you have me,’ I told her. ‘Now you go and sit down, let me make the tea.’
I was at Dina’s house so late that in the end, I decided to stay over and she made me a makeshift bed in Sami’s room. We spoke about it all: motherhood, marriage, family. I told her about Zakariya, my career plans, everything.
‘My parents think I need to give Zakariya another chance and so does Malik. Apparently, one meeting isn’t enough to tell that I don’t want a future with him.’
‘I agree,’ she said simply. My jaw dropped open so wide that you could have fitted a golf ball in it.
‘What? Why? You heard what he said at the class!’
‘I know,’ she shrugged. ‘But people say silly things sometimes when they’re nervous. He probably wanted to chat you up and it all went wrong. I mean, the first time I met Mohammed, I thought he was a right loser.’
‘What did he say to you?’
‘He asked me if my green eyes were real or if I was wearing contact lenses like a fake!’
‘Woah. Stupid thing to say but he was what, eighteen? Nineteen?’
‘Nineteen,’ she smiled fondly at the memory, the way only someone truly in love could. ‘But imagine if I judged him based on that one encounter. I wouldn’t be here right now.’
‘Hey, you were crying a minute ago,’ I teased.
‘I know,’ she smiled ruefully back at me. ‘Life can be bloody hard. But anything that’s worth it is difficult, habibti.’