The Thirty Before Thirty List

Chapter Thirty-Three

Over the next few weeks, Noah and I spent every free moment together, either in person or on the phone. We texted each other throughout the day and the messages went from friendly to flirty, making me wonder if we were officially a couple. I wanted to ask Lucy what she thought, but I couldn’t because I was avoiding her like Coronavirus. I had no desire to confide in someone who didn’t bother telling me that they were dating my brother.

‘Maya, you’re not going out today, are you?’ Ma asked as she burst into my room at eight on a Sunday morning. I didn’t get home until way past twelve after my cinema date with Noah and had barely slept the night before either. My head felt heavy, so I moaned and pulled my duvet over my head in protest.

‘Wake up,’ was Ma’s unsympathetic response as she stalked over to the window and yanked the curtains open. With the duvet still over my head, I didn’t see her do it, but I could hear her and I knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, a second later, the covers were pulled off my body.

‘Your Nani’s coming for lunch with your Aunt Lottie,’ Ma informed me. Despite my eyes being squeezed closed, a last-ditch attempt to stay in bed, I could envision her glowering at me from the foot of the bed, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed. ‘You’ve been out too much recently. Whatever plans you have today, cancel them and get up and clean the house and then help me in the kitchen.’

‘Ma, I’m tired,’ I groaned, refusing to open my eyes.

‘I don’t care. Khe tumareh khoiseh khali bareh bareh fakhai tai?’ Ma snapped, berating me for going out so much. ‘Now get up.’

Fearing a slipper slap next, I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom, where I wasted another half an hour on the toilet, scrolling through TikTok and responding to all my messages. While doing so, I remembered that I hadn’t responded to Zakariya’s last text. With everything going on with Noah, Lucy and work, I had completely forgotten. What could I say that was uncomplicated and polite, yet friendly and warm, without giving the wrong impression?

MAYA: Hey Zak, how are you? Sorry things have been really busy. Will be at Arabic next Thursday; shall we catch up then?

His response came immediately, while I was still on the loo: a lacklustre thumbs-up emoji. I felt oddly deflated. Was he being passive-aggressive? Was I the toxic one? I wouldn’t know. My life was like a nuclear-power plant. I was so used to toxicity that I no longer knew how to recognise the signs.

The rest of the morning was spent cleaning the house to Ma’s impossibly high standards and then helping her in the kitchen. Whenever Nani came over, Ma cooked at least eight curries, mostly fish and vegetables, the things my grandmother enjoyed. There was always meat and chicken though, as Malik wouldn’t touch fish and would only tolerate vegetables. The annoying voice in my head added and you’re the burden, huh? It had been a few weeks since he made that remark and I was becoming a bitter old hag because of it, the feeling intensifying whenever I walked past his closed bedroom door, the sound of his gentle snoring insulting my ears.

As I vacuumed the first floor, I made sure to knock the contraption against Malik’s door several times. The resentment was steadily bubbling away inside me, ready to erupt like a volcano that had been lying dormant for decades.

‘You’re ruining the fish,’ Ma gasped when I went down to help her in the kitchen. She had optimistically given me the job of de-scaling three different types of fish. ‘Give it here, I’ll do it. You de-skin the chicken instead and don’t ruin it, I’m making tandoori chicken.’

‘Why don’t you ever get Malik to help?’ I grumbled as I tried, in vain, to get the wet, slippery skin off the chicken pieces without taking the flesh off with it. ‘He could have done the cleaning while I helped with the cooking and then everything would have got done faster.’

‘Why are you always starting on your brother? He works really hard; he needs a bit of rest at the weekend.’

‘And I don’t work hard?’ I dropped the piece of raw, skinless chicken that I was holding and stared at my mother with incredulity.

‘Of course you do,’ Ma said quickly, sensing a storm brewing. ‘But you’re so much more capable than he is. He’s useless; if I asked him to hoover, he’d break it. You know what he’s like.’

I was finally allowed out of the kitchen at noon, stinking of onions and garlic. I went to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready, but Malik had finally decided to wake up and was occupying the one bathroom we had in the house. Seething, I ironed mine and Ma’s clothes while I waited for the bathroom to be free, all the while plotting ways I could get my own back on my stupid, lazy, entitled, lying brother.

‘About bloody time,’ I snapped when Malik emerged from the bathroom, wafts of steam and the scent of luxurious manly products following him out of the room. ‘There are other people in this house, you know, who might need to use the bathroom.’

‘What’s your problem?’ he glared at me, pushing past me and into his room.

‘You!’ I said to his retreating back, stomping into the bathroom and slamming the door behind me.

I had exactly three minutes in the shower, thanks to Malik hogging the bathroom and leaving me with barely any time to get ready. I also had to clean it again thanks to his hair being everywhere. He was shedding like the snake that he was. I forced myself to do deep breathing to calm myself down, but the flame in my belly was growing with every second. It was no longer a mere candle; it was well on its way to becoming a blazing forest fire and I didn’t know how to make it stop.

I didn’t have time to bother with my hair, so I threw on the cotton shalwar kameez I had ironed, secured my damp tresses with a clip and slapped on just enough makeup to look like I wasn’t ill. Ma came up to shower and change, instructing me to keep an eye on the oven and stove. Which meant I was going to smell all over again. With a sigh, I went downstairs.

Baba and Malik were in the living room watching cricket and I scowled at them both for lazing around like kings while my mum and I rushed around like maids. I was about to open my mouth to make a cutting remark when the doorbell rang.

‘Nani!’ I cried out when I found my little grandmother on the other side of the door clutching her trusty handbag in one hand and a Tesco bag full of goodies in another. The anger that had been simmering all morning dampened the moment I saw her beautiful plump face and the eyes that lit up whenever she saw me.

‘Yallah, amar Maya ni?’ she asked, like she always did, like she didn’t know it was me. In Arabic, Maya means princess, in Persian, it means gracious, but in Bengali, it means love. That’s why my grandmother named me Maya, apparently, because she always wanted me to feel loved. And by her, I did.

‘Ji oi Nani,’ I replied like I always did, confirming that it was, indeed, me, Maya, who was standing before her. I gave her a hug and ushered her into the house, greeting my uncle, Aunt Lottie and little cousin Ahmed as I did.

‘Here, this is for you,’ Nani whispered to me in Sylheti, handing the entire Tesco bag over to me. ‘Don’t share it with anyone.’

Laughing, I took the bag from her and put it in the kitchen, before helping her with her shoes and leading her to the living room to sit down with my dad and brother.

Now that our lunch guests were here, I had to rush around setting the table while Ma and Aunt Lottie began heating up all the food so that it would be piping hot when everyone sat down to eat. If it wasn’t, you could be sure that if Nani didn’t comment on the tepid temperature, Baba certainly would.

We finally sat down to eat, with Nani telling us about the latest dramas in our extended family and everyone gushing over Malik’s latest achievement – trading in his BMW 5 Series for a bigger, more family-friendly X5, which he claimed was for Ma’s comfort.

‘What a thoughtful soul you are,’ Nani said, mixing up a handful of rice with meat curry and feeding him with her hand; the epitome of demonstrating love in my family. If my eyes had rolled any harder, they would have fallen out of their sockets and spun across the room.

At some point, Aunt Lottie made a comment about me still being single – how I had to get a move on if I wanted to have kids – and Malik snickered as he shovelled food down his throat like he had never seen a curry before.

‘Haven’t you heard? Maya’s going back to university so she’ll be single for longer,’ he said, chewing noisily. I hadn’t mentioned this to my uncle or aunt, or Nani even, which caused the questioning to begin. Everyone started talking about what they thought I should or shouldn’t do with my life. It was like I wasn’t there, as they discussed whether studying further would increase or reduce my chances of finding a husband. Like I wanted to find a bloody husband!

Nani’s presence usually calmed me, but having them all dissect my life was grating on my nerves. Malik the snitch sat there throughout with a holier-than-thou expression on his face. He was enjoying making me squirm, I could see that he was.

‘How are you going to fund it all?’ my uncle asked and before I could say that I had won a scholarship, Malik piped up.

‘Well, she doesn’t pay anything at home so she has plenty of spare cash.’

‘And why should she?’ Nani interrupted indignantly. ‘She’s a girl. Girls don’t have to contribute financially.’

‘So it should all be on me to pay for the kitchen and loft extensions?’ Malik answered back, giving me daggers as though I was the one who had replied, not Nani.

I stared back at him, utterly flabbergasted. Was this why he was acting like this and harping on about me not contributing financially at home? Why had he never mentioned this to me before? Why had he waited for us to have lunch with my grandmother, uncle and aunt before revealing his dissatisfaction?

‘Yes, it should,’ Nani said calmly. ‘Firstly, your inheritance will be twice the amount of Maya’s, according to Islamic law. Secondly, Maya will get married and move out and you’ll be here with your wife enjoying the extra space. That’s how things work.’

‘And for your information, while I may not contribute financially to running this house, I do other things,’ I said, trying to keep the hurt and anger out of my voice. ‘I’m the one who was up at the crack of dawn dusting skirting boards and de-skinning chicken, while you slept in!’

‘Oh, big deal, you did a bit of housework,’ Malik spat back and before I knew it, we were in a full-blown argument, all of us. I was shouting at my brother, he was shouting back, Ma was trying to make him stop, Baba was saying something to my uncle, my eight-year-old cousin Ahmed was crying and Nani was begging us all to be quiet.

‘You’re always so bloody miserable!’ Malik shouted at me, both of us standing up and facing each other. ‘You drain the life out of everything!’

‘Oh and you’re a bundle of joy yourself, aren’t you?’ I screamed back. ‘Crying like a baby because your life is soooo sad while you mess around with MY FRIEND and refuse to commit to her!’

Malik shut up then. In fact, everyone fell silent.

‘What are you talking about?’ Ma demanded, looking from me to Malik in bewilderment.

‘Ask your beloved son about who he took on holiday to Thailand! That’s why he hates spending money at home. He’s trying to keep up with his girlfriend, Lucy. She’s white-English by the way and has very expensive taste—’

‘Who’s English? Who’s “Loose”?’ Nani interrupted, looking at us in confusion.

‘Malik? What’s going on? Is this true?’ Ma gasped, the blood draining from her face.

‘What’s the meaning of all this?’ Baba chimed in, as if he felt as though he had to say something.

‘You stupid cow,’ Malik snarled. ‘You’re jealous because no one’s ever been interested in you!’

‘That’s what you think! FYI, there are two guys interested in me right now and both are willing to fight for what they want. They’re not stringing me along and hiding me from the world like you’re doing with Lucy!’

‘What?’ Ma turned to stare at me. ‘What’s going on? You have two boyfriends? Since when? La hawla wa la quwwata illah billah! A’oozo billiahi minash shaytaan irrajeem!’ Ma started wailing Arabic prayers, asking God to get rid of Satan. Fudge . I hadn’t meant to let that slip. In fact, I hadn’t meant to let anything slip, but Malik kept pushing me until I was past my limit and well past the point of no return.

‘Hope you’re happy! This is all your fault!’ I screamed at my brother before running out of the dining room. I heard Malik do the same. A second later, I slammed the door to my bedroom, Malik had stormed out of the house and everyone else remained downstairs, lunch long forgotten.

No one came up to bother me for hours and I sat there on my bed, sobbing like a teenager. Malik was right, I was a miserable old leech. I tried praying, but my mind was too distracted and I went through the motions shakily, without really focusing or connecting with God.

After my prayers, I flopped down onto my bed and took out Noah’s journal. The book had become a lot of things for me over the past nine and a half months. It felt like the one, steady constant that gave me a sense of purpose. I always knew what I was going to do next, no matter how small or big the task was. The act of holding it in my hands helped soothe me; I ran my fingers over the soft leather, tracing over Noah’s embossed initials.

My bedroom door opened and I dropped the book like a hot handesh, guilty at being caught. But it was only Nani, who shuffled into my room carrying a tray with tea, biscuits and mishti on it. I leapt out of bed and relieved her of it, feeling bad that she had carried it all the way upstairs.

‘Nani, afneh ita kita khorrah? What are you doing? I could have carried this!’ I scolded her gently, as I placed the tray on my vanity and offered her a seat on my bed. She sat down and I handed her one of the teacups.

‘How, when you’re hiding away in here?’ she replied, giving me a sharp look. ‘Tell me what’s been going on, my Maya-shuna. Why are you and your brother fighting? You two only have each other, it’s not nice seeing you fight like that.’

‘He’s been really awful with me recently,’ I replied in my broken Bengali mixed with a heavy dose of English. ‘He keeps making digs and comments about me being a burden. I feel like moving out.’

‘Toubah ostoghrifullah!’ Nani scolded me, imploring God for forgiveness in her heavily accented Arabic. ‘How can an unmarried girl like you move out of her parents’ home? Mansheh kita khoibah?’

‘What will people say?’ was my Nani’s favourite phrase and could be applied to nearly any situation. Going back to uni. What will people say? Going to a life-drawing class. What will people say? Going on holiday with friends. What will people say?

‘Tell that to Malik. He’s the one who called me a burden.’

‘You’re not a burden, my shuna,’ Nani said soothingly, stroking my hair as I leant my head on her shoulder. ‘You’re the opposite. You’re the life and foundation of this family. Without you there would be no warmth, no soul.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. I’m sure your brother’s reaction has nothing to do with you. He’s probably worried about this shada girlfriend of his and what everyone’s reaction will be.’

‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ I said, hanging my head in shame. ‘He’ll never forgive me.’

‘You were only reacting because of the things he was saying to you. You’ve probably done him a favour, forcing it all out in the open. Maybe now he can move forward with his life. And you need to do the same. Move forward with life, however you see fit. If it’s not with a husband, then progress in other ways, like studying. It’s OK, my shuna. But first, what is this about two boys?’

‘It’s nothing important, Nani,’ I admitted. ‘I just said that to make Malik shut up.’

After Nani and co. had left, I picked up the notebook from where it had fallen on the floor. I hesitated every time I opened it now. Noah and I were sort of dating, if you could call it that when there was no kissing or hanky-panky going on. It was more like courting. The point was, he wasn’t a stranger anymore and reading his list was like looking into his mind. It was private.

But I was so close to the end. How could I stop now? I pushed aside any feelings of guilt and opened it up to the next page:

24.PUT DOWN AN OFFER ON A HOUSE

Can’t find anything decent within budget – keep looking, don’t give up!

I re-read it, feeling proud of my man and everything he was doing to make his life better. What was it that Nani had said to me? Something about continuing to grow and progress in life, with or without a husband. Maybe it was time for me to put down some roots on my own. In fact, Baba had been telling me to look into property for a while, but I hadn’t taken it seriously. I could easily afford a deposit on a flat, but if I was going to reduce my hours to part-time, or leave my job, I wouldn’t be able to get a mortgage. I decided there and then to find a mortgage advisor and get the ball rolling while I still had the chance.

Zakariya seemed like the person who would know about this stuff, so despite the cold vibes I got from his earlier message, I texted him and asked him if he knew any mortgage advisors. Immediately, I felt a sense of relief and the lunch-time drama stung a little less. I knew what I was going to do next with my life and that’s what mattered.