Zara Hossain Is Here

by Sabina Khan

  I’m lying. My parents don’t really like her because she’s a pretty big gossip and likes to stir up trouble. I’m sure her being here today is no mere visit. But she came to see Abbu and we always honor our guests.

  Ammi and Abbu look up in surprise when I walk into the dining area with Zareen Aunty in tow, but they recover quickly and put on their best host faces. I return to Chloe, leaving Ammi and Abbu to their awkward conversation with our unexpected guest.

  A short while later, Chloe leaves, so I go and hang with my parents in the living room. Zareen Aunty is still here, and I can tell that my parents aren’t particularly thrilled about this.

  “Iqbal Bhai, I’m so glad that you’ve recovered from your terrible ordeal,” Zareen is saying when I walk in. She takes a slow sip of her chai and sits back, clearly in no hurry to leave.

  “Actually, Zareen, I’m a little winded. It’s been a long day,” Abbu says. “I hope you don’t mind if I go upstairs to rest for a bit.”

  Ammi throws him a withering look. Zareen Aunty is blissfully oblivious to his betrayal and smiles at him.

  “Of course. Please go and take rest.”

  After Abbu has abandoned us, we have no choice but to continue to sit with Zareen and listen to her updates on everyone in Corpus Christi’s Pakistani community. After a while, she leans a little closer to Ammi.

  “I got so angry at Suraiya last week,” she says. “She was saying these nasty things about Zara, you know.” She darts a sidelong look in my direction.

  “What kind of nasty things?” Ammi asks, sitting up straighter.

  “No, nothing that anyone will believe,” Zareen says hastily. “Of course, our Zara would never do something like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well,” she says, looking toward the stairs, “I couldn’t tell you in front of Iqbal Bhai, but I thought it was important to warn you what people are saying.”

  “Zareen, will you please just tell me what you’re talking about?” Ammi is too irritated now to care about being polite.

  “They’re saying that Zara is …”

  “What? Zara is what?”

  “A lesbian,” Zareen whispers. Then she sits back with a satisfied smile.

  I hold my breath. Only my eyes are moving, darting from Ammi to Zareen. Ammi’s face has taken on a murderous expression, and I have no idea what to expect. No one says anything.

  “Actually,” Ammi says, “Zara is bisexual.”

  I wish I had my phone handy, but sadly I’ve left it to charge on the kitchen counter. It will be one of my biggest regrets in life because the expression on Zareen Aunty’s face is priceless.

  “What do you mean?” she finally mumbles.

  “Zareen, you should tell that Suraiya to get her facts straight at least. Zara is not a lesbian; she’s bisexual. In fact, that girl Chloe who was here when you arrived is Zara’s girlfriend. I would think your concern would be with the fact that my husband was shot, not that my daughter is in love.”

  Zareen opens her mouth and then closes it. Her eyes bulge out of her face.

  “You mean you are okay with all this?” she asks after gulping in a lot of air.

  “Yes, why wouldn’t we be?” Ammi says innocently.

  “You mean you and Iqbal Bhai? He’s okay with this too?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But how … astaghfirullah, Nilufer, this is haram. How can you let your daughter do something like that?”

  Ammi’s eyes are blazing with anger as she stands and towers over Zareen.

  “Zareen, who the hell do you think you’re talking to? How dare you talk about haram and my daughter in the same sentence?”

  Zareen stands as well, clearly not intimidated by Ammi.

  “Nilufer, what she’s doing is against our beliefs,” she says. “It is a sin. And by allowing her to continue like this, you are also committing a sin.”

  “Zareen.” A thunderous voice comes from the staircase. We all turn our heads to see Abbu coming down. “How dare you come into my home and insult my family like this?”

  Abbu walks over and stands by my side. He puts his arm around my shoulders and squeezes.

  Even with all the blush, I can tell that Zareen’s face has lost some of its color. “Iqbal Bhai, I didn’t mean—”

  “Didn’t mean what? Please take your outdated and narrow-minded beliefs and leave. And tell anyone else who has an opinion about my family that if I hear them saying anything about my daughter, they will have to deal with me.”

  Ammi walks swiftly to the front door and opens it.

  “Just in case it wasn’t clear, you are not welcome in our house.”

  Zareen throws a death glare in my direction before turning on her heel and marching out the door.

  I release the breath I’d been holding. My eyes well up, and I pull Ammi and Abbu into a tight hug.

  “She said what?” Chloe shakes her head. “What a bitch.”

  “I wish you could have seen her face when my mom told her off,” I say with a huge grin. We’re in the park the next day, watching the sun set. “It was priceless.”

  “What do you think’s going to happen?” Chloe says.

  “Who knows. She’s probably telling everyone that she always knew we’re not real Muslims.”

  “Well, if my parents supported me the way yours did, I can bet there’d be a few people who’d say we weren’t real Christians,” Chloe says.

  “I honestly don’t understand why people can’t just mind their own business.” I take a bite of my Mars bar.

  “How much chocolate are you going to eat?” She tries to pry the bar out of my hands, but I swat her arm playfully.

  “Mind your own beeswax. I’m getting my period.”

  “Well, do you have any more in there?” she asks, pointing her chin at my bag. “I think I’m getting mine too.”

  I root around and produce a Twix bar. She takes it, tears open the wrapping, and begins munching on it.

  “So,” Chloe says, an incredibly goofy grin lighting up her face, “your mom said we’re girlfriends?”

  “Yeah, but that was only—”

  “Well,” she says, leaning back, “I wouldn’t want your mom to be wrong. You know what I mean?”

  I lean over to her and break off a piece of her Twix. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  Chloe smiles. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  I kiss her, then say, “No, not at all.”

  * * *

  A loud noise wakes me up later that night, and I sit up straight in bed. All my senses are on high alert. This cannot be happening again. Then I hear Abbu’s voice. It’s loud, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. I run into my parents’ bedroom to find Ammi sitting up and gently stroking Abbu’s head. His eyes are closed, so I walk softly to Ammi’s side.

  “It was just a nightmare,” Ammi whispers. “He knocked over the brass bowl.”

  “Are you okay?” I ask her. The light from her bedside lamp casts dark shadows on her face, and it looks strained.

  “I’m fine, beta. Go to sleep. It’s okay.”

  I squeeze her hand and stay for a few minutes until Abbu’s sound asleep again and snoring gently. Ammi looks worried but she gets back under the covers, so I tiptoe to my room.

  I find it hard to go back to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see images of Tyler’s dad standing over Abbu and shooting him. And I can’t help thinking that if I’m experiencing this, how much worse it must be for Abbu all the time now. I toss and turn for hours until I finally fall into a restless sleep.

  * * *

  The next morning, both my parents look exhausted. It’s the weekend, and I decide that we need to do something fun. I call Nick, and we quickly come up with a plan. We’re going to have a game night and then maybe watch some movies. When I tell Ammi and Abbu, they decide to invite Priya and her parents as well as Shireen Aunty. I love a good party, so I’m game. Ammi decides to make goat biryani, so I defrost the meat while
she starts chopping onions and green chilies. Abbu tries to help, but we quickly shoo him out of the kitchen. There’s a game on, and I set him up on the couch with a blanket and a cup of chai. A little bit later, Nick waltzes in and makes a beeline for the leftover paranthay and eggs from breakfast.

  “What’re you doing here?” I ask him. “I thought you were coming later.”

  “Your dad called me to watch the game with him,” he says. He takes his plate and walks over to join Abbu.

  “Priya’s coming too,” I call out to him as I separate cilantro leaves from the stalks.

  Nick’s head pops up. He has a huge smile on his face.

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Why? What’s the big deal?”

  “Nothing.” He slides back down on the couch.

  “Your father looks very happy,” Ammi says, smiling in Abbu’s direction. “Good thing Nick came over.” She lowers her voice slightly. “He woke up a few more times last night.”

  “You look like you barely got any sleep either,” I say. “Is this too much for today?”

  “Nahin, nahin, I’m glad we’re doing this. We all need the distraction,” she says. “Plus, I wanted to invite everyone over anyway to thank them for helping us out at the hospital.”

  “Yes, I can’t imagine how we would have gone through it without them.”

  “They are truly our family,” Ammi says. “Otherwise, when Abbu and I came here, we had no one, and if it wasn’t for all of them …” Her voice trails off as she’s lost in her memories of another time. Sometimes I marvel at the courage it must take to pack up your life and move thousands of miles away from your home, your family, and everything familiar. It couldn’t have been easy to start a new life in a strange place with nothing to call your own. But they’ve built an amazing life here, full of friends who’ve become family, and I realize that I should never take it for granted.

  The doorbell interrupts my musings, and I quickly turn on the rice cooker before going to answer the door. It’s Priya and her parents. Gita Aunty has brought coconut fish, her Kerala specialty dish. My mouth waters in anticipation of the spicy, tangy flavors of tamarind and red chilies. Priya walks in behind her mom bearing a large platter full of appam, the fermented rice pancakes that Abbu loves. Nick jumps up and rushes to the kitchen to help her. He must think her arms are broken or something. What other reason could he have for suddenly being so helpful, when he’s spent the last hour with his butt glued to the couch? I make a mental note to ask him about this later.

  Shireen Khala arrives minutes later with a tray of tandoori chicken and her delicious kheer. Nick’s parents and grandmother are the last to arrive. They’ve brought chicken mole and warm tortillas, as well as dessert. Ammi’s biryani is almost done, and soon we’re all sitting at the dining table for a late lunch. The food is delicious, and it almost feels like the horrors of the past few weeks never happened. Almost. After lunch Nick grabs a bucket of vanilla ice cream from the freezer. We eat it with the chocolate chimichangas his grandmother made for us. It is mind-blowingly delicious. Unfortunately, the good times come to an end as our guests take their leave one by one. Only Shireen Khala stays behind, and I can tell it’s time to get back to reality.

  “Iqbal Bhai, we have to talk,” she says after everyone’s gone and all the food and dishes have been put away.

  Ammi makes coffee for everyone, and we sit in the living room.

  “I’ve spoken to the prosecutor who has been assigned your case,” she begins. “Dr. Alter’s relationship with the police chief was helpful in delaying any charges. But you are now being officially charged with trespassing.”

  “So he has to go to jail?” Ammi asks. “But he is still recovering. How will—”

  “Actually,” Shireen Khala interrupts, “because it’s a misdemeanor and not a felony, we were able to prevent that. Even more important, the prosecutor is very sympathetic to the situation. Unfortunately, there may be no way around the trespassing charge—Iqbal Bhai did technically trespass on the Bensons’ property. But as I said, the prosecutor is sympathetic. If we put in a guilty plea, there will be no jail time, only a small fine. That is the offer. I suggest we take it.”

  Abbu is lost in thought. His face isn’t as gaunt as when he came back from the hospital, but I can see the worry in his eyes.

  “What about Benson?” he asks. “He shot me. Will he serve any time?”

  “I believe he will,” Shireen Khala says. “But I must caution you … with the evidence that’s been gathered, I suspect he will make a plea as well. He is very rich and well connected, so the jail time he serves might not be what we want it to be. It will be something but not enough.”

  “Of course.” Ammi’s tone has a bitterness I rarely hear. But I feel the same way.

  “Okay, then,” Abbu says, abruptly getting up. “I think I need to rest now.”

  He shuffles slowly up the stairs, declining my offer to help him. It seems our window for a little joy has closed once again.

  Abbu’s hearing before the judge is a week later, and I have a calculus and a chemistry test, so Ammi doesn’t want me to come. I think she secretly doesn’t want me there in case things don’t go our way and Abbu is hauled off to jail. I try to stay positive and focus on my tests, but it’s really difficult. I don’t know if Ammi will be able to handle this after everything she’s been dealing with already. And I can’t even think about what will happen to Abbu in there.

  I have a free study block after my chem test and I don’t want to be around anyone, so I go to sit under my tree by the parking lot. I’m lost in thought wondering what’s happening in court right now, when a shadow blocks the sun. I look up to see Tyler Benson standing over me. I get to my feet immediately, blood rushing to my head at a dizzying speed.

  “Zara, can I talk to you for a minute?” he says. He looks different, wilted somehow compared to his usual arrogant self. The swagger is missing, but I’m not letting down my defenses.

  “What do you want?”

  He hesitates, scrunching up his face. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

  I say, “Look, I don’t—”

  “I didn’t know my dad was going to do that.”

  I freeze.

  “What?”

  “I … He’s always been … Never mind, what I’m trying to say is I’m really so sorry. I had no idea things would get so bad.”

  I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel right now. I don’t feel anything. Tyler’s words ring hollow.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I wouldn’t believe me either, and I don’t blame you for hating me.” Then he adds quietly, “I hate myself too.” He says it so softly that I’m not even sure if I’ve heard him right.

  I can’t bring myself to say anything to him because I have this irresistible urge to scream and claw at his face. How is this supposed to help? And then it dawns on me: He isn’t trying to help me. He’s just trying to assuage his own guilt for the role he played in almost getting my father killed and destroying our lives. Well, I’m not going to help him or make it easy for him. I don’t even care if that makes me a bad person. I’m okay with that because I don’t owe him anything.

  I walk away, leaving him standing there, alone in his pathetic pool of guilt. I hope he drowns in it.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, I get a call from Ammi.

  “It’s done,” she says. “No jail, just a small fine. We’ll see you after school.”

  When I get home, Abbu and Ammi are waiting with Shireen Khala. I’m expecting a celebration, but the mood is grim. My father, a kind, caring man who has helped thousands of sick children and their families, who has volunteered and raised money for the Corpus Christi community, who never hesitated to help anyone in need, has had to plead guilty in a court. What that means is fully hitting me now.

  They fill me in on what happened, about how they were lucky they got the judge that they got, and how it was over in a matter of
minutes. The only penalty was a two-hundred-dollar fine, and if Abbu stays out of trouble for the next two years, his record will be cleared.

  “It was a good deal,” Shireen Khala assures me. “A very good deal.”

  Then she continues. “Still … we have to talk about your green card application. This misdemeanor will be on your record for the next two years, and while it is not a felony charge, which would mean a lot of trouble, the climate being what it is, we can’t be sure how a misdemeanor will be taken.”

  “Will they consider the circumstances?” Ammi asks.

  “It depends,” Shireen Khala replies. “If we get a lenient immigration judge, it is possible. But we can’t count on that.”

  “So, what do you suggest we do?” Abbu asks.

  “There are several options,” Shireen Khala says. “But I do want to encourage you to start making alternate plans.”

  “What does that mean exactly?” I ask. “Are you saying that we might never get our green cards?”

  “I’m sorry, but that is a distinct possibility,” she says. “Part of the condition of your immigration status is that there cannot be any sort of criminal offense.”

  “It’s a criminal offense to want to protect your family?” Ammi says with a bitter laugh.

  I know her outrage is not directed at Shireen Khala, and I know exactly what she’s feeling. Panic is rising in me as well. Suddenly it feels like the walls are closing in on me and I can’t breathe. I look at Abbu, and he’s quiet, just sitting there, an odd expression on his face.

  “We should just go home,” he says suddenly.

  Ammi and I both stare at him.

  “What? Where?” I say.

  “Home,” he says. “Back to Pakistan.”

  I’m too stunned to speak.

  “You know, Iqbal,” Ammi says, “I’ve been thinking about this since you were in the hospital.”

  “You never said anything,” he says softly to her.

  “I didn’t want you to worry,” Ammi says. “But I don’t think I can ever feel safe here again.”

  He pulls her close, and I think they’ve forgotten that Shireen Khala and I are still here.