It All Comes Back to You

by Farah Naz Rishi

  “Asking questions. Right, right.” I run my hand down my face. “I think what the imam meant by letting us ask questions is that we ask important questions pertinent to their future marriage. Not leading questions like we’re in some kind of interrogation room. What is your freaking problem?”

  “You know damn well what my problem is,” says Kiran. “It really doesn’t bother you? That your brother is lying—that he’s been lying?”

  I choose my words carefully. “I regret to inform you,” I say, “there seems to be a misunderstanding. Maybe you think you know something about his past. But he’s not a liar.” Don’t let her get under your skin. “Has it ever occurred to you that, I don’t know, maybe you’re wrong about him?”

  “Don’t try to paint me as overdramatic,” she snaps.

  “I don’t have to. If you don’t have any proof, then don’t you think you’re being just as ridiculous as the stupid aunties and uncles who go around spreading rumors because they’re bored with their own lives? Isn’t gossip supposed to be, I dunno, un-Islamic?”

  “It’s not just gossip. I have proof.”

  A knot swells in my throat. My thoughts whirl in a panic. “What are you talking about?” I struggle to keep my voice steady.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything. You’ll just deny it, anyway.”

  If she’s trying to rile me up on purpose, it’s working. “I don’t know what you think you know,” I say slowly, “but if it’s about Leah, it’s nothing. You want the truth? She’s just someone in Faisal’s past. That’s it. The rest is between Faisal and Amira.” I place my palm against the wall, next to her head. “But I swear to God, if you keep trying to dig shit up for the sole purpose of ruining my brother’s life, I’ll . . .”

  No. What am I doing?

  I take a deep breath and pull away.

  But the damage is already done. Kiran’s face falls, and her fists, clenched at her sides, unfurl. She hesitates before speaking, her voice like a strangled sob. She takes a shaky breath. “What the hell happened to you? You were never this—this mean.”

  Her words knock me back. I was supposed to be giving her a reason not to hate me, but then I go and lose my temper? Vinny was right about one thing. This isn’t the kind of problem I can smooth over. Because the problem, as usual, is me.

  “Maybe you never really knew me.” I let out a hard, bitter laugh. “And you certainly don’t know him. You hate me? Fine. I get it. But I am begging you to stop bringing Faisal’s past into this when you’re clearly still hung up on ours. Those two”—I point toward the masjid—“actually have a good thing going. They deserve to be happy together.”

  “Oh my God. I’m not digging into his past because I’m pissed about you ghosting me three years ago. I’m not some bitter ex-girlfriend. I just don’t want you to ruin my sister’s life!”

  “Then allow me to give you some friendly advice: you really might want to rethink your strategy here.”

  Kiran lets out a barely stifled, frustrated scream. “Jesus, you’re insufferable, you know that?”

  “Who says the word insufferable these days? What are you, the protagonist of a Jane Austen novel?”

  Kiran laughs bitterly. She doesn’t look angry anymore, exactly; she’s just blank. Just an expressionless, thick layer of ice covering a terrifying, nameless undercurrent.

  “If this were a Jane Austen novel, Deen,” she says frigidly, “you’d have a shred of decency in you somewhere. But you’re just a selfish, shallow shell of a person who lashes out at others because it’s easier than looking inside and accepting that there is nothing in there.”

  For once, I’m speechless, and as I scrabble for the right words, she spins on her heel and leaves.

  Loading

  [CAMBRIA: THE EVOLUTION EXPANSION PACK]

  [ROANA GUILD CHAT ROOM]

  * * *

  Devynius Foxx: Do you ever get the sense that you don’t know yourself at all?

  Devynius Foxx: Yesterday, I was talking to one of my friends about something that happened

  Devynius Foxx: I got into an argument with someone and it became really, really heated

  Devynius Foxx: And instead of taking my side and getting angry on my behalf

  Devynius Foxx: My friend tells me I might have gone overboard.

  Kasia Coribund: Yikes.

  Devynius Foxx: Which, of course, made ME angry . . . at first

  Devynius Foxx: But the more I thought about it, the more I realized

  Devynius Foxx: That maybe I’ve BEEN angry

  Devynius Foxx: about a lot of things

  Devynius Foxx: and the person I fought with got caught in the cross fire

  Devynius Foxx: which is why, even as we were fighting, I could feel my conscience knocking on the door to my brain

  Devynius Foxx: “Hi, remember me? Your neighbor? Could you stop being an asshole for two seconds and keep it down?”

  Devynius Foxx: But I ignored it, because I could barely comprehend what was happening.

  Devynius Foxx: My friend called me stubborn

  Devynius Foxx: I never thought of myself that way, but he’s probably right.

  Devynius Foxx: And that terrifies me because if I don’t even know myself

  Devynius Foxx: I feel like all of this stuff is bubbling in me, set to go off at any moment

  Devynius Foxx: I wish there was an easier way to know yourself

  Devynius Foxx: So at least if I’m aware of my flaws

  Devynius Foxx: Maybe I could be, I dunno, more mature

  Devynius Foxx: Keep myself in check.

  Devynius Foxx: Jesus, I’m rambling—sorry.

  Kasia Coribund: I wish I could say I had no idea what you were talking about

  Kasia Coribund: But I do.

  Kasia Coribund: I think that’s why I like taking those “What animal are you?” or “What color is your soul?” quizzes on BuzzFeed

  Kasia Coribund: They probably don’t mean shit, but I take them because I’m desperate: maybe this will be the thing that tells me exactly who I am!

  Kasia Coribund: It’s also probably all egocentric and I’m just looking for confirmation that I’m a cool or interesting person

  Kasia Coribund: Maybe the fact that I’m taking those quizzes for confirmation means I’m actually a terrible person

  Devynius Foxx: Or that you’re just bored?

  Devynius Foxx: Because you’re definitely not terrible

  Devynius Foxx: Not when you’re sitting here, listening to me.

  Kasia Coribund: Maybe I’m just doing it for selfish reasons because I want you to like me.

  Kasia Coribund: But maybe what we’re doing right now is the key

  Kasia Coribund: I’m analyzing myself now because we’re talking about it

  Kasia Coribund: I think there’s a reason why they say “Your friends are a reflection of who you are”

  Kasia Coribund: The more you talk to them, the more you open up to them

  Kasia Coribund: The more they can tell you who you are.

  Kasia Coribund: Maybe that’s how we get better.

  Kasia Coribund: We keep talking.

  Devynius Foxx: That, I can do. Gladly.

  Kasia Coribund: Or you could drop acid

  Kasia Coribund: That might be easier

  Devynius Foxx: Ha

  Devynius Foxx: I think I’ll take my chances with you.

  Chapter 15

  Kiran

  Tuesday, July 13

  40 Days Until the Wedding

  A FEW DAYS AFTER AMIRA and Faisal’s premarriage counseling session at the masjid, I’m standing outside an intimate little izakaya on the Upper West Side, playing lookout and trying very hard to look casual even though I’m sweating profusely and wearing sunglasses that are way too big for my face.

  Asher is late, and every second he’s not here is another noticeable rip at my facade of calm—I know because two different people have asked if I’m lost.

  I’m full-on pacing now, a
nd then I hear heavy footsteps behind me—it’s Asher, to my relief, jogging up, breathing hard. His mane of hair is slick with sweat, his sideburns two chestnut-brown tributaries on either side of his head. But at least he’s dressed the way I told him: a button-down collared shirt, a tie, dark slacks that somehow make his long birch-tree legs even longer. I’d never tell him to his face—probably because he’d never let me live it down—but Asher is good-looking, and worse, he’s the casual, effortless kind; he’s almost a foot taller than me, for starters, and his honey-beige skin has always been smoother, more pristine. To add insult to injury, the summer sun has graced his face with a dusting of tiny chocolate freckles that play across his knife-sharp cheeks like gold powder on a croissant. It’s no wonder he’s been popular ever since we were kids.

  “I’m seriously regretting”—Asher heaves—“ever agreeing to this. Why’d you have to pick a restaurant all the way on the Upper West Side?”

  “I didn’t. Faisal did. Apparently it’s one of his favorites. And it makes it more believable when he chooses the place.”

  Asher groans. “On a Tuesday, no less. I should be working. Or preferably, sleeping.”

  “It’s almost five, first of all. And second, you did agree, so you can’t back out. You’re the one who said you’d do anything to help me.” I slip my phone into my pocket. “Amira should be here any minute now. Hurry up and get in there,” I say, already shoving him toward the door.

  “Wait, wait.” He stops and spins around to face me. “Walk me through this again because I need to see if it sounds just as stupid as when I first heard it the other night, or if I just completely misheard, which I’m really, really hoping I did.”

  “This is step one of three of the new Save Amira plan. We’re going to make Faisal so jealous he shows his true colors.”

  After my talk with Amira the other day, I realized if she doesn’t care about Faisal’s past, I can’t exactly make her. I needed a new plan of action.

  Then it hit me: she doesn’t care about his criminal past because she doesn’t believe it affects them now. But that’s just the thing: if Faisal is insecure enough about his past to hide it, then he’s probably insecure about a lot more. His past is only a symptom of a much bigger problem. I don’t have to uncover the details of the felony, or the drugs, or Leah. I just have to show that once a liar, always a liar.

  “Why are plans always either three or five steps?” says Asher. “Why not four, or six? Or, for the sake of convenience, one?”

  “Focus, Ash. We’ve got less than six weeks until the wedding, and Amira’s friends from college are coming tomorrow to hit the ground running with wedding prep. This plan needs to be underway, like, yesterday.”

  “Don’t you have wedding prep to do, too? Like for your cute little dance routine with Deen?”

  “If all goes according to plan,” I mumble, “I won’t have to.” To be honest, after our tiff behind the masjid, the only thing I want to do with Deen is fist fight. I’m sure he feels the same way.

  Asher sighs. “Okay. Let’s hear the rundown again.”

  “People lie about their pasts because they’re ashamed, right?” I begin. “This plan just happens to be a very effective way to bring all of Faisal’s insecurities out. Make him show his true colors so I don’t have to. The best part? You don’t have to do anything. Just have a nice dinner. Be yourself. Make her laugh. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “So you had Faisal pick the place so that when you and him walk in and see us, it’ll feel more like a horrible coincidence,” says Asher in slow realization.

  “Exactly. If I picked, he’d be more likely to figure that I planned everything out.”

  Asher lets out a huge breath. “I can’t say I feel great about you using me to make Faisal jealous. This whole situation is messed up and I want to see her break this thing off just as much as you do. But I don’t know, doing this feels . . . in poor taste. To both of them.”

  “What’s in poor taste is Faisal’s lack of honesty,” I say with a huff. “Faisal’s done bad things. Amira’s safety is at stake! I mean, the guy committed a crime, a felony—who knows what he’s capable of? You think he’d go to such lengths to hide it if he’d just stolen an apple? All we’re doing—all you’re doing—is taking one of your childhood friends out for a nice meal. If Faisal freaks out, then it’s his own damn fault.”

  “I know.” He sighs. “I’m doing this because I agree with you, to an extent. Hell, you two are like sisters to me, and I don’t like the idea of anyone lying to you. But don’t ask me to get involved again, okay? If this doesn’t work the way you seem to think it will, you’re done. After today, you’re going to be a good little sister and help Amira prep for her wedding. That’s it.”

  I nod, barely listening.

  “And since you’re basically whoring me out, I want something in return.”

  “What do you want . . . ?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Buy me Cambria,” he says, smiling. “So we can play together. And it better be the Collector’s Edition.”

  I laugh softly at the unexpected gesture. “Deal.”

  “Okay.” Asher rolls out his shoulders, his neck. Then he throws open the door to the izakaya.

  “Here we go.”

  Asher texts me once he’s settled inside; he got a booth in the back corner, where he and Amira will have some privacy, but still be easy for me to spot.

  Outside the restaurant, my heart rustles nervously against my chest, and the constant pacing I’m doing is only making it worse. Thankfully, I discover a bench at the corner of the street, so I take a seat and just breathe raggedly for a while. From the nearby park I can hear a dog barking, the squeals and giggles from a bunch of kids running through a water fountain. Sounds of summer.

  Six weeks. I still can’t believe Amira already picked an official date—without even telling me. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised anymore. But every day that passes, every day we get closer to August 22, will make it that much harder to put the brakes on. The sooner I put a stop to this—the sooner I can get Amira to see what a mistake marrying Faisal is—the cleaner it will be. I really don’t want to make this any harder than it needs to be. Amira’s been through enough. We’ve been through enough.

  You don’t have to protect me, Amira’s voice echoes in the back of my mind.

  But she hasn’t given me much of a choice. She’s the one determined to bring a total stranger into our family. Mom told us to stick together.

  I rub my fingers against the edge of the bench beneath me. Damn it, Amira. If we’d handled this right, if we’d looked out for each other like we were supposed to, maybe she wouldn’t be barreling into a wedding like this to cope with her grief.

  My phone pings with an incoming text message:

  Should be there in a couple minutes

  I haven’t put his name in my contacts list yet, but I recognize the number: Faisal, whose contact info I got from Amira. I shot him a message that night about wanting to get to know him more, saying how the two of us hadn’t had a chance to really talk, one-on-one. Pretty convincing stuff, if I say so myself. If medicine doesn’t work out, maybe I should be an actor.

  Faisal bought it without question. Seemed excited about it, even, in his Faisal way. I get the impression he doesn’t emote much, like a big gargoyle who’s only recently been magicked into being human.

  I see Faisal’s form emerge across the street and wave him over. His face breaks into a shy smile and he jogs over, waving back. I get why he named his nonprofit AFFEY—the guy is certainly affable. It’d almost be cute, if he wasn’t trying to destroy my family.

  “Assalamu alaikum,” he says in his deep, rumbling voice, and after some awkward fumbling with arm placement, he gives me a limp hug.

  “It’s good to see you,” he says. “Thanks for waiting. And for coming all this way to have dinner with me. I, uh, was surprised when you texted out of the blue like that, but I’m really glad to get a chance to hang out, just the two
of us.”

  I force a smile back. “My pleasure. Seriously. I thought about inviting Amira, too, but it sounded like she had plans. It works out, though. I figure it’s better this way.”

  “I agree. And I’m happy. About this. It’s a good chance for me to get to know you. For you to get to know me.”

  My smile falters a little. For someone who doesn’t really emote, he sure knows how to sound genuine. Like he means every word, from the pit of his stomach. It catches me off guard. I don’t know what to say, so I reach for the doorknob to the restaurant.

  “Hey, I just want to say,” Faisal starts, his voice shaking. “I really appreciate this. I know things haven’t been easy. On you in particular.”

  My skin prickles and I pause, pull my hand back from the door. I turn to face him. “What? No, no. Not at all. I mean, I’m perfectly fine,” I say nervously. “Where’s that coming from?”

  “I dunno, I just—” He exhales. “It’s nothing. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He smiles to reassure me and opens the door. “Shall we?”

  “Lead the way,” I say, and muster my strength back into my feet, trailing Faisal into the restaurant.

  Inside, the smoky air is thick with the fragrant, tongue-tingling smell of soy sauce and fresh rice. Even though Faisal picked a weird time, almost all the tables are full—even the bar, which is illuminated with dim gold light from paper lanterns. The walls are painted in rusty reds, with stark black wooden beams propped across the ceiling. It’s a small restaurant, and the laughter and talk mix in with the hiss and slap of metal spatulas on griddles. It’s cozy. The kind of place Amira and I would both love.

  I’m surprised. I have to hand it to Faisal. Did he know it’d be the type of place I’d like? Or do we have the same taste? I don’t know which thought is more unsettling.

  “Excited?” asks Faisal. In the dim light, his features look softer, for some reason. “I’m pretty hungry myself.”

  “Oh. Yeah,” I reply, trying hard to keep my face neutral. But I can tell that my voice sounds strained.