by Farah Heron
Then doors started slamming.
Followed by the tense hushed voices.
And then tenser voices that couldn’t figure out how to be hushed anymore.
“Now I’m the one being unreasonable?” That was Travis’s distinctive speech, only without its usual lightness.
“What’s going on?” Zahra asked.
Amira stood and opened her door, ready to go out there and tell them to cut the noise. “Sounds like the co-leads are having trouble coexisting again.” Some more muffled mumbling followed, and then Travis’s angered voice again.
“Who exactly are you afraid will see us in the Village, anyway?”
“Fuck, guys, I thought we were going over choreography this morning?” That voice was Barrington, sounding more annoyed than she had ever heard him. Amira didn’t even know he swore.
“Jesus, people, keep your voices down. We’re not supposed to make noise before twelve.” That was Sameer.
“Oh, lest we upset your precious beard?” Travis said. “I think you enjoy rubbing this in my face, don’t you? Can’t upset Amira, she’s the right gender and religion to save us all. You know what? Screw this. I need air.”
Heavy footsteps again, loud cursing, and Duncan telling them all off in embellished language she would prefer her sister didn’t hear. Then the opening and slamming of the side door.
Shit. A wave of nausea passed through her.
“What are they talking about, Amira?” Zahra asked.
“Nothing. Pretend you didn’t hear that.”
Apparently, Travis was upset about this bearding arrangement, after all. Amira’s chest tightened. She needed air, too. She needed to get out of this damn house. She gathered up her books and laptop.
“Come on, Zahra. Let’s go to the library. I’ll get you a donut first.”
Duncan stopped them at the bottom of the stairs. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“Library.”
“Did you . . .” He rubbed his upper arm. “Did you hear their fight?”
“Look, Duncan, I’m sorry people are upset, but I’m at a critical point in my report and I don’t want to lose my train of thought.”
He blew out a puff of air. “I’ll drive you. Sam?” he called out. “Borrowing your car to take the girls to the library.”
The ride was tense. Painfully awkward. Duncan was weirdly quiet, squeezing the steering wheel while focusing squarely on the road ahead. Good—Amira had no interest in discussing the fight between Sameer and Travis, especially in front of her sister. Zahra was uncharacteristically quiet, too, clearly weirded out after hearing the guys scream at each other.
Amira wished she could forget what she’d heard Travis say. This bearding idea was a whim—she hadn’t really considered how it would make Travis feel. Affable, enthusiastic, affectionate Travis, probably the nicest guy in their quartet, was upset because of her idea. He didn’t deserve to be cast aside because of Sameer’s family’s expectations. He didn’t deserve to be Sameer’s secret.
She hated that Sameer was hiding Travis, but Amira got it. She was Indian. She was Muslim. She knew that the so-called traditional values that many held on to, combined with over-involved families, meant Sameer had almost no choice when it came to upholding his family’s expectations, even if those expectations dripped with intolerance. She knew how soul sucking it was to be the subject of the hushed voices of judging aunties. Hell, she’d lived it since that day at the airport. Probably before that. She’d lived it since her parents’ divorce. Since then, her family had been skirting the fringes of their community. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever feeling that they completely fit in. Among them, but not one of them. She looked back at her sister. Now Zahra was living it, too.
She peeked at Duncan. His jaw was clenched as he focused on the road in front of him. He was obviously bothered by Sameer and Travis’s fight, too. Amira closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. She was actually shaking. Nothing like the hollow ache of guilt to trigger her anxiety. She needed to chill or she’d never get any work done today. She silently repeated a prayer for strength.
“I’ll pick you up, too. Three o’clock work for you?” Duncan said, pulling into the parking lot of the plaza that held a small library, a drugstore, and a donut shop.
“Yeah, fine. Thanks.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill and handed it to Zahra. “Get whatever you want, then meet me in the library.”
Zahra took the money and silently left the car. Amira turned to look at Duncan before getting out, her hand on the door handle.
“I would appreciate it if you guys would refrain from swearing at the top of your lungs when my sister is downstairs. She is only eleven years old,” she said quietly. She opened the door.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.”
She nodded as she started to get out of the car.
“Wait, Amira.”
She sat back down.
“Travis liked the beard idea, you know.”
“What?”
“When Sam and I first told Travis about it, he agreed it would work. Of course, I don’t know what he told Sam privately.”
Amira’s shoulders slumped. “I know.”
“You shouldn’t feel bad about Travis being upset.”
She stepped out of the car. “Look, the only thing I’m feeling right now is stressed. This is my master’s degree, Duncan. I’ve got a fifty-page report due in a week, and I’m not even done the first draft yet. If you guys upheld your end of the bargain and kept it quiet at home, I’d be writing right now.” She picked up her backpack.
He frowned. “Well, I’m so sorry, Your Majesty. God forbid the princess should care about anything but Her Highness’s own precious concerns. I guess us common singers are too far beneath your more worthwhile pursuits.” He wagged a finger at her. “Remember, Amira, you made this deal with us. It was your idea.”
Teeth clenched, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, getting tangled in your web of nonsense was not part of the deal. Be here at three.” She slammed the door.
Goddamn Duncan Galahad. Amira was so completely and utterly done with him. She couldn’t believe this after their conversation yesterday. When she had loaned him her guitar, they had been civil to each other. Maybe even more than civil—she had wondered if there was a possibility of a friendship there.
No. Not anymore. The guy was an ass, not a friend.
Why she had ever thought she could trust four men to be considerate to her, to treat her like a human being whose own needs were just as important as theirs, was beyond her.
Amira unpacked her computer, hands still shaking. She had completely lost her temper there, and as the fiery rage abated to a smoulder, she started to feel bad about it. She had gotten into a heap-load of trouble in the past because of her explosive temper, which always emerged in a fireball of fury whenever she felt threatened. There was a reason her high-school classmates called her Wrath of Khan. Her temper was what got her into trouble at the airport that day when she realized she was being racially profiled. Her temper was probably the reason she was single.
Duncan had hit a sore spot. True, part of it was the fact that this all happened while Zahra could hear them, but it was also men assuming their concerns were more important than hers. Men assuming she cared about what was going on in their lives simply because they were men.
But, of course, she did care. She felt terrible for Travis, and she wanted things to work out between him and Sameer. And . . . ugh . . . this project was so important and she needed to stay focused on it. She opened the file on her computer and got to work.
It shouldn’t have been a shock that Duncan was nowhere to be seen at three o’clock when she and Zahra walked out the library doors. Of course he stood them up. Abandoned at the library. Fists clenched, Amira turned to Zahra.
“Want to walk home or take the bus?” It was only a half-hour walk, but Amira was exhausted.
“Bus. I’m tired,” Zahra said.
/> Her phone rang. She checked the screen. It wasn’t Duncan, but Nanima. She answered it.
“Beta, make sure you come home for dinner today, I’m making your favourite masala shrimp.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Zahra and I are catching the bus home from the library now. Duncan was supposed to pick us up but he was a no-show.”
“Oh no . . . I can come get you, I’m just leaving Shirin’s now. Which library?”
When her grandmother pulled up five minutes later, Amira got in the car, realizing the ridiculousness of being thirty years old and getting picked up by your grandmother after doing homework at the library with your sister. But, of course, if Duncan had bothered to get his ass to the library like he said he would, this wouldn’t have happened.
“Did you girls get a lot of work done today?” Nanima asked as she pulled out of the parking lot.
“I finished my homework, then took out three books and a movie,” Zahra said.
“I’m stuck on a point in my project,” Amira said, sinking into her seat. “I’ll be so glad when all this is over.”
Nanima smiled knowingly as she turned onto the main road. “Yes, I’m sure you’re looking forward to your free time, especially now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe you’ll want to visit Ottawa? Shirin told me you went on a date with Sameer.”
Crap. News of their “relationship” had started to spread. Amira inhaled deeply. “It was just one date,” she said. She hated lying to her grandmother, but as angry as she was at the boys, she couldn’t out Sameer.
“Is this what they were all talking about before?” Zahra asked.
“No. I told you to forget what you heard.”
“What were they talking about?” Nanima asked.
“Nothing. They were arguing about their group. Music stuff.”
Nanima giggled. “You two are getting close, aren’t you?”
“Nanima, it’s nothing. We just went to see another group perform.”
“The best love stories have to start somewhere, beta. This is good. Shirin is so happy, she doesn’t mind if the relationship is unconventional.”
Amira could bet Shirin didn’t know the half of how unconventional this relationship was.
“It’s okay, though, you two are so modern,” Nanima continued. “It’s no problem these days. In ten years, no one will care that you are so much older than him.”
In ten years? “Don’t get ahead of yourself. One date is not serious.”
“So, you are dating Sameer?” Zahra asked.
Amira put her hand to her forehead.
“You are going to go out again, right?” Nanima asked. “It would be so lovely! You know . . .” She switched to speaking in Gujarati and lowered her voice, maybe hoping the language change would make Zahra tune them out. “Neelam never married Sameer’s father. And she raised him alone, separate from the family. All Shirin wants is for Sameer to be happy and have a normal life. She said some of his friends in Ottawa are very . . . strange. He needs to settle down with a good Muslim girl. And he would be good for you, too. Such a polite, sweet boy. Sameer is a pharmacist, you know. Not like those heavy metal boys you used to go with.”
Amira closed her eyes. Reena had been right. One date and Nanima was ready to buy saris and rent a hall. She needed to call this off before someone hired the mehndi artist. But how?
They reached the house and Amira went straight downstairs alone, telling Nanima she would be up in two hours for dinner. She found the family room empty, despite seeing Sameer’s car outside. Good. She didn’t want to have anything to do with the barbershop quartet now, so she headed straight to her room before any of them could emerge from their respective man caves. But, of course, living with four roommates makes alone time impossible. The knock on her door came after less than ten minutes of silence.
Sameer’s dejected face greeted Amira when she opened it.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
“Sure.” She motioned him in.
He paused in the doorway, eyes skirting to her unmade bed.
“It’s fine. You can be in my room.” When he still hesitated, she had to chuckle at her situation. Seriously? Her grandmother was practically interviewing DJs for their wedding, and he wouldn’t even enter her bedroom? Even Amira’s fake boyfriends were repelled by her. “We’re dating, remember? Come in.”
He slowly walked in and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“You say that a lot.”
“I know,” he said, swallowing. “To a lot of people. I can’t seem to stop disappointing everyone lately.” He looked at his fingers.
Amira crawled onto the bed and sat in the middle, wrapping her arms around her bent knees. “You and Travis still fighting?”
He nodded, turning to look at her. “It’s almost our default state lately. I don’t blame him. This trip was supposed to change everything. This isn’t how any of it was supposed to go.”
“How was it supposed to go?”
His eyes unfocused as his face slackened. “We were supposed to be amazing,” he whispered.
Amira watched his forlorn expression. She smiled softly. “How did you guys start this group, anyway?”
A tiny, wistful smile emerged. “Travis and I met in a men’s choir in Ottawa. For fun, we started doing some a cappella stuff together, and we met Barrington and Duncan online after we posted some videos on a barbershop website. The four of us connected immediately. We used to sing on Skype all the time. Have you seen our audition video? For the competition?”
“No.”
“Here, look.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and searched for the clip. Once he’d found it, he handed her the phone.
She started the video. Against a bright-blue backdrop, Travis stood alone, a solemn look on his face. He started singing slowly, a soft soulful rendition of an old David Bowie song.
Sameer joined Travis after a few lines, his face a little more optimistic, his louder voice joining with Travis’s sombre tones as the tempo picked up a bit.
The screen then split, with Travis and Sameer moving upwards as a box appeared on the lower-left corner: Barrington against a yellow backdrop. The tempo picked up again, and the three of them sang a few lines together, Barrington’s deep bass harmonizing with Travis and Sameer’s higher tones. Their faces were happy by this point, and the low accompaniment made the overall sound so much richer. Before long, a final box appeared in the lower-right corner with Duncan, against a green background. His smile was the widest she had ever seen on him, and his green eyes were twinkling with joy. Their sound now seemed complete: four distinct voices, harmonized together.
They sang exuberantly, feeding off each other. Grinning, laughing, snapping their fingers, and bopping to the music. Their voices together melded—each could be heard but the sound together was so much more than the sum of their individual abilities. It was doubly impressive because only Sameer and Travis were in the same room when this was filmed.
As the song slowed, Barrington and Duncan’s little squares moved off-screen so it was only Sameer and Travis again, singing while looking into each other’s faces.
The final high note was held as Sameer and Travis gazed tenderly at each other while lowering their foreheads to meet.
Amira swallowed, her skin pebbled with goosebumps. “You guys sound amazing. You could totally beat those other singers. That was Bowie’s ‘Modern Love,’ right?”
He nodded, a small smile appearing on his face. “Travis said that me hitting the submit button on this video was the bravest thing he’d ever seen me do. I took a step past the point of no return. Even though my family’s not really into barbershop, this video is out there. If any of them see it, they’ll know.”
And now he had taken two giant steps backwards by “dating” Amira.
“You haven’t deleted the video,” she said, handing him his phone. “That’s something.”
“I know,” he said. He raked
his fingers through his hair, mussing up his gravity-defying style. He looked at his sticky, gel-covered hand and chuckled sadly before wiping it on his jeans. “Travis is going to kill me. I can’t even keep my hair the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Sameer, you’re too hard on yourself.”
He shook his head. “I deserve it. This trip was supposed to be my grand coming out. I was going to introduce them all to Travis, even though my mum told me not to. But when I got here, I just couldn’t do it. I’m a coward. And now . . . I’ve wrapped you up in my nonsense, when all you wanted to do was peacefully finish school. I’m sorry.”
Amira winced. “Duncan told you what I said in the car?”
“Yeah. I don’t blame you for getting angry. It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, but he was being nice. He didn’t have to take us to the library. I shouldn’t have screamed at him. I overreacted. I have a bit of a temper, and your baritone brings out the worst of it.”
Sameer laughed. “Duncan’s a good guy, Amira. The best. He’s like the glue that holds us together.”
She frowned. “Am I going to have to apologize to the garden gnome?”
He laughed again, louder. “Does he know you call him that?”
“Yes.”
Still laughing, Sameer fell back on the bed, his head landing near Amira’s knees. “It’s so perfect for him. You two are hilarious to watch. I don’t think anyone ruffles his feathers as much as you do.”
When he finally stopped laughing, Sameer rested his left hand on his heart as he stared at the plaster swirls in the ceiling.
“Sameer?”
He looked at her. “Hmm?”
“I know I don’t know you that well yet, but . . . I’m proud of you. I think you’re braver than you realize.”
He closed his eyes. “I don’t know. I hope I will be one day.”
Chapter Eleven
AMIRA FELT HER project beginning to stall again. After the impromptu therapy session with Sameer, her thoughts had turned to navel-gazing and wondering if she would ever find a relationship as affectionate as Sameer and Travis’s. It didn’t seem likely. The temper that hammered Duncan in the car eliminated the possibility of the kind of sweet partnership she saw on that video clip. Not that Travis and Sameer’s partnership was all that sweet lately but it would be if they didn’t have the ridiculous family intolerance to deal with. They were good guys—great guys. She still smiled when she remembered their expressions at the end of the song. Those two should be angst free, frolicking hand in hand anywhere they wanted to be, not holed up in Nanima’s basement with a heart-load of pain and an ill-tempered pseudo-girlfriend.