by Farah Heron
But pipe-dreaming for fairy-tale love was useless in the modern world, so Amira pushed aside those thoughts and focused all her attention on her report. She worked diligently until dinner, then went upstairs to join her family—her whole family, because apparently it was a Sunday night miracle. Mum, Nanima, and Zahra were all sitting at the table when Amira walked into the dining room.
“Wow. We’re all here?” Amira asked, taking her seat.
“Why wouldn’t we all be here?” Nanima asked, spooning some shrimp curry onto Amira’s plate. Mum passed a plate of flaky parathas to Amira. She took one.
“We haven’t all been together since I got back, that’s all. How was work, Mum?”
While enjoying Nanima’s superb shrimp curry, spinach, paratha, and salad, Mum told animated stories about her day, including a hilarious tale about catching a patient, who had failed to tie the back of his hospital gown, stealing another nurse’s lunch from the staff room. Mum seemed in a great mood—nothing at all like yesterday. Nanima laughed at Mum’s stories, and Zahra spoke with enthusiasm about an upcoming dance performance in a Hindu temple.
It all seemed so normal. Lovely, even. Maybe she was wrong about Mum and Nanima’s relationship being strained. They seemed fine—a completely normal mother-daughter dynamic, and being with them was a balm to Amira’s stress right now. She needed this time with the fierce females in her family, to remind her that she could be as fierce as them. Mum, a successful career woman and single mother, steady, intelligent, and driven. And Nanima, always loving, and always going above and beyond when her family needed her. These women were her inspiration. When she thought about what Sameer was going through with his family and his relationship with Travis, how could she feel anything but gratitude for the family she had?
“So, you said you were having issues with your research? I hope Zahra didn’t get in your way,” Mum said.
Zahra rolled her eyes. “I was good. I was doing my own homework.”
Amira laughed. “She was good. Very quiet. I’ll be okay.” She didn’t want to mention the issues with the quartet and the fight with Duncan, lest Nanima bring up her date with Sameer again. “I just wasn’t in the right frame of mind to work earlier.”
Nanima smiled knowingly and even tried to wink at Amira. “Maybe you had another picture in your frame?”
She raised a brow at her grandmother. What did that even mean?
Mum took another paratha from the plate. “If you’re having trouble with your school work, you should call your father. I was speaking to him the other day, and he mentioned he’d be happy to help with your paper. This is his area of expertise, after all.”
“You were talking to Dad?”
“Don’t act surprised, I do still have a minor child with the man. And I’ve known him forever, it feels like. Do you think you’ll have time to visit him this summer? He’s offered to buy you a ticket if you’ll take Zahra down in August. I’m not comfortable with her flying alone these days.”
Amira shook her head slowly. She hadn’t flown out of the country since the incident last year. She wasn’t exactly afraid; she just wasn’t all that keen on the idea of facing the border guards again, especially with the giant black mark no doubt attached to her name in the database. She squeezed her lips together. Okay, maybe she was a little bit afraid.
“It’s fine, Amira,” Mum said gently. “They said it’s no problem to travel again. I don’t want her going alone.”
Either did Amira. She reluctantly agreed. She’d go, but only to be there to watch out for Zahra. Besides, it wasn’t really what happened at the airport but the aftermath that haunted her. And she could avoid the aftermath if she kept her mouth shut. “I’ll call him after my report is in to figure out a date.” She forced a smile. “I’m on track. I don’t think I’ll need Dad’s help.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. Right before dinner, she’d had a bit of an epiphany about her analysis, with a clearer idea on how to get it down on paper. “I’ll tell you one thing—the glass of champagne when it’s done will taste so good. Actually, forget glass. I’ll deserve a bottle.”
Mum grinned, holding up her glass of water. “Hear, hear, Amira. I’m so proud of what you’ve accomplished. I’ll be right there celebrating with you.”
Amira clinked her water glass with Mum’s, and then Zahra’s, since an eleven-year-old wouldn’t let a toast happen without insisting on joining in. She then held her glass out to Nanima, but Nanima didn’t seem thrilled to toast her granddaughter. Her arms were folded in front of her, a sour look on her face.
“You should celebrate by saying shukkar to Allah, not drinking,” Nanima said.
Amira snorted. “Believe me, Nanima, I’ll be thanking God a lot, too.”
“Let the girl celebrate,” Mum said. “I know you don’t approve of drinking, but Amira’s a grown woman. She’s earned the right to live her life the way she wants.”
“Drinking alcohol is against Islam,” Nanima said.
Amira raised a brow at her grandmother. She was long past any guilt for the way she chose to observe her faith. And with everything else going on, she had no time for regrets, anyway. But she had been under the impression that there was an unspoken truce in the household between those who chose to consume alcohol and those who didn’t. It had been years since Nanima had made comments like these.
“Don’t you start on that again,” Mum said to Nanima. “We are all allowed to practise our faith however we feel comfortable, so long as we’re not hurting anyone.” Mum smiled a touch too widely and turned to Zahra. “Did you find the next book in that ballet school series at the library?”
After dinner, Amira headed back down to the thankfully empty basement and got right back to work. She stayed up much too late, and woke early Monday morning. With only a quick break for chai and toast, she worked well past her appointed quiet morning hours, and it paid off. Amazingly, wonderfully, unexpectedly, she finished the first draft of the body of her report at three o’clock Monday afternoon. After giving thanks at least ninety-nine times, she immediately emailed it to Raymond, then she called Reena.
“Ree, we have to celebrate.”
“You’re done your report.”
“Close. Done the body of the first draft. Conclusion, then a few rounds of editing, and this baby is toast. You can call me master.”
“Amazing. So, where should we celebrate?”
“You know what, Reena? I think I want to let loose. Can we celebrate at your place?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind Saira schooling us on the calorie count of bourbon versus Irish whiskey.”
“Better than avoiding Sir Galahad and his merry minstrels.”
“Ah, your hairy nemesis! You see him after you told him off yesterday?”
“No. I’ve been locked in my room, typing. I didn’t even notice when they started singing today. I guess I’m getting used to their sick Motown beats.”
“Awesome. I’m so happy you’re mostly done. A celebration is definitely in order. I have an afternoon meeting, so not sure I can step out to the liquor store, and there’s only kale chips at home to snack on. God, I could go for some fried Indian munchies. You have anything on hand?”
“I could use some fresh air. I’ll take a walk up to the store and get some snacks and bourbon. Should I come around six?”
“Sure. See you then.”
* * *
AT FIVE THIRTY, Amira was packing up a tote bag with booze and fixings for papri chaat when her phone rang.
“I’m sorry, Amira. I can’t do tonight. Saira’s in the hospital,” Reena said.
Amira sat heavily on a chair. “What happened? Is she okay?”
“She passed out at the gym and they called an ambulance. She’s dehydrated. They’re giving her an IV.”
Amira winced. “Oh my god. I’m sorry. Should I come to the hospital?”
“No, she’ll be fine. She’s just shaken up.” Reena’s voice was monotone. Almost robotic, which is how she alway
s sounded after her sister lost it on her. “The ER doctor hinted she might be underweight, but she assured him she was just going through some stuff right now. When the doctor left, she laid into me.”
Amira lowered her forehead into her hand. She wished she could do something to help her friend, but she felt stuck. “You want me to come to the hospital anyway? For you?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m sure we’ll be here for hours. Rain check? We can celebrate tomorrow?”
“Reena, are you positive? You don’t really want to be alone with her for hours, do you?”
Reena was quiet for a few seconds before she murmured, “No, I don’t.”
“I’m on my way, Ree.”
Amira stashed her tote bag in the fridge and ran upstairs to ask Nanima if she could borrow her car, since she knew Mum was at work. Thankfully, her grandmother was home with Zahra. She found her in the kitchen making dinner while Zahra sat at the dining table doing homework. Nanima agreed readily and said she would pray for Saira.
When she got to the hospital, the emergency room nurse recited all manner of rules and regulations about the number of guests emergency patients were allowed at a time. Thankfully, this was Mum’s hospital. Amira texted her, and Mum immediately appeared in the ER and took her to find Reena and Saira.
The room they found them in was one of those clinical ward rooms—the kind that somehow looked stark and crowded at the same time. Reena was in an old chair, shoulders slumped and eyes focused away from her sister. Saira was sitting up in bed, her phone in her hand. A bottle of one of those meal-replacement shakes was on the table next to her. Amira would bet that Saira hadn’t let a single drop touch her lips.
Reena smiled sadly when she noticed them. Saira gave a glassy stare before painting on a fake smile. “Amira and Farida Aunty! What a surprise!” Amira stepped forward to hug Reena as Mum went to Saira.
Amira finally took a good look at her best friend’s sister. She had changed in the months since she had last seen her. Hair longer. Less makeup. Stronger cheekbones. Visible shoulder bones under her workout tank top.
Reena clearly hadn’t been exaggerating when she said Saira had lost a significant amount of weight.
“Hi, Saira. Reena and I had plans tonight, but she said you weren’t feeling well. I thought I’d come by and say hello,” Amira said.
“Yes, well, family comes before friends. I heard you were back in town, Amira. I understand you’re still living in your grandmother’s basement?”
“What did the doctor say?” Mum asked, inching the milkshake closer to Saira’s hand.
“This hospital is the worst. The doctor barely spoke to me and shoved that crap at me,” she said, pointing at the shake. “I’m not drinking it. Hey, Amira, maybe you can run out to Active Juice and grab me one of their goddess smoothies? Reena wouldn’t go. She said she didn’t want to leave her parking spot and pay again. She could have walked, though.”
“Saira,” Reena said gently, “the doctor wanted you to drink that shake. You can’t send me to get another one.”
“Are your parents here?” Mum asked Reena.
“They’re on their way,” Reena answered.
“We will be out of here soon,” Saira said. “I don’t know why Reena called our parents. It’s no big deal. The stupid gym didn’t have the air conditioning on. It’s a gym, for god’s sake, people are going to get hot and sweaty . . .”
Amira and her mother sat with Saira for about ten more minutes, listening to Saira blame her hospital admission on everything from the treadmill she was on, to the quality of the smoothies at the gym snack bar, to the fabric of her workout pants. She even managed to find a way to blame her older brother, who lived in Ottawa. Reena sat quietly, listening to her sister rant, with shoulders curved inwards and her normally happy mouth in a straight line.
“Oh, Farida. Amira. You are here,” a voice from the doorway said. Amira turned to see Reena’s mother. Reena’s father stood expressionless behind her.
Mum stood, frowning. “I work here. Amira is here to support Reena and Saira. Did you see the doctor?”
Reena’s mother came into the room, barely looking at Amira or her mother. “Saira just has the flu; it is not necessary for it to be broadcast to the whole community.”
“Mum,” Reena said, “Amira and her mother are not going to tell anyone that Saira’s not well.”
“I’m absolutely fine,” Saira snapped. “Just hot. They didn’t have the right kind of protein bars at the gym snack bar. I’m going to complain to the manager. And Reena didn’t buy the bars I like. I mean, they are not that expensive—”
Amira’s mother furrowed her brow. “You didn’t eat anything before you went to the gym? Saira, you need fuel before working out. When I spoke to you last Eid, I told you—”
“That isn’t your business,” Reena’s mother said, nose turned up haughtily.
Amira’s mum shared a glance with Reena and Amira. “I want to help Saira. I told you about that doctor—”
“We don’t need help. We don’t need outsiders talking about us. Especially you. And Saira does not need a therapist—maybe you should look at your own broken family before you throw stones at ours.” It was rather impressive how Reena’s mother could make a statement like that with her daughter lying in a hospital bed, clearly in crisis. Amira had honestly never liked the woman.
Amira’s mum smiled, but obviously didn’t mean it. “It was kindly meant. I will see you at home, Amira.” She turned on her heel and walked out.
Reena turned to Amira and mouthed, “Sorry.” The apology wasn’t necessary, but appreciated. Amira had heard that kind of crap about her family before, but not for a long time.
When her parents had divorced, there had been gossip about them. A lot of it. Amira never really figured out what was going on since she was a self-absorbed twenty-something at the time, but she could see that her mother, who had never seemed to fit in all that well, became even more of a pariah to certain people. Not everyone—her mum did have true friends within the Ismaili community, but to some, Mum was an outcast, and Amira didn’t really understand why.
“You’d better go, too,” Reena whispered beside her.
She leaned in and hugged her friend. “Okay,” she said softly, “call me if you need anything.”
Amira knew Reena had tried to talk to her parents about Saira’s deteriorating coping skills and weird eating habits before, but they had been furious at the suggestion that anything was wrong. Now that Saira was in the hospital, she hoped they would be open to the possibility of getting Saira real help, but Amira didn’t hold her breath. Their stigma against mental health issues was too strong.
She wished she could bring Reena home with her now, as she knew her best friend had a long and emotionally painful night in store with her family. But there was nothing that Amira could do. She felt utterly helpless.
She drove home thinking of Reena and her parents, and also of her own mother. It felt like such a contrast: the amazing woman who toasted Amira’s accomplishments and stood up to her own mother yesterday was essentially told she was without worth today. Not that Amira cared much about what Reena’s mother thought, but it suddenly struck her that Mum had put up with that sort of shit for years from people like Reena’s mother, and still she wanted to help Saira. Amira wouldn’t have done that. Did that make Mum a pushover? How could she put up with it? Forget how—why?
Chapter Twelve
ONCE HOME, AMIRA came in the side door of the house and sat at the top of the stairs to think.
“Princess has been relegated to the top of the tower, waiting for her prince?” asked a voice from the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m not in the mood, Duncan.” She stood and slowly took her heavy limbs down the stairs and went straight to the living room to sink into the sofa.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, eyeing her curiously.
“Reena and I were supposed to be celebrating tonight, but I just came back from the hospital.
Her sister, Saira, is in emerg.”
He sat on the armchair opposite her, concern in his face. “What happened?”
“She passed out at the gym. I doubt she’s had a full meal in weeks.”
“Shoot. That’s tough.”
“I know. And it doesn’t help that Reena’s parents are bonkers . . . they claim only white people get mental illness, and Saira’s just upset because she caught her fiancé in bed with his cousin or something.”
“Clearly there’s a lot more to this story. Sounds like a country song.”
Amira chuckled sadly. “Saira needs help. My mum tried to talk to Reena’s parents; she’s a nurse, but they won’t listen to her. They think Mum can’t possibly know anything because she’s just an uncouth Indian.”
Duncan’s nose wrinkled. “But aren’t they Indian, too?”
Amira nodded. “Yup. Although they are further diaspora. They’re Indian from Tanzania, while Mum’s from India. Reena’s parents seem to think being further removed from India makes them classier, or something.”
“Really? That’s crazy! Is that a common belief?”
“Oh, hell no. My dad is East African—from Kenya, actually, and he didn’t have an issue marrying an Indian. Reena’s parents are just a special brand of self-hating minority. We’re too Indian for them. And too liberal, probably.” Amira shook her head, curling her legs under her. “To be honest, they just don’t like Mum, so they probably use the India thing as low-hanging fruit. My family, Mum especially, is a bit of an oddity in our community. She didn’t really hang out with other mothers. I guess because she was younger than them—she was only nineteen when she got married and had me. And now Mum’s divorced. And she’s not very traditional. She’s just as likely to have Fleetwood Mac playing in her car as Lata Mangeshkar.”