by Farah Heron
Instead, she found her mother and grandmother just past the food line, critiquing a plate of biryani in Mum’s hand.
“Amira!” her mother exclaimed. “Did you eat? The biryani has a lot of meat in it, but it’s a little oily.”
“It’s goat,” Nanima added.
Amira looked at Nanima, still annoyed at that little interaction with Shirin a few moments ago. But technically, Nanima hadn’t done anything wrong—Amira had let her believe this budding romance with Sameer was real, so how could she be mad that her grandmother acted on it? Besides, it was Shirin who had been rude to Travis there, not Nanima.
“Yes, I’m going to eat, I’m just looking for . . . oh, there. Zahra.” Zahra and Duncan were in the front of the line. Zahra was, of course, talking, and Duncan was leaning down, listening to her with his complete attention. Amira’s chest tightened. Her little sister tended to talk a lot and hadn’t quite learned the social cues of when an adult was no longer interested in her earnest monologues. Most people would have tuned her out long ago, but Duncan appeared genuinely engrossed. He cared about what Zahra was telling him.
“Why is that man alone with Zahra?” Nanima asked.
“You mean Duncan? She’s explaining the food to him.”
“I don’t know, Amira,” Nanima said. “I don’t think those kinds of people should be around children. We have to look out for our little girl.”
“What do you mean, those kinds?” Mum asked.
“Oh, you know. Men like them . . .”
Amira stared at her grandmother. She got it, and she didn’t like it at all. She hadn’t forgotten that the rumour mill hadn’t been all too accurate when the guys first moved in, and Nanima had thought the entire quartet were all “poofs” as she called them, except for Sameer. Amira didn’t want to cause a scene, but this time, she couldn’t let it go. “Nanima, if you mean that Duncan shouldn’t be around children because you think he’s gay, that’s a horrific thing to say. Gay people aren’t criminals! Zahra is in no danger with Duncan. He’s a teacher, for god’s sake! He is a guest in your home, and I would think you would treat him like a human being. And it shouldn’t make a difference, but Duncan isn’t even gay.”
“Lower your voice, beta. I’m glad he’s not that way. At least we don’t have to worry about people like that here.”
Amira grimaced, frustrated beyond belief. She wasn’t surprised at her grandmother’s comments; after all, Nanima had been making the odd disparaging remark about homosexuals for years, but this seemed a bit extreme, even for her. Not every Muslim was homophobic, but it killed her that these sorts of prejudices existed at all in her community, especially at a time when discrimination against Muslims was so high. They should be coming together in understanding now, not building bigger walls.
Amira came close to saying exactly that to Nanima, but then she bit her lip. She didn’t really think it would do much good at this point, especially here, at a party. She looked at her mother. Why wasn’t Mum saying anything?
Disappointed, she shook her head at her mother. “I don’t even know what to say, but clearly now is not the right time for this. I’ll see you guys later.” She weaved through the crowd towards Duncan and Zahra, who were just leaving the buffet table.
“Amira!” Duncan grinned when she approached. “I made you a plate. Your sister tells me this is goat biryani, cabbage sambharo, and chicken samosas.” He looked down at Zahra. “Did I get that right?”
Her sister giggled. “Your pronunciation could use some work, but not bad.”
He chuckled at Zahra, his hand on her shoulder as they walked back to the table. “This Indian stuff is new to me. I just need practise.” They sat at the table. Duncan immediately whispered to Amira, “And a determined teacher to help me.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
AMIRA’S MOOD HAD taken a deeper dive downwards after that little interaction with her grandmother. She picked at her food, moving the rice and meat through the pools of oil soaking through the thick paper plate. Even the rare and coveted goat biryani couldn’t tempt her now. She understood Nanima was from another generation, but what her grandmother had said about gay people went beyond intolerance: it was hateful. More hateful than she would have expected from such a loving woman.
She wasn’t the only one having a difficult night. Sameer and Travis were barely speaking, both sitting rigidly, avoiding eye contact with anyone. From the look on Travis’s face, it was clear that whatever Sameer had said to him while they were alone at the table wasn’t close to being enough. She’d never seen Travis’s normally animated features so closed off. And Sameer looked minutes away from either bursting into tears or exploding into a fiery rage worthy of Amira’s own temper.
In contrast, Duncan was happy as a lark to spend the meal listening to Zahra explain the difference between classical and modern Indian dance. At least someone was enjoying this bloody party.
Dropping her orange-stained fork, Amira pushed her plate aside. Duncan looked across Zahra and asked, “Not hungry? You didn’t eat your cabbage . . . stuff. It’s delicious.”
“Yeah. Lost my appetite. Take it if you want.”
He eagerly reached for her plate and wolfed down her leftovers.
“You know?” Sameer said, looking at his uneaten meal. “I think we should just go.”
“Wait.” Duncan smiled. “I still need to try that rose milk stuff Zahra told me about.”
Amira smiled. He really was being adorable tonight. “Sharbat. Here”—she stood up—“I’ll take you to get some.”
Standing in line, Duncan leaned close. “You okay, babe?”
She huffed a sigh. “Yeah, just remembering why I don’t normally come to these things.”
He bent a touch closer, voice lowered. “Can I tell you again how gorgeous you look tonight? I can’t stop looking at you in that outfit.”
She flushed, looking around to make sure no one was watching them. “Careful,” she warned. “I’m not your date tonight.”
“I know,” he purred close to her ear. Low, he fingered the soft fabric of her dupatta, the long scarf worn as part of her outfit. “This silk? Maybe you can tie me up with it later.”
Oh god . . . she swallowed, trying her best to keep her composure.
“Amira, I was looking for you. Do you have a second?” Her mother’s voice startled her.
“Hi, Mum.”
Duncan smiled as he took three glasses of sharbat from the woman handing them out, balancing them easily in his large hands. “I’ll just take these to the table. I’m sure your sister wants her milk. Catch up with you later, Amira.” He left, leaving her alone with her mother. They wandered to the side of the room for a bit of privacy.
“Nice guy, that one. Different.”
“Mum, he’s a good guy. He’s great with Zahra.”
“I know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Mum smiled before looking out into the crowd of people. “I’m sorry about what Nanima said earlier.”
Now Mum found her voice, when Nanima wasn’t even there to hear it.
“I’m tired of closed-minded thinking. We’re talking about human rights here,” Amira said.
“I know, sweetie. You’re always so good about fighting for others. Thank you for that.” She looked back at Amira. “My mother is of another generation, and it’s hard to unlearn what she was taught as a child. She doesn’t understand the world has changed.”
“That’s not an excuse. She’s fine being modern when it comes to iPads and KitchenAids, but she won’t accept gay people? It’s not like homosexuality is some new Western phenomenon; there are LGBTQ people all over the world. There have been forever. Even Muslim ones.”
“I know.” Mum nodded. “It doesn’t help that she spends so much time with those women in that cooking committee. They’re like a feedback loop, amplifying misconceptions.” She paused. “Amira, have you forgotten that I used to be good friends with Neelam before she moved away?”
Shit . . . that was Sameer’s mo
m. The only one in his family who knew he was gay.
“She called me after he moved downstairs. He’s very lucky to have found a friend in you.”
Amira lowered her voice. “Mum, don’t say anything.”
“Of course not. But be careful, honey. I understand that you want to help your friend, but you need to ask yourself, Who is this ploy benefitting? Is it helping Sameer, or helping the people who won’t let him be himself?” She frowned, glancing towards Sameer’s table. “He is so young. He has the luxury of a full life ahead of him. It would be wonderful for him to be able to live that life on his own terms.”
“Mum, this is hardly a long-term arrangement.”
“I know, but humour me while I give you some maternal advice.” She looked towards Duncan, sitting with Zahra. “Be careful with that one, too. I’m wondering how long term that arrangement is . . .”
Amira stilled. There was no hiding anything from her mother. It was crazy of her to even try.
“Mum—”
“Just hear me, Amira.” Mum smiled. “I saw the way he looked at you.”
“It’s not serious. We’re just having fun.” That was a lie.
“But is this the right time in your life for just fun? You’ll be back at work soon. And he’ll go back to his family. You have a demanding career, and I want you to think about the future. You need stability. Also, Nanima wouldn’t be happy to have you bring home that one.”
That was rich coming from her mother, since she was also dating someone Nanima wouldn’t approve of. “Because he’s white?”
“No, because he’s not Muslim. And not a professional. He’s a singer, isn’t he? It’s no problem for me, but understand that there would be opposition, and you would have to deal with that conflict.”
“I just told you guys he’s a teacher!” Probably wise to leave out the “substitute” identifier from his job title. Mum was easygoing, but still Indian. The academic and professional competitiveness ran deep in their culture. “And anyway . . . why should I care what Nanima or anyone else would approve of? You said you admired that I don’t let what others think get in my way.”
“No, you’re right. I do admire that about you. I just . . . I don’t know.” Mum smiled sadly. “I want to make sure you’re not caught up in a fantasy. That you know what to expect.” She reached out and hugged her, but Amira stiffened in her mother’s arms.
“I just want you to be happy, sweetie,” her mother said after releasing her. “Life is hard. If you have the opportunity to make it easier for yourself, maybe take it?”
“I’ll see you at home, Mum.”
Amira pressed her fingers to her temples, rubbing as she walked back to the table. Since when was her family made up of small-minded cave people? They were giving her a nasty headache. As she reached the table, she saw Shirin approaching behind Sameer’s seat. Crap. Sameer was leaning close talking to Travis, no doubt trying to ease the hurt in Travis’s posture, and hadn’t noticed the shark circling again.
“Sameer, did you eat?” Shirin asked.
Sameer stood up quickly. “Oh, yes, Maa, we all ate. Everything was delicious. We all loved . . .” His voice trailed off as his eyes closed a moment.
Ugh. This was painful to watch. Sameer couldn’t keep doing this. Pleasing everyone was killing him.
“Amira, I had to see you before you left.” She pulled Amira in and hugged her. They were still standing behind Travis’s chair. “Now, beta, I want you to come see us at home any time. Even after Sameer’s gone. You are one of the family now. You are always welcome with us.” She hugged her again. Amira couldn’t see Travis’s face from her position, but Sameer could. And the look of mingling fear and despair on Sameer’s face as he watched his boyfriend listen to his grandmother told Amira everything she needed to know. Ugh.
“I will, Aunty,” she said. “Anyway, we really have to go. I have to study tonight.”
“I know, your nanima told me you are an engineer! So smart! You know, one of Sameer’s cousins is a chemist. And Sameer’s a pharmacist! This family has been blessed. We will see you again soon.”
Travis stood suddenly. The sound of his chair scraping against the floor made Amira and Shirin jump. He looked right at Sameer. “I’m not waiting for you anymore.” He left the hall.
And Amira’s heart shattered for her friends.
They found Travis standing near Sameer’s car, typing on his phone. He said nothing as they all got in. The ride home was unnervingly silent. Amira had no idea what to say, sure that whatever she tried would be the wrong thing. Sameer and Travis sat in the front, the tension between them thick enough to seep into the back, and probably out the trunk, too. Duncan was also silent, but he held Amira’s hand the whole way home, lightly tickling her palm with his fingers.
She should never have agreed to go to this party. Even if Travis said he was fine meeting Sameer’s family under false pretenses, part of her knew it was wrong from the beginning. Mum was right, she shouldn’t have offered this ridiculous bearding scheme at all. This was real life. Real people were hurt, and Amira felt terrible she was a part of this farce.
It was no surprise when she heard Sameer and Travis start arguing as soon as the door to their room shut behind them. Amira took off her salwar kameez, trying not to listen to their hushed, anguished voices. Duncan sat on her bed, watching her.
“This sounds worse than normal, right?” he asked.
She frowned, pulling on her plaid pyjama pants. “Sounds that way. I don’t blame Travis for being upset. I know I would be.”
“I know I was. You and I have been sleeping together for only two days, and I felt like a green-eyed monster when his grandmother welcomed you into her family. Travis must have felt like a rifle shot through his heart.”
Amira laughed softly, approaching Duncan on the bed. “First of all”—she kissed him firmly—“you have a way with words. And second, you are a green-eyed monster, jealous or not.” She went looking for a T-shirt to sleep in. “I hate that this is my fault. I wish I could do something.”
A door opened and slammed. “I guess Travis is taking off again,” she said, pulling on her shirt.
But they didn’t hear the side door to the house open. Whoever left the bedroom hadn’t left the house. “I’ll go talk to him,” Amira said.
Wandering into the dark family room, she found Travis sitting alone on the couch, head down.
“Hey,” she said, sitting next to him.
Eyes glassy, he looked at her. “You. I hate you right now. You know that?”
“I know.” She put her hand on his knee. “I’m sorry, Travis. Really, really sorry. I should never have suggested this ridiculous plan.”
He blinked a few times and sighed. “I need to be doing something with my hands right now. Can I do your hair?”
She turned in her seat as he started raking his hands through her hair, silently working out the knots and tangles from the evening. It was strangely comforting. His hands were warm and gentle in the quiet room. Starting at a spot right above her left ear, he began braiding. He worked quietly for a while, pulling snuggly as the braid snaked over her crown. It felt so much like when her mother used to braid her hair as a child. Amira was shocked to find herself tearing up. She wished she could go back to those days sometimes.
“Ever fall in love with the wrong man, Amira?”
“No. I . . . I don’t know. Sameer does love you.”
“I know he does. That’s the worst part of it. He’s treating himself worse than he’s treating me.” He paused, still working through her hair. “He’s just not ready for all this. Sameer can tell a patient the easiest way to insert yeast infection medication, but he can’t say ‘I’m gay’ to a brown person.”
She thought about her grandmother’s remarks at the party. “There are people in our culture who would not accept him.”
“Yes, but there are a lot who would, too, if he gave them the chance.” He paused, hands stilling in her hair, before resuming he
r braid. “When I first met Sameer, I kept my distance for so long before giving in to that smile. Never fall for a closeted man, it’s a no-brainer. But god . . . he was so adorable. I couldn’t resist. You should have heard him when he first asked me out . . . he was terrified, it was the cutest thing. I had to put him out of his misery.” He continued braiding. “He’s come a long way. We’ve come a long way together. I was so proud of him when he came out to his mom. He’s a different person in Ottawa now than when we met. A free and unburdened Sameer is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and I really thought he would go through with telling his family here. He could be such an example to them . . . it was supposed to be me his grandmother welcomed into the family.”
“Not everyone is cut out for activism, Travis.”
“I know. I get it, all of it. It’s hard enough to be a Muslim these days, but a gay Muslim? He didn’t choose this. It absolutely sucks he has to fight to just be himself, because fighting isn’t who Sameer is. And I love him for it. But being somebody’s secret, being on the sidelines, isn’t who I am.”
The braid curved around her head like a crown, ending near her left ear. He secured it with an elastic she found in her pocket and tucked in the end.
She turned to look at him once he was done. “What are you going to do?”
“I can’t keep going this way. I . . . I’ve ended it.” His voice cracking, he looked at his empty hands as he spoke.
Amira winced. “For real? Like, forever?”
Travis nodded. “I don’t see how we can get over this.”
“I’m so sorry. I feel terrible.”
He looked at Amira. “You were trying to help. It’s no one’s fault, really. We’re just . . . stuck. Maybe we’re not meant to be together.”
“Are you going back to Ottawa now?”
He shook his head. “No. Not until after the competition. I can’t do that to Barrington and Duncan. We’ll stick it out. Going to be an interesting couple of days . . .” He smiled. “I am glad you’ve hooked up with Duncan, though, and not just because him leaving the couch gives me a place to sleep. I’m glad someone can be happy during all this.”