by Farah Heron
He walked in without waiting for a response and grinned at Raymond.
“There you are, Ray. I’ve been looking for you. I’m meeting with the CEO of Alumicore Industries. We’ll need to wine and dine to get the acoustics contract with them. I’d like you to join us, see how these things are done.” He turned to Amira. “Oh, I’m sorry, miss. Aren’t you the consultant on leave? What was it . . . Amelia?”
Raymond smiled. “I was just telling her about the new division and roles. Amira was with Hyde for four years and is returning after she’s done her degree. She’s been out of the loop for a while, but she might be ready to move up in the company. I’ve been mentoring her—it’s important to guide those walking in the path behind us.”
What?! Walking in the path behind him? Amira smiled tightly but considered using her bag to whack Raymond Chu in the face.
Jim Prescott frowned. “You were here that long? I’m impressed. Hyde is a very fast-paced, challenging workplace. It’s quite an accomplishment to last as a consultant. The new division will be technically complex, not all smiling and chatting.” He slapped Raymond on his back. “Lucky girl to have someone like Ray looking out for you, though. He really impressed me with his knowledge in the field of noise control. You should think about applying for the junior role there when the job postings go up next week.”
That’s it. Amira had had just about enough of this. She stood, swinging her bag over her shoulder.
“My name is Amira, not Amelia or Almira. And you’re right, Mr. Prescott, it is an accomplishment that a pretty little thing like me lasted this long at the big-boy table at Hyde. I am quite proud of myself. So maybe it’s best I leave on a high note. This company is not what it used to be. I took the job here to consult on engineering projects, not wine and dine, or drink scotch at steak houses. I am obviously not a good fit for this place anymore.”
She put her hand on the door handle and looked at Raymond. Working for the likes of Jim Prescott had changed her friend. Amira wondered if she would have changed, too, if she’d been here for the last two years. And would it change her now if she came back? “Consider this notice of my resignation. I will not be returning after my leave of absence.” She smiled directly at Raymond before leaving the room. “And give my best to Alice, Raymond. I will be sure to send a robot for Andrew on his birthday next month. Goodbye.”
She walked out the door and straight out the building without a glance backwards.
* * *
AMIRA SHOULD HAVE been upset on the long streetcar and subway ride home. She should have felt unsure about her future, maybe even felt some nausea or crippling regret about what she had done. And she should definitely have felt anger. After all, she had quit her job on the spot. And although she had tried not to burn any bridges on the way out, she wasn’t so sure she was successful at that. She couldn’t count on Jim Prescott, or Raymond for that matter, for any help finding a new job. She had no other prospects, no other income coming in, and now had to work from the bottom up all over again.
She should have been devastated.
But Amira had never felt better. True, it was a rash, on-the-spot decision. True, she’d once again given in to her emotions and done something irreversible on impulse. But Amira knew . . . knew with every molecule in every cell of her being that she’d done the right thing. There was no place at Hyde Industries for her anymore. Raymond wasn’t her hero, her mentor, her friend, or the man who was going to guide her career to success anymore.
No one was going to guide her career . . . but her.
Amira was done with letting people get away with this. Raymond was weak, and if he wanted a pretty little thing in the office to fawn over him and make him look good in the old boys’ club? Well, he picked the wrong engineer for that.
Just like Duncan’s family. They weren’t going to get a quiet Muslim to be nice face to face with, all while bitching about immigrants behind her back, convinced that Sharia law was going to enslave them all. Amira had a reputation for being strong-willed? Angry? A witch?
Well, it was time for the witch to polish up her broom, because she was going to fly away from all this nonsense. She couldn’t fight the injustices, but she could walk away for her own sanity.
Getting home, she found the house empty, save for Nanima in the kitchen. The air was heady with the scent of spices and hot oil. It smelled like Nanima was making her famous veggie pakoras. Amira wandered in and snatched a crispy morsel from the paper-towel-lined tray.
Nanima grinned, watching Amira devour the pakora. “Amira, beta. You look happy. What put that smile on your face?”
Amira looked at her grandmother and stilled, her smile dissolving. This was the first time she had seen Nanima since she’d said that awful stuff about Sameer, Travis, and, really, Mum. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that Nanima could call her own daughter wrong and perverted.
She swallowed the now-bitter-tasting pakora. She’d always been close to her grandmother, but now that she knew the history between her mother and grandmother, she realized that this was a bit of a miracle. Her mother had selflessly maintained a relationship with her parents after getting married despite the emotional abuse she’d put up with as a teenager, just so Amira could have grandparents.
Clearly Mum was a better person than any of them. Amira would never have forgiven Nanima had she been in her mum’s place back then. And looking at her grandmother at this moment, the woman who’d been the steady, loving, nurturing fixture in Amira’s life since birth, she wasn’t sure she could forgive her now.
“Where’s Mum?” Amira asked. She was on early shift all week, so she should have been home by now.
“She went out with a friend after work. A museum,” Nanima said, dipping some red peppers in the pakora batter before dropping them into the hot oil.
Good. Hopefully Mum was getting support from Laura, or someone else she could talk to. Mum had to be hurting hard. Amira should have called her to check in today, but she’d been too wrapped up in her work.
“Did you apologize to her?” Amira asked.
“Why?”
“For what you said after the barbershop competition.”
“I didn’t say anything bad.”
“You said homosexuality was wrong.”
Nanima turned away from the hot oil, annoyance brewing in her gaze. “I wasn’t talking about her, I was talking about Sameer. And it is wrong. Islam says—”
“You were talking about her, and we both know it. Mum told me what happened when she was young.”
Nanima’s expression darkened as she turned off the stove and wiped her hands. “She shouldn’t have told you about the past. She was young, she’s put that behind her.”
Amira’s jaw tightened. There was no way she was going to tell Nanima that Mum hadn’t exactly put that life behind her—that was Mum’s discussion to have with her mother. But she also wasn’t going to end this without speaking her mind either.
“She may have been young then, but she is the same person she has always been. And whoever she decides to love, I will never hold it against her. There is enough hate in the world, Nanima. I can’t believe you chose to reject your daughter because of who she loved.”
“I didn’t reject her. She lives with me, doesn’t she? You grew up here in the West, you can’t understand—”
“No, Nanima. You don’t understand. You, and Shirin, and everyone like you is choosing to dismiss a huge part of who Sameer and Mum are. Sameer and Mum! Two of the best people I know! Whether they live here, in India, or in Timbuktu, for all I care, it wouldn’t change who they are. Only difference is, here their love has been legal a long time. They aren’t hurting a soul! And your bigotry is hurting people like them so much!” Amira closed her eyes, feeling tears well. “You are hurting someone who loves you.”
Nanima took a step forward, putting a hand on Amira’s arm. “Amira, please. You are getting too worked up . . . calm down.”
Amira shook her arm f
ree. “No. Nanima, I’m not going to budge on this. Remember what you told me after I was kicked out of the airport last year? You said we will always be discriminated against for what we are: Indian Muslims. You told me that all we can do is live well, live ethically, and respect others. Maybe it’s time you took your own advice, and maybe—”
“Amira, enough. This has nothing to do with you.”
“You’re wrong, Nanima. It has everything to do with me. I make it my business. She is my mother. And your daughter. And neither of us deserves her, but I’m going to love her unconditionally. That’s what family is supposed to do.” Amira picked up her purse from where she’d left it on the kitchen floor and walked away from her grandmother’s bewildered expression.
She went straight down to the basement family room, dropped her bag, and sat on the sofa. The house was silent. After how crowded it had been, Amira had grown used to having someone around to talk to when shit hit the fan, and Amira couldn’t believe the sheer volume of crap flying around her life right now.
She didn’t have a job anymore.
She could no longer respect her grandmother.
Her sister had been called a terrorist.
She had finally found a man she thought understood her, who she could see a future with, but that relationship self-destructed before it even got off the ground.
It had been a monumentally, extraordinarily craptastic couple of weeks.
She leaned back on the sofa, thinking about how optimistic she had been on the train ride home, at least until the train broke down.
But . . .
Life was a steaming turd-ball, yes. But maybe there was a lot to be happy about, too?
She had stood up to Raymond and Jim Prescott and wasn’t going to let them walk all over her anymore.
She had defended her sister and told Ryan Galahad how big of a dick he really was.
She had stood up to her grandmother and told her she should love Mum unconditionally.
She had helped Sameer see that accepting his family’s prejudices was killing him.
She had found out about her mother’s past, and possible future, and felt closer to her for it.
She had finished her project report, and if all went well when it was evaluated, she would soon have her master’s degree.
And even if things had gone belly up with Duncan, she was happy to have met him and couldn’t regret a thing, at least not when the sex was that good.
Amira smiled to herself. It was going to take a lot of work to put the pieces of her life back together, but she was up for it. Hadn’t she always craved control? Well, now she had lots of control over her future.
Chapter Thirty-Four
THREE WEEKS LATER.
There were few people in the world Amira would brave a Toronto cocktail bar on a Friday night for, but when she got an unexpected text that her favourite recently engaged couple would be at one, she happily took the subway downtown after Friday night dinner with her family. Arriving at the dim, painfully trendy place a little after eight, she weaved through the crowd and found Sameer and Travis cozied up on one side of a booth near the back. She hadn’t seen them since the day after the barbershop quartet competition, and she missed them more than she would have thought.
“Amira! There you are! Come sit!” Travis beamed, getting up to hug her before sitting back down beside Sameer with a grin. They both had complicated-looking drinks in front of them. She assumed each had way too many ingredients and was described with words like infused with or derived from. She ordered a microbrew instead, happy the beer list was as impressive as the cocktail list.
“What are you guys doing in Toronto?” Amira asked after ordering.
Sameer smiled. “Long story. Short version is, remember Fourth Fret?”
“Yeah, the group who won the competition.”
“Yup. They had a gig booked at the busker festival downtown on Sunday, but two of them got bronchitis. They asked us to help fill in.”
“Oh wow! I’ll bring Zahra to see you, she’d love it. But you came all the way from Ottawa for just this one gig?”
“I needed to make a trip here anyway,” Sameer said. “It’s time I talked to my grandmother.”
“Shit. Really?”
Travis smiled. “Most of his family have been really supportive.”
“I had some long-distance heart-to-heart chats,” Sameer added, “and, yeah, they’ve been good. We’re staying at my Tazim aunty’s place this weekend.”
“But you haven’t spoken to your grandmother?”
“No, not since the barbershop competition,” Sameer said. “The family has tried, but she’s a stubborn old bird. She’s blaming my mother, the fact that I didn’t have a father, and all sorts of crap. My mum begged her to see me; we’re going over there tomorrow.” He took Travis’s hand.
Amira blew out a puff of air. In contrast, things had been quiet on the homophobe front at her home for the last few weeks. Nanima hadn’t mentioned the argument with Mum and Amira, no doubt learning that fighting that fight would go nowhere. And Mum still hadn’t told anyone else about Laura. Everyone was carrying on like normal.
It wouldn’t last. Mum would tell Nanima soon. To prepare for that, Amira had taken over a lot of the child-care duties that Nanima normally did—easy since she had no job. And Mum had requested a more stable work schedule, so she wouldn’t have to rely on others as much. Amira had actually spent a lot of time with Zahra and Mum lately, and she felt closer to her mother than she’d ever been. Mum had even introduced her to Laura.
But she’d seen little of her grandmother. She wasn’t sure who was avoiding whom, but Amira was sad about the change. She still held out hope that Nanima would take it well when Mum told her about Laura, but Amira was also mourning the loss of a relationship that had meant so much to her for so long.
Her family was teetering on the edge of a sharp chasm and things were about to change drastically. No one knew which way the wind would blow, but Mum and Amira were preparing their parachutes in case they had to jump.
As if Sameer could see what Amira was thinking about, he nodded to her. “How are things holding up in your house?”
“Same.” She smiled.
“You know,” Sameer continued, “my mum has rekindled her friendship with your mother. They had a long talk on the phone the other day.”
Amira tilted her head. How much did Sameer know about her recent family drama?
“She told me some things . . . some gossip about when they were young. Apparently, your mother was a good friend to my mum when she got pregnant . . . unwed. And my mother helped yours through some drama when they were teenagers.”
Maybe Sameer did know about her mother’s past, and maybe even her present. It didn’t matter. Of all people, he would be discreet. “Crazy. I didn’t realize they were that close. Funny to think of our families having full, interesting lives before we came along.”
Sameer laughed. “I know. I can’t even imagine my mum in the eighties. Anyway, she told me to tell you that you, your mother, and your sister have an open invitation to visit her in Ottawa anytime. She even dug up a picture of you and me together when I was a baby.” He pulled out his phone and fiddled with it a bit. Amira’s text tone rang and she saw that Sameer had texted her the photo.
It was a shot of Amira at about five years old, holding a bundled baby in her arms. This was obviously the picture Nanima had told her about, but what surprised Amira was that seeing it now brought a torrential wave of memories to the surface. She remembered the moment in vivid detail. Her mother had taken her to a friend’s house to see a new baby who had been born, and they had let Amira hold him. It was the first time Amira had ever held a baby, and it was love at first sight. His skinny little legs and tiny fingers and frowning mouth. She remembered being overcome with feelings of protectiveness for the baby.
Her mother had made some comments about Amira one day having a brother or sister of her own, but Amira hadn’t wanted that. She told
her mother she wanted to love and take care of this baby, not any other. She was clearly an overly dramatic child.
Amira also remembered something else. There was secrecy around the visit. They weren’t living with Nanima then, but Mum told her not to tell Nanima they were going to see the baby. And there were hushed voices behind Amira as she snuggled baby Sameer, staring at his scrunched-up face and humming gently to soothe him. Maybe she had sensed the drama surrounding Sameer’s birth and wanted to shelter him from it. She knew that, not long after, Sameer’s mother left Toronto with her son, starting a new life away from the judgments of her family and community.
Amira looked up at adult Sameer, eyes stinging as she put her phone down. “I remember this. I was so in love with you then. I begged my mother to let me keep you.”
Travis beamed as he kissed the side of Sameer’s head. “He is rather lovable. But I’m keeping him. Sorry.”
Amira smiled as she sipped her beer. “Do you think your grandmother will ever come around?”
Sameer shrugged. “Maybe she will. I don’t know, but I have to try. I hate that there’s this great rift in the family because of me. I can’t start a married life with Travis without trying to smooth it out.”
“Family is important,” Travis added. “We have to show them love is better than hiding.”
“Yes,” Sameer said with a grin. “And even if my grandmother doesn’t accept this relationship, I’m not going to let that stand in my way anymore. They’ll only learn to accept our love if we show them love. Right, Amira?”
Amira wasn’t too dense to get what the guys were implying. They were talking about Duncan, of course, and the implosion of their relationship because of his family. She couldn’t expect to have drinks with these two without someone bringing the garden gnome to the front of her mind. To tell the annoying truth, she hadn’t been able to do much lately without their maddening baritone occupying most of the space in her brain. He was aggravating her more out of sight than he ever had when he’d been around. And that said a lot, because for a time, no one aggravated her as much as Duncan Galahad.