Courting Samira

by Amal Awad

This time she nodded. “Friends?”

  “Of course. But you know, Menem deserved better when you met him. I would never have behaved that way towards someone you liked.”

  “I know you wouldn’t. But it comes from a good place. Honestly.”

  We were quiet for a moment. Lara looked truly repentant, almost a little shell-shocked that it had come to this. I understood how she felt.

  “About Menem,” I began.

  “Maybe he is a good guy,” interrupted Lara. “Fine. But you’re so special, so you deserve special.”

  “You think that way because you’re my cousin. And my best friend.” Duty-bound, etc.

  “No,” she said, emphatically. “I’m crazy, I have no balance. I don’t even think I can ever get married because I’d drive him batty. And that’s all right. You’re different though.”

  I shook my head. Lara grabbed my hands. “It’s not an accident that you’re single. You deserve the best.”

  I sighed. “Lara-.”

  “Look,” she said. “You’ve got two great guys wanting to be with you.”

  At least she said two. If she had said one, there was no way she’d be referring to Menem and we’d have to restart this entire conversation.

  “I know I behaved badly. And I probably was unfair in judging Menem. I admit it.” I could tell it hurt her to do it. Lara admit to being wrong? Look out your window, you might catch the flying pig show.

  She leaned over and hugged me tight.

  “You’re being too generous,” I told her.

  “No. I’m not,” she said, hugging me tighter.

  When she finally pulled away, I said, “Okay, but will you give Menem a chance?”

  “I don’t need to give him a chance. You’d be the one living with him.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Lara paused. “Yes. Even though I stand by what I said, it’s just my opinion. I think Hakeem cares for you in ways he doesn’t even realise.”

  “Stop watching movies! I thought I was bad!”

  “He shows it with all the little things he does for you. Whenever you need something, does he even hesitate? What about the time we got stranded and he came and changed the tyre at a moment’s notice?” she said, hopefully.

  “Yes, he’s very kind. But did you not see how disapproving he was?”

  “He’s not the easiest guy to deal with,” conceded Lara.

  And then, involuntarily, I remembered an incident a year or so ago at Abu Ibrahim’s house, following some renovations. Something heavy fell off a box, or maybe it was a heavy box that fell. Whatever it was knocked me out. According to those present at the scene, I’d been unconscious for all of half a minute.

  Mind you, passing out wasn’t terribly exciting. Oh, I know it looks exciting in the movies. Suddenly everything goes black and then the heroine wakes up looking delirious and the man she loves suddenly realises he’d positively hate it if she up and died on him. So there he is, crouching over her, when he says in husky tones, something like, “Darling, you scared us! Don’t ever do that again!” (As though she might try and slot in another bout of unconsciousness before tea.) Following this, the man would scoop up the now-conscious heroine into his arms and the music would swell.

  All lies. Misleading and completely unrealistic. First of all, I woke up quickly, but I was nursing a nice little bump and my head was throbbing. Further, I’d woken up to Lara crouched over me all wide-eyed while everyone else milled above. No dashing hero to scoop me up into his arms. Then Lara yelped, “Who’s the President of Australia?” to test that I wasn’t concussed. And when I corrected her and said, “You mean the Prime Minister” she started crying and begged someone to take me to the hospital.

  But that same day, while everyone was working, and while Lara was pretending to work, Hakeem would occasionally look my way, all tense and big-brother-like. And after he’d gone to get lunch for everyone, he dropped a plastic bag beside me, saying gently, “Some medicine”.

  And of course it wasn’t just medicine. He’d bought me Snickers bars and Diet Coke.

  I didn’t know what to say, but I suddenly felt deflated. Lara wasn’t the only one to romanticise things. We all did it in some way or another. Was it meant to be this hard? Could someone please sue Hollywood? And book publishers? And anyone else who’s ever messed with women’s heads?

  “Lara, I need to think about my future. It’s fun to hypothesise that Hakeem and I have this amazing connection. Maybe we do. But that doesn’t mean we should get married.”

  “Would you consider him, though? If he asked?”

  “No, I don’t know. I really like Menem, okay? Now can we please change the subject?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that if I’m going to lose you to someone, I’d much rather it’s Hakeem. At least I know him and what his issues are. And Lord knows Hakeem needs someone who’ll make him lighten up a bit,” she sighed.

  “He’s not that bad,” I said.

  “Whatever. Anyway, I love you and that’s all that matters.” She reached over and hugged me again. “Now let’s get something to eat and prank your cousin Jamal,” she said, mid-embrace.

  “Lara, be careful with him,” I warned, pulling away from her.

  “What on earth do you think I’m going to do?” she asked, startled.

  “Oh, I dunno. Make him fall for you then reject him when he wants to marry you?”

  “Oh my God, that only happened like twice!”

  28

  Zahra was staring into space. I stood biting my thumbnail, trying to figure out how to deal with what was rapidly turning into a saga of Bollywood proportions. Lara waved her hand up and down in front of Zahra’s eyes, but she didn’t even flinch.

  We were standing in the dressing room of Livvy’s Bridal, Zahra in her spectacular wedding dress, Lara and me in ankle-length lavender chiffon dresses. They were, incidentally, very pretty and flattering, with a sparkly dark purple belt and ruffles along the hem.

  Zahra was quiet the way over, but it was only after she’d put on the dress that she went comatose.

  “Bloody hell,” said Lara. “She’s lost it.”

  “That isn’t helping, Lara.”

  “He’s going to see,” said Zahra suddenly, still staring straight ahead, sounding a little like one of those “world is coming to an end” guys. “One day he’s going to find out what I really am and he’s going to look at me the way you do.”

  Lara and I looked at each other. She made a cuckoo sign with her hand and shook her head. I gave her a reprimanding look and crouched down next to Zahra.

  “Zahra, honey, what are you saying?”

  She looked at me and shook her head slightly, tuning back into reality. “I’m a bad person,” she said.

  Lara gasped, but I stopped her from saying anything with a wave.

  “I know it,” Zahra continued. “You think I don’t know how much you hate me?”

  “You started it!” Lara said.

  “Wait, just calm down,” I said, still crouched in front of Zahra. I looked over at Lara beseechingly. She rolled her eyes and started pacing, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. It was a small room, with three floor-length mirrors on one side. I was feeling a tad claustrophobic and we needed air conditioning.

  “What she’s trying to say, Zahra, is that we don’t hate you, but there’s more to the equation. So, if you think we hate you, doesn’t it make you wonder why?”

  “Yes. I know why. I know I am a bad person!” she said, pitifully. “And Malek is going to see it, and that will push him away and he’ll hate me.” She started to cry.

  Lara stopped pacing and shook her head in disbelief. “You’re a bad person because you choose to be. You’re jealous and manipulative and-.”

  “Lara!”

  Zahra seemed unperturbed.

  “No, Samira. Let her know what she is. I mean, she’s treated you like crap since forever. What, she says this and now we’re supposed to forget everything?”
/>   Lara stood leaning forward, her arms crossed. She was genuinely upset, while suddenly Zahra looked like she’d taken a few too many drowsy antihistamines.

  “Now is not the time for this, Lara.” I was yet to understand why Arabs were always so dramatic. I couldn’t imagine this happening to Cate. Although, there was that drunken outburst from Jennifer’s uncle Christopher at her wedding. I didn’t want to imagine what family events would be like if we were drinkers.

  Nothing had changed from the time we were little kids. I suddenly remembered Jennifer’s seventh birthday. Lara lived on the same street as me back then. We were both going, and Zahra was also coming because she’d been over when Jennifer stopped by with the invitations. Jennifer felt compelled to include her. She had a good heart and didn’t want to ruffle any feathers, especially those of a bird that was much larger and more threatening than her.

  Anyway, on the day, I was wearing a beautiful party dress, off-white with frills and pearls, which my mother had picked out for me. I hadn’t worn it yet – it was brand-spanking new. When Zahra saw me, she looked me up and down with a smirk on her face.

  “Why are you wearing that?” she said with her arms crossed, one shiny shoe stuck out further than the other. She was wearing a much plainer red and black dress.

  No time for false modesty – mine was much, much prettier. Lara was wearing jeans and a frilly top. She never wore dresses, much to the distress of her mother.

  “Because it’s nice!” I’d replied to Zahra, not terribly sharp in my infancy.

  Zahra kept smirking, but just as we were leaving she stuck her foot out and tripped me over. No great injuries befell me, but I scraped my leg. I started crying, not because of that, but because I thought my dress was ripped. It was so pretty and lovely and my mother had bought it just for me. Mum assured me it was all right, but it was Omar who calmed me down while Lara wrestled Zahra to the ground.

  He came up to me and said, “Don’t worry, Samira. She’s just jealous of you because you look so pretty.”

  Even though he drove me to distraction, and we weren’t terribly close, he had always been a good brother really. Even now, I knew he’d come to my aid if I ever needed it. I wasn’t planning any physical showdowns with Zahra anytime soon, but you can be sure he’d be there in a jiffy were it to happen, with a serious expression and something profound to say. Quite possibly a gavel, too.

  So, yes, all of this came roaring back to me as Zahra sobbed, a little more than a week before her wedding.

  Lara walked towards us and crouched down. “Why are you defending her?”

  “I’m not. But this isn’t the time,” I reprimanded. “Zahra’s not herself, and we’re her bridesmaids. What kind of wedding is this going to be if we keep going like this?”

  “By the looks of it, there may not be a wedding,” said Lara, her eyebrows raised.

  “You, I don’t like you anyway,” said Zahra, looking at Lara.

  “Why you little,” said Lara. She seriously looked like she was about to lunge for Zahra.

  “Stop it!” I grabbed Lara’s arm and lifted her as she tried to kick at Zahra who hobbled up, her big white dress swishing against the floor.

  “Let me go!”

  “You’re just as bad as me,” said Zahra, still not completely herself again. “You’re so distrusting and rude. Maybe it’s because you’re Libyan.”

  “Half-Libyan!” Lara yelled. She finally escaped my grasp and stormed towards Zahra who stepped back.

  “You guys should be ashamed of yourselves! Both of you calm down!”

  “Stay out of this, Samira. It doesn’t involve you,” said Lara, a little less intensely.

  “Yes, it does. I-.”

  Zahra started to cry again. Oh gawd.

  “Now look what you’ve done, Lara.” I went over to stand between them. Zahra was crying into her hands, her eye make-up cascading down her cheeks like tiny waterfalls.

  “Pardon me, ladies, but is everything all right?” chimed in a sales assistant.

  “Yes, everything’s fine, thank you,” I said.

  “Well could you kindly lower your voices?” She made a motion with her hands.

  “Of course, we’re very sorry,” I replied politely.

  The sales assistant left. Lara was a little calmer by now.

  “Will you just stop crying?” she said, exasperated.

  “Zahra,” I said, crouching down beside her because she’d plopped down on the floor again. “We’re not going to pretend we’re best friends. We know you don’t like us, for whatever reason, and in return, we haven’t liked you back. If we can heal all of that, great. But right now, I’d just like to see another day, because God knows my mother will kill me if I let your wedding get ruined.”

  This was our final dress fitting, having been through three of them relatively drama-free. Since tonight Zahra was having a party, now wasn’t the time to tarnish the impressive track record.

  Lara had gone back to pacing, looking around bored. “This is so not your fault,” she muttered.

  “I know. But Zahra isn’t exactly in the right frame of mind. So please, Lara, help me out here.”

  Lara stopped and looked at me thoughtfully. She seemed slightly appeased. “Fine,” she said. “But only for you, not for snot face here.”

  Zahra was still weeping. I sighed and put my arms around her. I rubbed her back. “Sit down, Zahra. We’re going to listen. Just tell us what’s wrong.”

  Lara sat down, her face in full pout mode. I helped Zahra spread her dress out so that she could sit properly. She hiccoughed and looked up at us.

  “I’m, I’m, a bad person,” she said, still crying.

  “Zahra, Malek loves you,” I assured her. “And he is marrying you because he saw the good in you, not the bad. Besides, we all have horrible sides.”

  Lara snorted. I gave her a stern look, a la Mum, indicating towards the pitiful Zahra with a slight head-tilt. Lara guiltily nodded.

  Zahra was still crying, but she wasn’t hiccoughing up anymore. She looked at me like a wounded puppy dog. “He told me that I’m selfish.”

  I looked at Lara and shook my head. She was doing her utmost not to say anything. I could tell it was a true effort though, her face cringing with the pain of not being able to squeal.

  “Why did he say that, Zahra?” I prompted.

  “We had an argument.”

  I wasn’t going to ask about what, even though Lara was bursting to. I was sure I didn’t need to know the details.

  Before Lara could prod for more information, I said, “Well, you’ll have to get used to that, Zahra. I’m sure it’s just the first fight of many. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “No, it was more than that,” she said, crying in earnest. “I was talking to him about the wedding and some of his family members, and he got into a huff because he thinks I don’t like his aunts.”

  The belly dancers. Lara would need to be restrained in a moment.

  “I don’t want his aunts dancing at the wedding! Did you see what they did at the engagement?” she said, a touch of hysteria in her voice.

  “Yes, briefly,” I replied. Before I escaped to the kitchen and binged on Arabic sweets, I remembered.

  “He’s just so loyal to his family. He hates looking bad in front of anyone,” she sniffed. “Although, I’m sure his parents would agree with me. And I was telling him that when he started calling me selfish and saying that if I was going to be like this over such a small matter, maybe I wasn’t worth the trouble.” Fresh tears spilled out of her eyes while I tried to formulate a reasonable response.

  “Zahra, you just have to speak to him and compromise,” I advised.

  “You might have to define that last word for her,” said Lara.

  “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” I practically snapped.

  Lara shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just saying. Little Miss Weepy here has always gotten her own way. This isn’t even a big deal and she thinks her lif
e is over.”

  I grabbed a tissue from the bag next to Zahra and handed it to her.

  She blew her nose noisily. “I understand the meaning of compromise,” she said. “I’m realistic. I just want my wedding to be perfect.”

  “Okay, well, Lara is sort of right, Zahra. On any scale of things, this is a minor blip. You’ve got to be yourself with Malek. If you try to be perfect all the time, these arguments are going to happen with increasing frequency.”

  God, I sounded wise. Giving advice to other people was always so much simpler than figuring things out for oneself.

  “In other words, stop pretending you’re sugar and spice and all that’s nice,” said Lara bluntly.

  “Oh my God, he’s going to run,” wept Zahra.

  “Zahra, he’s not going to run. You need to talk to him!”

  She nodded frantically. “Yes. And I’m sorry,” she said, looking at me. “I promise I’ll try to be nicer.”

  I looked at her with sympathy. In all the years I’d had to deal with her bitchiness, I’d never really stopped to consider why she behaved as she did. I nodded and rubbed her back, grabbing more tissues with my free hand.

  “I am so scared he’ll really hate me,” she said, taking them from me and blowing into all of them.

  “He won’t hate you, Zahra. He couldn’t anyway. No matter what you’ve done to us, you’re nice to him. And that’s not an act. He brings out the good in you. I’ve seen you together.”

  Lara started to laugh. We both looked at her. She put one hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter, and held out her other hand apologetically. I tried my best to suppress a smile.

  “It’s different with guys anyway,” said Lara eventually, somewhat appeased. “The good ones almost always end up with cows.”

  Surprisingly this seemed to be of some comfort to Zahra who nodded as she examined her tissue.

  “Thank you,” said Zahra. She placed a hand on my knee without looking at me. I put my hand over hers and squeezed it gently.

  “No problem.”

  “But what am I going to do? I want music at the wedding but it’ll only lead to disaster,” said Zahra.

  “Look, the dance floor is going to be so crowded at your wedding, you won’t even notice them. Besides, his aunts will have plenty of opportunity to get the belly dancing out of their systems tonight at the party.”