Forbidden by Faith

by Negeen Papehn

  “Sara, I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said again, as if I hadn’t heard her the first time.

  “Mom, it will be just fine. Wait until you meet him. You’ll see. You’re going to love him, I promise,” I urged. “I have to go into class now. I don’t want to be late.” I didn’t have class, but I needed to get off the phone before she had a chance to say anything else.

  “Okay, azizam,” she replied, hesitantly. I knew she wasn’t finished with this conversation, but I was hoping that meeting Maziar would somewhat calm her nerves on the topic. “Have a good class.”

  “Thanks. I love you,” I said.

  “Love you, too.”

  When Saturday came, I was rendered useless. I could barely breathe, let alone do anything of substance. Mom stared at me with her ominous eyes as I did my best to feign being tired from a long week of school. I wasn’t fooling anyone.

  It was seven o’clock when the doorbell rang; Maziar was on time. Dad was a very prompt person, to the point where it could be seen as a flaw, so being punctual definitely gave Maziar some brownie points with him. I sighed with relief, needing all the backup I could get against Mom’s disapproval of the situation.

  I opened the door to find Maziar smiling down at me. His presence was calming, and for a moment, I forgot that I was worried. There was no way they wouldn’t love him. He was just so damn lovable.

  He came inside and shook hands with my dad. He then handed a bouquet of tulips and a cake over to my mom, simultaneously commenting on how beautiful the house was. In the Iranian culture, you never showed up empty-handed. Maziar seemed to hold a PhD in the art of Persian schmoozing, which surprised me. He laid the compliments on thick, and before I knew it, Mom’s hard defenses had softened and she was beaming at him.

  Dad began with his interrogation as soon as we sat down to dinner. “So, Maziar, Sara tells me you’re at Pepperdine. How do you like it?”

  “I’m really enjoying it, Aghah Abbas.”

  “Have you decided on what you’re going to specialize in?”

  “No, not yet,” he said, then threw in, “but I have a few areas I’m leaning toward.”

  “How about your parents? What do they do?”

  “My mother used to run a daycare center when we were younger, but she’s home now. My father and uncle have a lighting business. They work with hospitals and large companies.”

  The conversation continued in this manner, Dad rapidly asking his questions while Maziar did his best to answer appropriately. He responded with the ease of someone who was speaking to an old friend, never breaking his stride. Although Mom liked him, she remained uninvolved, her apprehension of the situation still very much present.

  “Maziar, you seem like a nice young man,” Dad said. I held my breath, knowing what was coming. He continued, “But you have to understand that my wife and I are a little concerned with where you see this relationship going. We do have some differences that could cause problems.” I appreciated how Dad tried to remain as respectful as he could while asking if my being Muslim was an issue.

  “Our religions aren’t going to be a concern, Aghah Abbas. Sara and I have talked about it. My family will be fine,” Maziar answered, getting straight to the root of the problem.

  I finally exhaled.

  Afterward, the conversation lightened, the elephant in the room having been addressed and slaughtered, for the time being. There were little bubbles of hope floating around, as everyone relaxed simultaneously. Nima started cracking jokes, and before I knew it, we were all laughing and enjoying ourselves. After Maziar left, neither of my parents could deny liking him. Mom still had her concerns, but they were far less prominent than when the night began.

  That’s how Maziar became part of my family. But truth be told, it wasn’t my family I was worried about.

  Chapter Five

  Maziar was the yin to my yang, the up to my down. He was my other half and I knew it deep down to the core of me. It had been a few months now and we still hadn’t made love. I could feel the need to attain that ultimate closeness with him boiling over inside me.

  There was a law school event the following weekend. I’d woven an elaborate set of lies so I could spend three days with Maziar. That Saturday morning, I tried to contain my giddiness so as not to tip my parents off. I may have been a twenty-four-year-old in graduate school, but as far as my Iranian parents were concerned, I still needed to leave the door open when my boyfriend visited. It was definitely unacceptable to be heading over to his house to sleep in his bed all weekend.

  As I drove over to his place, I couldn’t contain my excitement. It amazed me how I could still feel such outrageous butterflies just at the thought of seeing him. I had packed a sexy, lavender, lace bra and its matching bottoms to wear underneath my slinky black dress. I’d decided that tonight would be the night. I had no clue if he would reciprocate the offer, but I was too excited and nervous to worry about it. All I could think about was seeing him. It had been too long since I’d had my drug.

  I pulled up to his apartment building and he came outside to greet me. He kissed me as he helped me with my bag. We ate lunch, and then spent the remainder of the afternoon lying on the couch watching television until it was time to get ready.

  I was just putting the finishing touches on my outfit when he walked out dressed and ready to go. I had to remind myself to keep my mouth shut because my jaw wanted to hit the floor. This was the first time I’d seen him dressed up, and I was in awe of the specimen before me. To say he was handsome would not do him justice. He was wearing a fitted black Hugo Boss suit with a deep green shirt that pulled the green out of his eyes and a thin black tie. I had to pinch myself.

  This was actually my life, and this man was really mine.

  I was going to meet his law school friends for the first time and I was nervous. I wanted to make a good impression. We were the last to arrive, so he introduced me to everyone all at once. My heart was pounding in my chest and my hands felt clammy.

  The girls were quick to initiate me into their club, though, and it wasn’t long before they were sharing all of Maziar’s law school bloopers. As the night moved on, I felt myself begin to relax. We spent the better part of the evening laughing hysterically; I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

  The alcohol was plentiful. About halfway through the night, we witnessed a lover’s quarrel between his friend and her date. They were early on in their relationship as well, and apparently she found it unacceptable that he stared at every beautiful woman who walked by. I barely knew her, but we spent the remainder of the evening consoling her. As I watched Maziar offer a tender side of himself to his wounded friend, the love swelled inside me. A few hours later, we dropped her off at home and headed back to his place. I couldn’t wait to get him inside.

  We didn’t make it through the door before I was pulling off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. The path to his bedroom became a passionate tangle of clothing and limbs. When we finally made it to his room, the dance slowed and he gently laid me down on his bed. Little by little, he etched a path of kisses up my body until he made it to my lips. He brushed his lips softly against mine and pulled back to look down at me for a moment. He looked like he was drinking in the details of my face, committing every contour, every freckle, and every mark into his memory. For the first time he was wide open, and I could see straight into his soul.

  “I love you,” he said, more to himself than me, as if he were surprised by the realization of his own feelings.

  “I love you, too,” I whispered, a knot suddenly lodged in my throat.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I could see the concern etched on his face.

  “I hate that you’ve said those words to another woman before.”

  He paused for a moment, looking at me thoughtfully before he spoke. “But I’ve never meant them as much as I mean them now.”

  I stared at him and could see the truth in his words. I knew with an infinite certainty, that from
now on, I only wanted him to look at me with those eyes, to say those words only to me, and mean it. I leaned in, pulling his face to mine. I kissed his lips with a shuddering intensity, as if I’d been starving all my life for his touch. I wrapped my legs around his waist, closing the space between us. We moved with an unspoken rhythm, one our bodies seemed to know by heart. He’d take me to the brink, slow down, then build me up all over again. When we finally reached the peak, the earth shattered beneath us and we came crashing down onto the pillows together.

  Later, as I was lying in his arms, I knew that this man had ruined me. I would never be able to get myself out of the tangle he’d created, and the truth was I never wanted to.

  Chapter Six

  Before I knew it, it was our sixth-month anniversary. We were having so much fun together that every day we spent in each other’s presence felt like its own celebration. For this reason, I wasn’t expecting us to do anything considerable in honor of the day. But Maziar had other plans.

  He called me at seven thirty in the morning. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

  “Ugh, what time is it? Are you dying? Because there is no reason other than that to be woken up this early on a Saturday morning,” I grumbled.

  “I need you to get up and be ready in a half-hour. Dress casual, preferably in workout clothes.”

  “Why?” I asked, my eyelids still closed behind the heat of sleep.

  “I want to take you somewhere,” he said. “Please get up.” I could hear the excitement in his voice, breaking down my defenses.

  “Okay.” I reluctantly rolled out of bed.

  He showed up at my door thirty minutes later with two coffees in hand, smiling like a child.

  “We’d better have some epic plans, to have me up this early,” I teased.

  “Trust me. You’re going to love it,” he said as he handed me a coffee and opened the car door for me.

  It was a beautiful morning. The sun was peeking out from behind a coverlet of gray clouds. Pieces of blue sky could be seen scattered between the tufts of gray like a hidden promise.

  About twenty minutes later, Maziar pulled over onto a dirt shoulder. I looked around, realizing we were at some sort of hiking trail. I sat there for a minute, baffled as to why he would think this was something I would enjoy doing. Did he not know me at all? I was a Persian girl, and therefore my genetics deterred me from all things pertaining to nature and bugs. He saw the disgusted look on my face.

  “Humor me, Sara, just for a few minutes before you write this whole thing off,” he begged playfully. “I really want you to see this.”

  “Okay, I’ll try,” I said, forcing a smile.

  He started down the trail, helping me as we went. It was easy at first, but then the path narrowed and became more winding. I stopped being annoyed that I was hiking and began to worry we’d get stuck, never to be found again. I’d watched more documentaries on hikers being lost in the wilderness than was good for me. He assured me it was just a little farther up the trail.

  Once we got closer, I could suddenly hear the sound of running water. We ducked through an opening in the path with low-hanging branches. When we came out on the other side, it felt like we’d stepped into an alternate world.

  There was a stream surrounded by a canopy of trees. The vibrant greens mixing with the crystal blue water and the blanket of small, purple flowers running along the stream’s edge made me feel like I’d entered a secret garden made for fairies.

  Our vantage point was above, allowing the scene to unfold in its entirety. Adjacent to the stream was an old jeep that appeared to have been abandoned years ago. Something about its presence made the place even more magical. I knew the jeep held an abundance of stories it protected in its silence, of travelers come and gone on this very spot. I’d like to think some of them were star-crossed lovers like us. I wondered for a moment what stories it could tell.

  “I used to come here when I was younger, when I needed to escape. It helped me think,” he said, staring out at the water below us.

  “It feels like a different world,” I replied.

  “I know,” he said. “I’ve never showed it to anyone before.” He stared at me, wide-eyed and bashful, as if sharing his little haven made him vulnerable. I was moved to be the first to see inside his secret garden.

  Suddenly, I felt a little drop of water hit my cheek. I looked up and realized it had started drizzling. I closed my eyes, letting the raindrops wash over me. The stream felt alive, as if I could feel its energy vibrating through me. I let its spirit fill me.

  All at once I became very aware of Maziar’s proximity to me and I opened my eyes to find him standing a few inches away, just staring. He stepped a little closer and leaned in. When his lips touched mine, it felt like fireworks exploded around us.

  “Wow,” I whispered.

  It felt like the energy that ran through our bodies united with each other and with the magic of this place. He put his hands around my waist and pulled me in.

  Then we danced.

  There was no music, just the sound of the stream and the birds. We stood there swaying to their rhythm, drenched from the rain, without a care in the world. I looked at him, in the backdrop of the garden, committing every detail of the moment to my memory. I memorized his face, all the details of the way he was looking at me. I never wanted to forget.

  Once we were really wet, and the cold was seeping into our bones, we ran back up the trail as fast as we could, laughing the entire way. We sat in the car for a few minutes, talking and warming up. As I looked at him while he spoke, I realized I never wanted another day to go by without him. I wasn’t sure if it was possible to love someone so much it hurt, but that was how I felt about Maziar.

  In hindsight, I wonder if the pain was some premonition of the hurt to come.

  The rest of our celebration consisted of hot showers, good food, and a bottle of wine we shared between us. We ended the night at his apartment watching a movie. His arms were wrapped tightly around me as I floated away into a world of forgotten dreams.

  I couldn’t remember a time when I was any happier.

  Chapter Seven

  A few weeks later, we headed to a party at Maziar’s friend Pasha’s house. He and Maziar had been friends since birth; their mothers were neighbors in Iran. As if that wasn’t nerve-wracking enough, Maziar’s sister Bita would also be there.

  Despite being together for months, this would be the first time I was meeting her. I’d wanted to push the issue, urge him to introduce me to his family earlier, but I was terrified of the outcome. Instead, I pretended like I didn’t care, until I even believed it.

  I sat in the car on the drive to Brentwood with my leg tapping furiously against the floor. I felt anxious and nauseated, wanting nothing more than to jump out at the next stoplight. I wasn’t given much time to put the plan in motion before we pulled into the driveway.

  To say Pasha lived in a big house was an understatement. It looked more like a manor, taking up a quarter of the block, with tall white pillars and statues of lions at the entryway. The driveway was made of cobblestone, giving the impression that we were somewhere in Rome rather than Los Angeles.

  The valet moved cars around the crowd as if we were stuck in a jigsaw puzzle. As I waited for the attendants to make their way over to us, I realized I was surrounded by girls who looked like models on a Nordstrom’s runway. I felt depressingly underdressed in my mint-green sundress. I suddenly had the urge to reach across the center console and punch Maziar for not preparing me properly for the event.

  When we finally walked toward the massive front door, my anger was quickly replaced by panic. I felt way over my head, wanting to turn and run back out of the cast-iron gates, straight home. I didn’t get time to formulate an escape plan because as soon as we stepped onto the stoop the doors swung open and Pasha appeared as if from thin air.

  “Hi,” he said, his melodic voice reminding me of wind chimes.

  He stood over six feet tall, w
ith a moderate build that showed off his statuesque figure from underneath his teal button-up shirt. His muscles bulged every which way, reminding me of the perfect distribution of hills and valleys. He had an air of confidence that just rolled off of him but didn’t hold a hint of arrogance. Something about him made you desperately want him to like you. When he smiled, he went from intimidating to gentle, making me feel more at ease.

  Maziar took me in and introduced me to his friends. Everyone was nice and genuinely interested in meeting me. I was aware they were all Jewish, but they seemed to care very little that I wasn’t. One of the guys, Emanuel, had brought his girlfriend, Azi, with him. I felt a connection to her instantly, creating my first ally in the web we unknowingly were building.

  Just as I started to forget my discomfort, Bita showed up. She walked in like a princess entering her debutante ball. She reeked of self-indulgence and arrogance. She came in with two of her friends. They stopped at the entryway, scanning the room, appearing like C-list actresses striking a pose for the paparazzi. I would like to say no one noticed them, but that wasn’t true. The room did take notice, everyone stopping to stare in their direction, whether in awe or disdain.

  Bita was dressed from head to toe in name-brand attire, with her Birkin bag slung over her shoulder. Her friends looked like clones. My first thought was that she was the typical Persian girl I’d always found so ridiculous. My second thought was that I found her intimidating.

  I wondered how it was possible she was even related to Maziar. I knew that he came from money, but to what extent, I wasn’t sure. We didn’t really talk about it. He was so down-to-earth and easygoing that it was easy to forget his family was wealthy.