Forbidden by Faith

by Negeen Papehn

  Like that, it was dropped. Everyone slowly looked away and went back to their previous conversations.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” I whispered urgently, to no one in particular.

  “Okay,” Neda said, immediately standing up.

  Maziar grabbed my hand as I turned to leave, his worried face looking up at me. I couldn’t bring myself to break him any further, so I squeezed his hand. It was the only comfort I could give.

  “Can you wait for me?” I pleaded to Neda, outside the bathroom door.

  “I’m not going anywhere; I’ll be right here. Take all the time you need,” she said confidently.

  Once inside, I sat with my back to the door, head in my hands, trying to pinch back the tears. I refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they’d successfully wounded the Muslim girl.

  I don’t know how long I stayed in the bathroom, but true to her word, Neda was outside waiting for me when I came out. She grabbed my hand and silently guided me back to the table, daring her family to cross her. I had no doubt she would jump to my defense if I needed it. No one said a word.

  Anger began to consume me as I was greeted with cold, pitying stares. Who did these people think they were? They didn’t have the right to lessen my worth based on their prejudices. I came from a well-respected, upstanding family. I was a good girl. I was in graduate school, making something of myself so I would never have to rely on a man to pay my way. I was smart, and I worked hard to be me. Being Muslim was only a part of me, one that I was proud of.

  How dare they?

  By the time we got to the table, I’d gone from anger to outright rage, all directed toward Maziar’s sister. She had done this, and I was determined to make her pay. I kept my features steady, looking unaffected by what had happened. I would make them believe I didn’t actually care. I turned and smiled at Bita, who I knew would already be staring. I saw her confusion before she could recompose herself, and I wondered if she could hear the rumble.

  “Bita, how is your friend? You know, the blond guy you were at the party with the other night?” I said, my voice oozing sweetness like molasses. “Scott, right? He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

  Again the table went silent, but this time they weren’t staring at me. Then, like an avalanche, she was bombarded with questions. As I’d hoped, the family had no idea that Bita was dating anyone. They also had no clue he wasn’t Persian, a detail I knew would be a problem in this family.

  Maziar looked at me, shocked. He hadn’t thought I’d throw his sister under the bus. He hadn’t expected me to retaliate, a fact I found irritating. I could see he was disappointed, but I didn’t care. I was thoroughly disappointed in him and this entire night. I was going to enjoy my revenge without his guilt.

  Bita stared daggers at me as I sat back and smiled.

  Maziar tried to give me grief over what I’d said to his sister, but it was short-lived. He could see that the anger had wrapped its ugly tendrils around my body, and pushing me would only lead to an explosion neither of us wanted. He knew that part of me held him responsible for making me face our reality by forcing me to go the party. So he let it go.

  Denial proved to be a wonderful asset. I brewed long enough to realize I didn’t like the outcome I was heading toward, so instead, I found my way back into the comfy cloud of denial. It allowed me the luxury of hiding the truth behind what I wanted it to be: that Maziar and I would be okay.

  Chapter Nine

  Norooz, meaning the New Day, is the name of the Persian New Year. It marks the first day of spring, or the equinox, the beginning of the year on the Iranian calendar. Norooz is celebrated by people of diverse ethnic and religious backgrounds. Although it is observed by both Muslim and Jewish Iranians, due to the New Year celebration of Rosh Hashanah, Muslim Iranians traditionally celebrate Nooroz to a greater extent.

  For Norooz, a traditional ceremonial table display is set up, called the sofreh. The sofreh is set with the holy book of your faith, a bowl of goldfish representing life, painted eggs for fertility, and seven traditional foods starting with the letter “s” in Farsi. For instance, sabzeh, wheat sprouts, symbolizes renewal, seeb, apple, represents health and beauty, and sonbol, hyacinth, represents spring.

  The date and time fluctuate yearly based on the Iranian calendar, dictated by the equinox. It usually falls somewhere around March 20th. The exact hour toggles between the middle of the night and the afternoon.

  Some years, we have to get up at three in the morning to celebrate. Although inconvenient, it is an important holiday for my family, and we loyally adhere to its rituals. In my home, everyone has to wear at least one new article of clothing, sit around the sofreh together a half-hour before the New Year, and pray. Afterward, we exchange gifts.

  This year, Norooz was at 3:15 in the afternoon. The tradition was that each individual family would ring in the New Year on their own, and then everyone would congregate at our house to exchange gifts and have dinner.

  Mom invited Maziar and his family to join us. Maziar graciously accepted the invitation and declined for his parents, giving the excuse that they had previous commitments. I knew better, but it was easier to pretend.

  Maziar would be meeting my extended family for the first time, and more importantly, my grandmother. This was huge, especially for my mom to be the one orchestrating it. She knew her mother opposed my relationship. Similar to Maziar’s parents, my grandmother was unable to see past the traditions she was raised with. But Maziar had somehow won Mom over, giving her the courage to challenge the matriarch.

  I had the urge to stop her, knowing this battle was pointless. She had no idea a disaster was lurking around the corner, but I did. However, admitting it would also mean admitting defeat, and I wasn’t ready for that yet. So instead, I said nothing.

  He showed up at four in the afternoon, again armed with flowers and pastries.

  “Aede mobarak, Shireen khanoom,” he said, as he handed over his gifts, making Mom blush beneath his gaze.

  He looked very handsome in a pair of dark blue jeans and a navy blue blazer. When he leaned in to kiss my cheek, I could smell the familiar scent of his shampoo mingling with his cologne. I inhaled, allowing it to fill my lungs with comfort.

  When we stepped into the living room, my normally loud and obnoxious family fell silent, as if a mute button had been hit. All heads turned toward us. Maziar, however, was a master at commanding a room and didn’t skip a beat as he whipped out his amazing smile. My mamanbozorg, grandmother, was the first to speak.

  “This must be the famous Maziar we’ve heard so much about,” Grandmother said, dryly.

  I felt myself wince at her tone, the anxiety building in my stomach. I dreaded a repeat performance of Hanukkah.

  My cousin Nasim looked hesitantly between her and Maziar, as anxious as I suddenly felt. She glanced at Ellie, the more assertive of the two sisters, for a way to alleviate the tension that was quickly building in the room. One comment from Mamanbozorg and the night had already taken a turn.

  “Hi, Maziar,” Ellie said, as if on cue. “It’s great to finally meet you. Sara has told us a lot about you.” She was smiling broadly at him as she made her way across the room.

  “Like the fact that you’re Jewish,” my cousin Ardeshir stated loudly.

  The room fell more silent than I thought possible. Ellie was staring at her brother in warning, Nasim was still looking back and forth between us with a worried look on her face, and Ardeshir smiled wickedly from the corner. I was about to pummel him when Maziar reached out and placed his hand on my arm to calm me.

  “Let’s not be rude, Ardeshir. I taught you kids better than that,” Mamanbozorg said coolly, the warning hidden beneath her words.

  He scowled in his seat, reprimanded like a child.

  “Salom, Shahla khanoom,” Maziar said, without sparing Ardeshir a glance. He sailed smoothly toward her, unaffected by her judgments. He wrapped her tiny hand in his, leaning in to kiss both her cheeks in gre
eting.

  My grandmother stared at him passively, no doubt sizing him up. Even though Maziar seemed undeterred by her disapproval, I could feel the rings of perspiration forming beneath my arms, the sheen of stress invading my forehead. I hadn’t noticed Mom walk in. She was standing across the room, angrily staring at my cousin.

  “Sara, why don’t you kids go outside until dinner? You guys are too young to have to endure us old ladies and our opinions,” she said, looking at her mother. “And, Ardeshir, we don’t speak to our guests that way.”

  “Sorry, khaleh,” my cousin replied begrudgingly, as he stood up.

  Ellie grabbed Maziar’s arm, still smiling, and guided him outside. “Come on, Sara,” she ordered.

  Mom squeezed my shoulder as I passed, signaling that it would be okay. I had a hard time believing her, but I did my best not to allow my family to see how they’d upset me.

  Once away from my grandmother’s disapproving eyes, the tension began to dissipate. Maziar took it all in stride. He never flinched, just turned on his charm. He even included Ardeshir in the conversation. Soon, everyone was eating out of his hand, as usual. I wondered how he was able to do that, to turn everything around in his favor somehow.

  Ellie smiled at me encouragingly from across the table, trying to be a pillar of strength in the storm. I wanted to be like Maziar, able to ignore the way both our families had failed in seeing past their prejudices, but I couldn’t. No matter how badly I wanted Maziar to win my grandmother over, I knew he hadn’t, adding only one more obstacle to the mountain of reasons this couldn’t work out.

  Mamanbozorg was the head of our family. It was only a matter of time before my relationship became the constant topic of debate among everyone. What if they somehow succeeded in convincing my mom that our relationship was wrong? My parents were my only allies. I’d have no hope left if that were destroyed.

  I knew we were doomed, no matter how nonchalant Maziar pretended to be. We would eventually have to face the truth, and when we did, I’d have my heart broken into so many pieces I would never fully recover. Yet I couldn’t find the strength to walk away, so I just kept hanging on, praying for a miracle.

  Mamanbozorg remained at her post, looking disapprovingly in our direction every time we came inside. I tried to ignore it the best I could. Ellie kept refilling my wine glass, trying to veil the truth in a haze of intoxication. By the third drink, she’d successfully dulled my feelings until I could barely feel the knot in the pit of my stomach.

  Maziar sailed through the night marvelously, despite my family. He did his best to charm the women and join the men. My parents helped him navigate through, wanting as much as I did for him to be accepted. I knew Mom dreaded the disapproval of my grandmother, fearing how difficult things could get if she didn’t like him.

  When I walked Maziar to his car at the end of the night, he didn’t say a word about how my family had acted.

  “I had a great time, Sara. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “You don’t have to say that, Maziar. I know it was horrible,” I replied, unable to meet his gaze.

  He reached out and lifted my chin so he could look into my eyes. “No, it wasn’t,” he said, gently kissing my lips. “Before I forget, I’ve got something for you.” He leaned into the driver’s seat and pulled out a small box.

  It was wrapped in lavender paper with white silhouettes of butterflies printed on it. A white bow sat neatly in the middle of the square. He was staring at me with anticipation as I pulled it open, exposing a black box. A thin, rose gold chain was nestled inside its velvet walls. It had a delicate heart pendant the size of my thumbnail attached to it, twinkling between my fingers as it caught the light of the streetlamps.

  “Look on the back,” he urged.

  I turned the pendant around and saw that Maziar had inscribed our names. The simplicity of it hurt. To him, we were just Maziar and Sara, two halves of a whole. But to everyone else, it was so much more complicated than that.

  “I love it,” I whispered.

  “I love you,” he said as he leaned in to clasp the chain around my neck.

  I stood on the curb and watched Maziar drive away, disappearing into the night. When I could no longer see his taillights, I walked back inside to face my family. My hand was wrapped possessively around the pendant, trying to find strength in its cool metal.

  My grandmother was sitting next to my aunt, both whispering furiously at Mom.

  “Don’t you remember what happened to Farzaneh’s son?” my aunt asked. “Their families still can’t be in the same room without fighting. And they already have a baby. It’s so difficult, for everyone. She cries all the time.”

  “Things like this don’t work. It’s been proven, Shireen. There’s a reason why we’ve been at war for so many years. It’s not a coincidence,” my grandmother added, shaking her head in disapproval. I wasn’t sure whether it was me or Mom she was more disappointed in.

  I didn’t need to hear the rest, their message abundantly clear, emphasized by the pull of their eyebrows and the harsh look in their eyes. They stopped speaking when they noticed me.

  “Sara, come here so we can talk to you,” my grandmother commanded, patting the empty spot next to her on the couch.

  I just stared at the old woman I loved, with the deep grooves around her eyes, more prominent now as she frowned at me, and felt deflated. She’d disappointed me, the betrayal more than I could bear, and now I had nothing left to say to her.

  “I’m tired, Mamanbozorg,” I said. “I’m going to bed.”

  I could hear them all gasp as I turned and walked down the hall. I had blatantly disregarded her opinion. But if she couldn’t find it inside herself to be compromising, I couldn’t find it within me to care.

  Chapter Ten

  Second semester was halfway over, and midterms were rapidly approaching. Maziar and I had been studying so much that it left us little time together. Months ago, I would have found the distance devastating. Now, strangely, I felt relieved. I needed a break from the rampant and distressing thoughts of our relationship always circling my mind. Studying provided just that reprieve.

  Our tests began a week apart, allotting me a small window of time before Maziar was done. One of the pharmacy fraternities was throwing an end-of-finals party. Since Maziar was studying, I’d agreed to go. It had been months since I’d partied with my friends.

  I got ready at Sandra’s house, since she lived nearest to the school. She was single, dolled up, and looking beautiful. I found myself needing to feel beautiful again. It had been a long time since I’d stared at my reflection in the mirror, feeling anything other than exhausted, my weary eyes looking back at me.

  I dressed in black lace shorts and a hot pink top. I wore heels, accentuating the definition of my legs. When I looked in the mirror, I actually felt sexy. The dark circles under my eyes and the wrinkles of worry on my forehead had disappeared thanks to the magic of makeup. My skin had a glow I hadn’t seen for weeks, and a smile stretched across my face, one I’d forgotten I had.

  The fraternity rented one of the large, old colonial homes that were located a few blocks away from the main campus, in what was referred to as Fraternity Row. When we arrived, it seemed as though the entire school was there, strewn across the lawn. Everyone was armed with a red solo cup, filled to the brim with some kind of liquid elixir. Some were leaning against the rails or sitting on the steps, already too intoxicated to be able to hold their own weight.

  Our friends were already there when we walked in. We made our way over to them and Thomas and Abby went to get us drinks. I leaned against the wall, observing the crowd as I waited for them to return. Everywhere I looked, I saw people carelessly enjoying themselves. I was envious.

  I was deep in thought when I felt someone brush his hand lightly over my shoulder. I turned to find Ben standing beside me.

  “You doing okay, doll?” he asked.

  “I’m fine; why?” I said, distracted by his electric-blue
eyes.

  “You just seemed too deep in thought for this kind of party.” He smiled, showing off his dimples.

  Mom had told me that if a pregnant woman wanted her child to have dimples, she had to put two small crabapples inside her cheeks and bite down. It was an old Iranian wives’ tale, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Ben’s mom had eaten crabapples.

  I realized I’d never really noticed how good-looking Ben was before. He was tall, his six feet making my five-foot-five seem childlike. His dirty blond hair was messy, contradicting his neatly cropped body, the muscles pulled tightly beneath his T-shirt, creating a road map I wanted to trace. On his left arm I could see a tattoo peeking out from the edge of his sleeve, but couldn’t make out what it was.

  I didn’t realize he was watching me until our eyes met. He looked confused and intrigued at the same time. I hardly noticed I’d been caught, too busy checking him out as I wondered how it would feel to kiss his lips, if they’d be soft and smooth or rough and weathered.

  Suddenly, Thomas and Abby returned with drinks, startling me back to reality. Thankful for the distraction, I took a long sip. Long Island Iced Tea. Its contents burned a path down my throat, bringing me closer to the escape I was seeking tonight. One I was determined to find at the bottom of my cup.

  There was a DJ blaring music in the backyard. I could feel its vibrations beneath my feet as Sandra guided me to the dance floor. As I whirled around I tried to steal glances at Ben, who was leaning against the fence talking to Thomas. He was looking at me, too, our eyes locking momentarily before I turned away. I wanted to grab his hand and make him dance with me, but I didn’t. I wasn’t sure where these thoughts were coming from, but I knew if I didn’t stop myself, I’d wake up with regrets in the morning.