Forbidden by Faith

by Negeen Papehn

  “Congratulations,” he said, not skipping a beat.

  “Thanks,” I replied, uneasily. I unconsciously braced myself for his anger.

  “I’m happy for you, Sara.” He seemed completely unaffected.

  Just then, a blond woman walked up behind him, placing her arm around his waist.

  “Are you ready, babe?” she asked, eyeing me curiously.

  “Yeah. Sara, this is Liz.”

  “Hi,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too,” she replied, kindly.

  He was looking at her while she spoke to me. His face held an expression I recognized well. Then, he turned back towards me. “Okay, we have to go,” he said. “It was great seeing you, Sara. Take care.” He smiled at me one more time before he turned and walked away with Liz on his arm.

  I stared at their backs for a moment, waiting to feel something life-altering, but I didn’t. Ben seemed genuinely happy, and all I felt was relieved. I was glad he’d moved on, that he’d found someone else, someone who could give what he wanted.

  Good for him, I thought. He deserved it.

  I smiled to myself as I turned to finish my shopping.

  I fumbled with the keys, trying to balance grocery bags on my arms. As I walked in, I heard Maziar in the bedroom having a heated conversation on the phone. I couldn’t make out any of the words, so I was forced to flutter about anxiously until he finished. He walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, flustered but smiling.

  “Ask and you shall receive, beautiful,” he said, obviously proud of himself. “I just talked to my dad. We’ll be coming to your house next weekend.”

  “What about your mom? Is she coming?” I asked, the knot of dread now a hard basketball in my gut.

  “I’m not sure,” he replied, thoughtfully. “My dad said he’d talk to her.”

  I began to chew my bottom lip as he reached out and pulled me into his arms.

  “He knows the tradition. I’m sure he’s going to talk to her. If she refuses, then he’ll ask my aunt.” I felt sick to my stomach, the constant unknown slowly killing me. He held me tighter. “Stop worrying. It’s going to be okay.”

  I looked up at him, wondering if he really was naïve enough to think things would magically fall into place or if he was just putting on a show for my benefit.

  “I have to call my mom,” I said, frantically.

  “No need. I already called her right after I hung up with my dad,” he said, smiling broadly.

  “You called her?” I asked, shocked. I could barely look his mother in the eye and here he was going head-on with mine.

  “Yes. I wanted to make sure Saturday was okay. Plus, I figured she’d be stressing about the whole thing, so I thought I’d save you from the conversation,” he said. “At least for tonight.”

  He constantly amazed me, putting himself in uncomfortable situations so I didn’t have to. He dealt with the backlash, put his foot down, got into screaming matches, whatever it took to show the world I was his Number One.

  I must’ve done something right in a past life.

  Saturday arrived and my house exploded into chaos. Mom’s anxiety was demanding, consuming everyone in its wake. We ran around cleaning and setting up, trying to make everything as perfect as she needed it to be. There’d been no confirmation that Naghmeh would be attending, and I’d been sick to my stomach for days.

  When Maziar’s family finally arrived, Mom and I were in the kitchen. We froze simultaneously, glued to our spots on the floor. I had a plate of pastries hanging midair, holding my breath, trying to identify the voices as they came in. Mom was doing the same.

  “Welcome, Parviz khan. Come in, Naghmeh khanoom,” we heard Dad say. We gasped in unison.

  Did he just say Naghmeh? Had his mother actually shown up? A few days ago, the final verdict was that if she refused to come, Maziar’s Aunt Lily would stand in. A smile spread across Mom’s face, taking her presence as a victory. I smiled back at her, trying to mimic her enthusiasm, but I was filled with apprehension. I knew she hadn’t accepted us, so her presence meant only one thing: there was a struggle ahead.

  Mom turned and walked out of the kitchen, urging me to follow. We came in with trays of tea and pastries that she placed on the coffee table. She began the pleasantries, greeting the guest, welcoming them to our home. Maziar’s father hugged me affectionately. His mother, however, greeted me coldly. I prayed Mom hadn’t noticed, but the subtle crinkle of her forehead told me otherwise.

  I looked at Maziar, who had also seen the exchange. Although he remained passive, I could see his protectiveness bubbling to the surface. I took a seat next to him, reached out for his hand, rubbing his palm to calm him. Simultaneously, I looked at Mom, pleading with my eyes for her to let it go. With a little nod, she conveyed that she would. I could hardly breathe, afraid I’d have a heart attack before it was all over.

  Dad started the conversation, trying to break the ice. He asked Maziar’s parents about their family, tracing their roots back to various cities in Iran, a common practice when meeting for the first time. They talked about old times back home, people and places they shared. Soon the wives were participating a bit as well.

  A half-hour in, when all neutral topics were exhausted, the khastegari began. The fathers took the lead, each speaking affectionately about the other’s child. For a moment, it almost seemed as if things would run smoothly. However, the lioness reared her head, making our house of cards come crashing down.

  “I’m sorry, Abbas khan. I don’t mean to be rude. I think we should discuss the issue at hand, though. Everyone is acting as if we don’t have a bigger problem.”

  The muscles in Maziar’s jaw twitched with anger. Both he and Nima moved forward in their seats, my soldiers coming to attention. I braced myself as she continued.

  “These kids are young and in love. They don’t understand how difficult marriage is, especially when children become involved. I just don’t think they understand what they’re doing. We come from such different backgrounds.” She was careful to choose her words, trying to convey her opinion respectfully. I was thankful for that much.

  Maziar sat forward, ready to pounce on her. Mom looked at him, slightly raising her hand to stop him before he could get started.

  “What are you referring to, Naghmeh joon? Aren’t we all Iranian here?” Mom asked, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips as she forced Naghmeh’s hand.

  “I was referring to the different religions, Shireen joon,” she responded, feigning a look of innocence as she waited for Mom to make the next move. The battle of wills had begun.

  “There will definitely be some navigating that has to be done because of that. But that said, I think the kids are mature enough to handle it. I don’t think they’re going in blindly, or taking this decision lightly,” Dad replied, jumping in. “The truth is, they’re adults who love each other. If they want to spend their lives together, who are we to stop them? We’re only here to provide guidance if they ask for it.”

  “Yes. We need to put our own differences aside. Any arguing we do amongst ourselves only makes things more difficult. Surely we can all find common ground, don’t you think?” Mom added.

  “We’re no longer in the world we grew up in. Times have changed in this country. The youth now falls in love first, then worries about the logistics later. Race and religion don’t concern them. Love and compatibility are all that matters,” Parviz said. “Maziar and Sara are strong, and it’s obvious how much they love each other. I for one am not the least bit worried about them. They’ll find a way to make it work.”

  I was so overwhelmed by the emotions in the room. Parviz’s smile filled my eyes with tears. Maziar and Nima’s strength hovered protectively over me. My parents’ love shined like a beacon in the dark. I couldn’t look at Naghmeh.

  She was also witnessing all the people willing to come to our aid, despite our differences. I could tell she felt overwhelmed by the wealth of emotions too, but not fo
r the same reasons. She suddenly realized she stood alone.

  “What will happen with all our customs? Will we have a Jewish wedding or a Muslim one? Will you come to Shabbat dinners?” she asked, looking wildly around the room for an ally. “And when you have kids, will we have a bris? Or a Bat Mitzvah? Have you even thought about that?”

  Gone was the strength of a few moments ago, replaced by a deep desperation in her voice, compelling me to look at her. When I did, I saw that she was staring at me, searching my eyes for an answer. She needed validation that she wouldn’t lose her only son. Maziar stepped in, still on the defensive.

  “Mom, those are all details that we have to figure out, but we’re going to do what works best for us. Everyone is just going to have to deal with it.”

  I placed my hand on Maziar’s leg, knowing that his anger would cause more harm than good. She had legitimate concerns, and if nothing else, they deserved to be addressed. Remaining silent was no longer an option for me. I needed to step up and take control.

  “Naghmeh khanoom, I understand why you’re worried, but you don’t have to be,” I assured her. “We haven’t discussed all the details, but we aren’t planning on getting married and just forgetting everything we grew up with. We’re going to incorporate as much of both of our traditions as we can. It’s something that’s important to us.” I maintained eye contact as I spoke so she could see the truth in my words. “God is God regardless of his name, and God is love, something both of us have plenty of. That’s what we are going to teach our children.”

  She looked at me for a few moments, trying to read me. I held her gaze, knowing she wasn’t completely convinced. Then, she turned toward Mom, and with a weary smile on her face asked, “Shireen, could I have another cup of chayee, please?”

  A unanimous exhalation passed through the room as everyone acknowledged the change of subject as her admittance of defeat. She had found herself alone, isolated on the island she’d created. She was hoping to find allies in today’s meeting, but was met with unexpected resistance. She knew pressing the issue would only cause an explosion between her and her son. The already strained relationship between them teetered on a string, and losing him was the one thing she was trying to avoid.

  We looked at each other, neither of us fully convinced of the other’s efforts. After a few moments, she gave me a halfhearted smile, her acknowledgment that she’d lost today’s battle. I smiled back, extending an olive branch in hopes that it could be the start of some sort of peace treaty between us.

  I wasn’t sure if she would go home and think things through, having a change of heart, or at least finding some tolerance for Maziar and me. I wanted to believe that her love for him would inspire her to shed her preconceptions. But I had spent so many years facing walls she’d placed around me that I couldn’t completely convince myself of the hope everyone else seemed to be feeling.

  Too tired to analyze the situation any further, I allowed myself a night where I could pretend Maziar and I were just another normal couple, planning a normal wedding, not some representation of the ongoing conflict in the Middle East. I let my mind wander as those around me spoke of various wedding details.

  I avoided looking in Naghmeh’s direction. If no one could see the hesitation and frustration emanating from her, I could, and I was too exhausted to allow her to take this night from me as well.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The next few weeks were a whirlwind of various venues and vendors. Maziar and I made our appointments, flanked by our mothers, Bita, and Neda. Due to his sister’s persistence, Naghmeh made appearances, but continued to show minimal involvement. The strain on Maziar’s relationship with her had progressed from a crack to a fault line, the tension making us all uncomfortable.

  Mom had taken it upon herself to establish a relationship with my soon-to-be mother-in-law, a camaraderie to extinguish the stiffness we felt when she was around. She remained cordial but distant where I was concerned. I slowly began to realize that the problem had lost its focus on me and was now stemming from her relationship with her son.

  I kept hoping Maziar would stop being difficult and make the first move. If only he would crack the door open for her, I knew she’d take a step inside. He was impossible, becoming agitated and angry every time I brought her up. I was usually forced to back down to avoid a full-fledged argument.

  I’d spent sleepless nights pondering over their relationship. I’d concluded that, to rectify the situation, Maziar had to stop rejecting his mother. Even if Naghmeh had begun to regret her position, she wouldn’t allow herself to give in when he was ignoring her. She was an Iranian woman, after all, with stubbornness and pride woven deep into the fabric of her DNA. Both of their unyielding natures did not allow for much progress.

  I’d been trying to figure out how to talk to him all week. I leaned up against his arm, flipping through a magazine while he worked on his laptop. Although I appeared calm, I was a nervous wreck, trying to figure out how to bring it up without looking like I was siding with her.

  “I wanted to talk to you about your mom,” I blurted out, realizing I had no good way of approaching the subject. I felt Maziar’s body stiffen against my back.

  “What about her?” he asked, irritated, patience already running thin.

  “Well, I’ve noticed that you’re giving her the cold shoulder and I feel like that may be the reason why she isn’t warming up to this wedding,” I stammered nervously.

  “Well, she’s made her choice. I told you‒I’m done,” he said without even looking up from his screen. The finality in his voice sparked my anger.

  “You don’t get to just be done,” I said, before I could stop myself.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know you’re mad, but you don’t get to make decisions on your own when they affect me,” I said, trying to hold my ground.

  “What are you talking about? She’s my mother.”

  I realized that challenging him would only spur more stubbornness, but I needed progress. I changed my tactics, scooting in closer and grabbing his hand. I felt him recoil, stopping himself before he pulled away. I wanted to be hurt, but I forced myself to keep going.

  “Your mom is no longer just your problem; that’s where you’re wrong. I need her to be okay with this wedding. If you keep being mean, that’s never going to happen. Don’t you want to give us a chance to have some sort of relationship?”

  “Sara, she’s made it abundantly clear she doesn’t want to know you. You’re stuck in some sort of fantasy where everything ends happily ever after.” His features softened. “You always see the best in people. It’s one of the things I love about you. But I’m sorry, baby. She isn’t going to come around.”

  I wondered if he was right. Was I hoping for the impossible? Should I hate her too? No, I decided. We were all human, and all dealing with big changes. Maybe I did try to see the best in people, but I didn’t believe people were inherently evil. Maybe she didn’t deserve a chance after what she’d done, but I was choosing to give her one anyway.

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe she won’t ever come around. But a lot has happened since the beginning and so much has changed. I think if you just give her a chance, she may surprise you.”

  I moved in closer, trying to use my femininity to compel him. I reached out and ran my fingers through his hair, seducing him with my touch. Maziar had used these tactics against me many times before; now I was flipping the script.

  “Could you please try, just for me?” I batted my eyelashes as I leaned in to kiss him. He started to laugh against my mouth. I pulled back and looked at him, a smirk playing on my lips.

  “Well played, Sara,” he said. “Well played.”

  He threw the magazine off the couch and pushed me back on the cushions. I smiled against his shoulder, knowing I’d just won this battle.

  Two weeks later, we had an appointment with the florist. As usual, our entourage accompanied us. We sat at the table surrounded by binders full of
sample arrangements, busily flipping through pages as we discussed possible color schemes. Maziar had made an effort to be seated next to his mother, a feat only I noticed.

  “Mom, what do you think about this one?” he asked nonchalantly as he leaned over toward her with his binder. “I kind of like these deep purple flowers, but this white orchid one is nice too,” he said, pointing to the other center piece.

  We all froze as jaws fell open in surprise. He didn’t falter at our reaction, acting as if they hadn’t spent the past few months in silence. Naghmeh just looked at him, tongue-tied for a moment before she gathered her wits.

  “I like the purple ones,” she said, almost in a whisper.

  “Yeah, I think you’re right. They’re prettier,” he agreed, flashing his irresistible smile at her.

  The smile she gave him in return resembled the light that shines through the dark at sunrise. He had his charm on full blast, and to secure the deal, he placed his hand on his mother’s arm when he pushed the binder toward me so I could see it.

  “I think they’re beautiful,” I said.

  Naghmeh just blushed at my response. Bita sat back in awe, giddy at the new development. Mom squeezed my leg under the table, her excitement apparent on her face. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Maziar. He looked straight at me as the women around us buzzed with glee and winked.

  That was the moment he turned everything around. Throughout the years, he would teach me that love meant seeing past yourself, always putting the other person first no matter what that meant for you. I knew it was hard for him to swallow his pride, but he did it because he loved me. Maziar had put my needs before his so many times through the course of our relationship, and he was doing it again.

  I didn’t realize I could love him anymore than I already did, but I was wrong.

  As the days progressed, the tension between Maziar and Naghmeh dissipated until it could no longer be felt in the space around them. She still kept her distance when it came to me, but I could see her world had shifted. She would smile at me more often, and when we were all in a discussion, she took part more freely, interacting with me more than before. The hope that things could work out for us began to bloom in me again.