Ready-to-Blow rolls his eyes and says, ‘Freak.’
‘Rude,’ I say, before Been-Here-Before has time to respond. ‘There’s no need to be mean. It’s not like any of us wants to be here.’ I glance at Dieter. ‘No offense.’
Dieter’s thin lips tighten. He probably doesn’t want to be here either. Maybe he’s paying his dues so he can move on to real therapy. ‘Zahra’s right—’ He scans his clipboard and comes up with ‘Simon. I already told you, no bullying. As for you, Kalista,’ he says, ‘save your songwriting for your own time.’
‘You know it’s Kali,’ she says, proving she has been here before. ‘And I didn’t actually write those lyrics.’
‘Notts County?’ I ask. I’ve learnt a few things about indie bands from Rico.
Kali nods and smiles. ‘Isn’t Owen Gaines the cutest?’
‘Totally,’ Evan answers, rolling his eyes.
Dieter stares at Evan until he squirms in his chair. ‘A couple of last points before we get started. You need to be discreet and respect one another’s privacy. What happens in group stays in group. Understood?’
There’s a general murmur of agreement on this one.
‘The only thing I’ll discuss with your parents is your attendance.’ Dieter gets up to pace again. ‘Because they’re picking up the tab.’
‘Is this on the test?’ Stoned asks.
‘No tests and no grades, Evan,’ Dieter says. ‘The rewards may not be tangible, but they’ll last a lifetime. You are about to discover the healing powers of group therapy.’
Simon throws himself back in his chair so hard it almost tips. His hands come out of his pockets. One’s holding an iPod, the other a set of keys. ‘Just kill me now,’ he says.
Dieter plants shiny black shoes in front of Simon. ‘No such luck.’
‘If your “process” works,’ Simon says, ‘how come the Air Guitar Freak is back for seconds?’
‘Keep up the personal attacks and you’ll be back for seconds as well,’ Dieter says. ‘Why not just open up and share?’
We all groan.
‘That’s right, share,’ Dieter repeats. ‘You’ll be amazed at how much you can help each other when you see past your differences. Every one of you is in a similar situation. Your family has hit the rocks. You hate them. You think they hate you. Maybe you even blame yourselves.’
Nope, I still blame my grandparents. If they hadn’t come here, Mom and Dad probably would have carried on as they were – which didn’t look that bad to me. It was just chilly around the house. I guess their marriage was like an iceberg, with the big scary part hidden beneath the water. At any rate, with my grandparents now trying to de-assimilate Mom, Dad will never win her back. Not that he’s trying.
‘Tell us about it. Listen. Support. Trust.’ Dieter claps three times. ‘Now, who wants to start?’
I was sure Kali would be the first to wave her hand, but she’s gone back to swaying to unheard music with her eyes closed.
In the distance, a dog howls.
Sydney stands. ‘I’m outta here. You’re torturing my baby.’
Before she can leave, an elderly priest appears in the doorway, holding Banksy’s leash. The dog breaks free and runs to Sydney, stumpy tail wagging madly.
‘Sorry about the ruckus, Father Casey,’ Dieter says. ‘Sydney will leave the dog at home next week.’
‘Nonsense,’ Father Casey says, smiling. ‘Well-behaved dogs are welcome at St. Joe’s.’ Banksy sits quietly at Sydney’s feet. ‘Bring him inside next time, Sydney.’
Sydney’s bright red lips curl into a smile that transforms her face. ‘Thank you, Father Casey.’
Dieter takes a seat and waits till the priest leaves before saying, ‘Kali, you know how this works. Could you get the ball rolling?’
‘Sure,’ she says. ‘My mom just dumped her fourth husband, and that is why I’m back.’
‘Wow!’ The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
‘I know, crazy, right?’ Kali says. ‘I really liked Husband Number Four, and now he’s just … gone.’
‘Parents are selfish pigs,’ Lauren says. She puts her bag down beside her chair, forming a designer barrier between herself and Banksy. ‘My mom had an affair with her boss, and Dad sent me here because he thought I’d be devastated. But I get that relationships don’t always work.’ She gives Dieter a bright smile. ‘I’m fine.’
Dieter raises an eyebrow. ‘Sometimes it takes a while for the truth to sink in.’
‘Oh, I’m not in denial or anything,’ Lauren says. ‘I just focus on the good things.’
‘Like Prada and Gucci?’ Sydney asks, looking down at Lauren’s bag.
‘And Hermès and Coach,’ Lauren counters. ‘Retail therapy does help.’ She inspects Sydney’s vintage fashion. ‘But you have to steer clear of thrift shops.’
‘What else helps you cope, Lauren?’ Dieter intervenes.
‘My boyfriend,’ Lauren says, pushing her hair behind her ears with French-manicured nails. ‘I can tell Trey anything.’
Sydney repeats the last sentence in a singsong voice as she takes a plastic bag out of her backpack and offers Banksy a dog biscuit.
Dieter shoots a pointed look in Sydney’s direction. Her kohl-lined eyes are all innocence. ‘What? I’m agreeing with her.’ She balls up the empty plastic bag and tosses it into the trash can.
Kali is out of her seat in a flash to pluck the bag out of the trash and wave it under Sydney’s nose. ‘Hello? You can reuse this.’
‘Reuse this,’ Syd says, flipping her the bird. I notice her fingernails are chewed down and her left hand is splotched with red and blue paint.
Kali looks to Dieter, but he’s momentarily distracted by Simon, who’s plugging in his earbuds.
‘You should use biodegradable bags anyway,’ Kali says. ‘Especially to stoop-and-scoop for your canine Prince Charming.’
Dieter confiscates Simon’s iPod and shoots Kali a warning glance. ‘Some people take comfort from animals in times of stress.’
‘Others just get stoned,’ Sydney says, trying to shift attention to Evan.
‘Or sublimate their grief with anger and sex,’ Simon says. ‘Like I do.’
Evan almost falls into Lauren’s lap, laughing. I’m surprised he has enough brain cells left to know what sublimate means.
Kali talks over the guys’ laughter. ‘I agree with Lauren. A good relationship is the best distraction from family drama. When I see my boyfriend, Rick, the rest of the world just fades away. And then the songs come.’ She closes her eyes and hums a few stray notes. ‘It’s the ultimate therapy.’
Sydney isn’t the only one to snort, but hers is the loudest. ‘I had you pegged at school. You and your friends are too much.’ She turns to Simon. ‘It’s constant hallway karaoke.’
Kali crosses her legs again, and her arms too. ‘At least I don’t roll with thugs.’
‘Stains and Rambo are my best friends,’ Sydney says. ‘Even if we don’t sing together.’
‘You want to be scary by association,’ Kali says. ‘Dieter would say you hang with them to avoid making real friends.’
‘Don’t put words in my mouth, Kali,’ Dieter says, although he seems fine with the direction the conversation is taking. He’s even slouched a little in his chair.
‘I like hanging with guys because girls overanalyze everything,’ Sydney says.
I try steering the conversation to safer ground. ‘Does everyone here go to Austin High? I just started there this week.’
They tell me that Evan and Simon go to Travis, the other high school in the area, while Lauren attends a private school in the east end.
Syd confronts Lauren. ‘You probably come downtown for this so your society friends won’t know you’re in group.’
‘Of course I do,’ Lauren says. ‘I bet no one here is telling their friends.’
Dieter weighs in. ‘You should all be proud of yourselves for trying to deal with your challenges in a constructive way.’
Everyone single one of us laughs.
‘I’m not even telling my boyfriend,’ Kali says. ‘We’re pretty solid, but still.’
‘You don’t want him to think you’re a head case,’ Simon offers.
‘Exactly,’ Kali says.
‘I’m not telling my boyfriend either,’ I say.
‘Why not, Zahra?’ Dieter asks.
‘I don’t want to bring Rico down with my problems, that’s all,’ I say. ‘I’m sure he’d be totally supportive.’
‘Trey already knows all about my problems, including group,’ Lauren says. ‘But we’ve been together over a year. How did you and Rico meet?’
‘We met in a music store near the cookbook shop where I work.’
Kali uncrosses her legs and leans forward in her seat. ‘Is he cute?’
I nod, relaxing a little as I tell the story. ‘I’m not that into music, but he was so excited about all these new bands, I spent thirty bucks on his favorite CD. Who even buys CDs anymore? Anyway, I hated it, but I went back the next day and sunk another forty into a live bootleg album.’
Lauren laughs. ‘Did you get a decent return on your investment?’
‘Yep,’ I say. ‘We started talking about an art exhibit, and he invited me to come.’
‘You’re into art?’ Sydney says, running her eyes over my outfit. Obviously someone who wears regular jeans and sneakers can’t be arty.
‘I’m into Rico,’ I say. ‘If he’d invited me to a monster truck rally, I’d have been into that too.’
‘Girls,’ Simon says, in disgust. ‘You’re all frauds.’
‘It’s polite to show interest in other people’s passions,’ I say. ‘And it goes both ways. Rico backs my dream of becoming a chef.’
‘It’s not hard to show interest in eating,’ Evan says. His hair’s even curlier than mine – a big brown afro.
‘He made me a pot holder with my company logo,’ I say, regretting it immediately as the guys snicker.
‘That’s very romantic,’ Lauren says. ‘It shows he gets what you’re all about.’
‘Sugar and spice and everything nice,’ Syd says, smirking.
I simply smile because I happen to believe ‘Everything’s Better with a Little Sugar.’ It’s the Sweet Tooth motto.
‘My boyfriend burnt me a killer CD of his favorite songs,’ Kali says, beaming as she reapplies peachy lip gloss. Her teeth are white and straight.
‘That’s the oldest move in the book,’ Simon says. ‘I have copies of my seduction playlist on standby.’
Evan turns to me, and his eyes are finally wide open. ‘So, did Betty Crocker give it up for the pot holder?’
Dieter claps and says, ‘Crossing the line. Anyway, we’re nearly done for today.’
‘Thank God,’ Simon says, heaving himself off his chair. ‘I was afraid manis and pedis were next.’
‘Actually, team building exercises are next,’ Dieter says.
Kali’s the first to protest. ‘We never did exercises last time.’
‘Your last group didn’t need them. I’m assigning you a project to be done in teams.’ Dieter claps over us as we all start talking. ‘I pick the teams. And what did I say about whining?’
‘Zahra.’
Mom doesn’t have to say much to get her point across. There’s something in her tone that commands attention.
‘What?’
She gives me the look. ‘You know what.’
We’ve just sat down at the table and she wants me to cover my head. Before my grandparents moved in, Mom only cared about that on religious holidays, if then. Now it’s every meal, even a regular Friday night dinner like this one.
I understand that wearing a dupatta, or scarf, signifies respect to God and all that, and if Nani wants to wear one, fine. But I don’t think I should have to wear it, or pretend it means something to me. I’m fifteen. I can make my own decisions. And at the moment, all a scarf symbolizes for me is my family’s collapse.
To Saliyah, however, a scarf is dress-up. Today’s is mauve and sparkly and looks awful with her baggy tunic, which happens to be the top half of the salwar kameez Nani brought me from Pakistan. Why Nani would choose orange for my coloring is beyond me. It’s like she wants to piss me off.
Mom’s scarf is rose chiffon, a sunset surrounding her pretty face. From the neck down she’s in her usual Banana Republic shirt and pants.
Nani glowers at me from under her heavily embroidered turquoise scarf. If it weren’t for my grandfather’s hand over hers, she’d be giving me an earful. That hand serves as a plug. Without it, Nani pretty much yammers nonstop, and what she says is usually irritating.
With Nana doing his best to restrain Nani, I give in. Yanking the hood from my sweatshirt up over my hair, I say, ‘There. Everybody happy?’
Nani opens her mouth, but Nana tightens his grip on her hand. Technically I’m observing the rules. My head is covered and he’s hungry. He says a quick blessing, takes a hamburger, and passes the platter.
With the gag order lifted, Nani turns to my mom. ‘Sana, I gave Zahra a lovely dupatta for her birthday.’
The scarf in question is loaded with so many rhinestones that it squashes even my bushy hair. That was probably the point. Red is an uncommon hair color for East Asians, so it’s a constant reminder to her of my dad, or more specifically, of how my mom abandoned her family and customs.
I’ve already explained to her that red hair is a recessive trait that requires a gene from each parent. It’s beginner biology and Nani’s not stupid. She just doesn’t want to admit that Mom’s equally to blame for the mess on my head. The gene must have crept stealthily through generations of Nana’s Persian ancestors until it ambushed me.
Saliyah tries to change the subject. ‘Are you going to bake for me today, Zahra?’
‘I’m not in the mood,’ I say.
My ‘cheery’ default doesn’t always work at home, and with all that’s happened this week, it may be permanently broken. I didn’t want to come for dinner tonight, in case Mom brought up the fire or group therapy, but so far she hasn’t.
Actually, I never enjoy dinner here anymore, but Dad insists I come once a week whether I like it or not. He’s afraid Saliyah and I will grow apart. There’s no risk of that. My sister drives me crazy, but I love her. We can survive a separation.
Still, these dinners are uncomfortable. This is my home, but I don’t live here. Dad’s place isn’t my home, but it’s where I live. In other words, I have two homes and none at all. I’m a nomad in a green hoodie.
Nani mutters something in Urdu. Her English is excellent, so she switches it up if she doesn’t want me to know what she’s saying.
Saliyah has picked up a fair bit of Urdu, but she doesn’t like being caught in the middle, so she answers Nani in English. ‘Zahra’s in boyfriend withdrawal. She hasn’t seen Rico since Dad grounded her.’
I do hope to see him on Sunday afternoon, if he’s free and I can come up with a foolproof alibi.
‘You should be thinking about college, not boys,’ Nana says. He takes a bite of his hamburger and frowns. ‘American boys only think about themselves.’
‘Rico is very thoughtful,’ I tell him. ‘He just gave me the nicest gift ever.’
Mom slides the dish of achaar – spicy pickles– toward Nana. She must have made the burgers my way tonight. Usually she laces them with cumin, chili, and turmeric, and tries to pass them off as normal. ‘He did? You didn’t mention a gift.’
Of course not. I’ve revoked her clearance for insider information.
Saliyah whispers to Mom, ‘He gave her a pot holder when she cooked him dinner.’
There’s nothing wrong with Nani’s hearing. ‘You invited a boy into your home? Alone?’
Nana takes another bite of his hamburger and sighs. Even with the pickles there’s not enough flavor. He takes the top bun off and adds ketchup and chutney. ‘This is what happens when you let them think about boys,’ he says. ‘Trouble.’
> ‘Abba,’ Mom says, still calm. ‘Woh meri beti hai, mera faisla.’
I’ve heard this one a few times. It means something in the neighborhood of, ‘My daughter, my decision.’
I glare at my sister as I bite into my burger. Perfect. Just plain old beef. ‘Why’d you blab?’
Although her hair and eyes are a shade lighter than Mom’s, Saliyah looks just like her – without all the worry lines. Mom aged ten years overnight after seeing the size of my grandparents’ suitcases, and another ten when the trunks arrived.
‘I was only explaining that Rico’s a good guy,’ Saliyah says. ‘He’s not shallow just because he’s smokin’.’
Feeling the tension in the room rise, I jump in to control the spin. ‘It was an innocent dinner. And you’ll be happy to know that Mom and Dad are punishing me for it by making me go to therapy.’
‘Therapy?’ Nana says. ‘She’s sharing personal problems with a stranger?’
Mom gives him an exasperated look. There’s no winning with my grandparents. That’s probably why she left Karachi when she was seventeen to accept a chemistry scholarship at the University of Texas. Back then she stood up to her parents. Now, not so much.
Nani notices that Nana is still picking at his burger, and gets up from the table. She takes a dish of curry she made earlier out of the fridge and heats it in the microwave. When she sits beside him again, he just gives her a little smile. Forty-six years ago they were virtual strangers when their parents arranged their marriage. They met only twice, chaperoned, before the wedding.
It’s strange to think I’ve already spent way more time with Rico and I haven’t even met his family or friends. But arranged marriages are proof that you don’t have to know every detail about the other person to make a relationship last. It’s about chemistry. Some couples are just meant to be.
Nana slides me his curry. ‘Try this.’
He knows I hate curry, but he always offers it up. It’s like he thinks his genes will suddenly activate in me, and I’ll love it.
‘No thanks,’ I say, picking up my hamburger.
Nana shakes his head. ‘One day you’ll realise there’s nothing wrong with a little heat.’
Love Inc. Page 3