53 Letters For My Lover

by Leylah Attar

  I nodded. “Do I insert them in the morning or at night?”

  Dr. Gorman looked at me as if I had just landed from another planet.

  “My dear.” He smiled. “You don’t insert anything. These are to be taken orally. Swallowed, like this...” He opened his mouth and pretended to drink a glass of water.

  I turned scarlet. How naïve of me to assume that everything to do with babies had to do with down there.

  “Here’s a prescription. Get it filled before you run out.”

  “Thank you.”

  I found Khaleh Zarrin waiting for me outside. She gave me a sly wink and slapped my bum.

  “Now buy me some mint tea and I will tell you how to drive your jaan wild.”

  How different she was from Maamaan.

  October 9th, 1982

  My first night with Hafez, I didn’t use any of the advice Khaleh Zarrin had given me.

  I had moved into his parents’ place, a crowded one bedroom apartment. Hafez usually slept on a mattress, but they had bought a pull-out couch for the living room, and made a great fuss presenting it as our wedding gift.

  “We won’t be disturbed,” said Hafez.

  “Can we...” I fumbled. “Can we wait until tomorrow?”

  I was exhausted. It had been a long day. Khaleh Zarrin had been the only familiar face. I felt like I was being swallowed in a sea of strangers.

  “Of course.” He looked almost relieved. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” I replied.

  I wished he would put his arm around me, but he slept facing the other way. I missed my cozy pajamas. It felt strange lying on the lumpy couch in the silk nightgown that Maamaan had sent. I held my hand out in front of me and surveyed the gold band around my ring finger. My skin glowed orange from the street lights.

  I’m a Mrs., I thought.

  October 10th, 1982

  Hafez woke me around dawn.

  “I have to leave.” He was already dressed for work. “I’ll call you. Around noon?”

  I nodded self-consciously. It was the first time he had seen my morning face.

  “Just one thing...”

  I thought he was going to kiss me, but he held up a box cutter and sliced his finger.

  “What—?”

  “Shhh.” He squeezed until a stream of liquid red pooled to the surface. “It’s not deep. Make sure Ma sees this, okay?” He rubbed the blood on the sheet. “I’ll see you in the evening.”

  I reached for him, this man who had cut himself to prove my honor, no questions asked. I took his bleeding finger into my mouth and sucked it.

  He drew a sharp breath. “That’s not...necessary.” But he let it stay, regarding me with soft, thoughtful eyes.

  “We don’t have all day,” Kamal Hijazi snapped from the door.

  Hafez flinched. It was an odd relationship. Father and son barely spoke to each other, but they went to work together every day.

  Ma woke up a few hours later. She told me to call her ‘Ma’ and Hafez’s father ‘Pedar’, just like he did.

  “We your parents now,” she said.

  I debated about making her breakfast, but didn’t know what she liked or where to find it, so I pretended I was still sleeping.

  “Today, I will show you,” she said. “After, you make the breakfast every day for us.”

  She insisted on speaking English with me.

  “It good for my learn,” she explained over lavash with feta cheese and fig preserves.

  I washed the dishes as she made up the couch. After a while, she came and kissed me on both cheeks.

  “Good girl. We must do laundry.” She laughed and held up the blood stained bed sheet.

  By noon, we were ready to receive Hafez’s cousins and aunts. They were immaculately dressed in shoulder-padded blouses, with big hair and bright lipstick.

  “Nasrin!” They hugged Ma.

  The younger ones pulled me aside.

  “So?” They teased. “How was it? Your first night?”

  “I’ll go get the tea.” I excused myself.

  “She’s shy!” They laughed.

  I poured sweet tea in glass teacups and served it with a tray of cookies.

  “We know Hafez and Kamal have to work, but it’s Thanksgiving weekend and we were hoping you’d join us for lunch.” The aunts informed me.

  I glanced at Ma. Lunch meant money, and I had none.

  “Farnaz and Behram own a restaurant. You must go,” she said.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “Khaleh Nasrin doesn’t like to go out,” said Farnaz, one of Hafez’s cousins. “The doctors say it’s her heart.”

  “I don’t like go out because I don’t want put feet in shoes,” said Ma, pointing to her swollen ankles. “You go.”

  We squeezed into Farnaz's car after saying goodbye to Ma. Farnaz insisted that I sit in front with her.

  She slid me a sly glance. “I can’t imagine getting much privacy in that place. When are you off for your honeymoon?”

  “We haven’t planned anything. Pedar says the shop is too busy.”

  “It will always be too busy. Hafez is his best mechanic. You don’t think he’s just going to let him go, do you? You’ll have to fight for him, my dear.”

  She pulled into a parking lot behind a Greek restaurant.

  “You’ve met my husband, Behram.” She waved to him as she led us to a table.

  “Salaam.” He greeted us, looking a little flustered. “Jaan,” he said to his wife, “I could really use your help. We’re short staffed.”

  “What happened to the girl we hired?” asked Farnaz. “She was supposed to start today.”

  “She never showed.”

  Farnaz rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with plates full of souvlaki sticks, pita bread and salad.

  “Eat up, ladies. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

  “You need help?” I asked.

  “Sit down,” hissed one of the girls. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

  “Oh.” I took my seat and lowered my head.

  Uncomfortable seconds ticked by. When I looked up, they were all rolled over, trying to keep themselves from laughing.

  “Welcome to the family,” said the one on my left, ribbing me with her elbow. “We’re the not-so-serious side.”

  “Let the poor girl eat,” said Farnaz’s mum. She filled my glass with water. “I thought I would see Mona at the wedding. How is she?”

  “Maamaan is fine. They couldn’t get their papers on time.”

  “Tell her Farideh sends her regards. I visited your summer home many times when I was there.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. And what a grand place it was. Your mother threw the most lavish garden parties. And you father...” She laughed. “A handsome devil with a silver tongue. You must have been very young. I don’t recall seeing you or your brother.”

  “We used to fill our plates and sneak off to the lemon groves,” I replied. It had been my favorite place in the whole world.

  “I was sorry to hear about what happened,” said Farideh.

  I nodded and picked at my food, trying not to think about the smell of burning lemon trees.

  When I got back, Ma was dusting the glass cabinet that stood gleaming like an exclamation point in the drab apartment. Hafez had told me that it was her pride and joy.

  “They’re beautiful,” I said, peering into the collection of porcelain figurines on the shelves.

  “You like?” Ma beamed. “Many years it take.”

  There were different shapes and sizes, some hand painted with gold accents, others the kind you’d find at a garage sale, but each was grouped into a family—mother, father, a kid, maybe three or four, a pet, sometimes a house.

  “This us.” She handed me a set of three, painted in soft colors. “I get when I have baby. Me, Kamal and little boy Hafez.”

  “Very nice,” I said. “Now you need to fit me in there.”<
br />
  “No.” She returned her miniature family to the top tier. “This mine. You need make own.” Ma laughed and patted my belly.

  6. Almost There

  August 4th, 1995

  “Perfect,” says Troy. “I’ll take it.”

  “But you haven’t seen the rest of it.” I’m standing before the wide glass doors, ready to lead him to the private rooftop pool.

  “No need.” He stops behind me and catches my eyes in the reflection. “I like it.” His voice drops. “A lot.”

  My breath fogs up the pane. A lifetime ago, I had turned to him as we stood like this.

  I think perhaps that had been the beginning.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask.

  He picks up a curl and plays with it. “I’m dying to kiss you.”

  But he doesn’t kiss me. I lie outside the circle of free, single girls. He wants me, but he wants me to open that door, fully empowered, fully aware.

  Let me in.

  I turn away. “Should I draw up an offer?”

  “Please.” But he says it in his bedroom voice.

  I picture him under me, waiting for the brush of my lips, my fingers, my tongue.

  Please.

  My hands are unsteady as I pick up the papers and skim over them. This is the sixth property we’ve seen since Bob left for his cruise.

  ‘Carved from a century-old warehouse, with twenty foot exposed wood beam ceilings, sandblasted brick walls, motorized window coverings, heated floors and an elevator to a private garage, this two bedroom penthouse loft, with a custom built gym and library, is one of the largest and most spectacular units in the city.’

  I remember reading the listing and thinking it would be perfect. And maybe, just maybe, I’d be free of Troy. Every hour we spend together intensifies my awareness of him. The scent of his skin, the shape of his nails, the subtle inflections in his voice—the savvy businessman, the charming bad boy, the sensual lover. Watching him eat, talk, smile, tease, it’s easy to see why women come undone around him. That insatiable appetite for life, the intrinsic confidence, the dark, dangerous allure wrapped in layers of genuine playfulness.

  “Okay then.” I start turning the lights off.

  This is it. We’ve found him a place. I’m almost there, still intact.

  We take the private elevator down. Small spaces are the worse. Cars, laundry rooms, guest bathrooms, walk-in closets. I’ve been in them all with him, showing him this, inspecting that. Soon, I’ll be able to breathe freely.

  “I leave for New York in three days. If we could have this wrapped up by then, it would be great,” he says when the doors open.

  “The closing isn’t for another two months. That’s if they accept our offer.”

  “They’ll accept. I want it. Whatever it takes.” He walks me to my car before saying goodbye.

  I get in and shut the door, massaging my temples. The stress of holding it together when I’m around him drains me.

  I jump at the knock on my window.

  He’s circled back. Now what?

  “I just realized that I’m officially living in the city,” he says. “I think that calls for a celebration.”

  “I can’t, Troy.”

  “Can’t?” He looks at me for a moment. “I like ‘can’t’. Much better than ‘won’t’.”

  “Can’t, won’t. What difference does it make?”

  He straightens, but his smile is oddly unsettling. “See you when I get back, Shayda.”

  7. Beetroot Butterfly

  September 29th, 1995

  “Bye, Shayda. Have a great weekend.”

  “You too.” I wave back at Susan, set the code for the alarm and lock the door behind me.

  A dark sedan pulls up beside me. The driver unrolls the passenger side window.

  “Shayda.”

  I peer into the car. “Troy? What are you doing here?”

  “Get in.” He unlocks the door.

  “I’m on my way home.”

  “This won’t take long.”

  “Is there a problem?” I ask. The closing on his loft went through without a hitch.

  “No.” He dangles the keys in front of me. “Just picked them up from the lawyer. Now will you get in before Hulk Hogan back there decides to have a go at me?”

  I glance at the driver of the car waiting behind him. The thought of Troy’s impeccably fit six foot frame being tossed around like a Saturday morning cartoon is a bit far-fetched, but amusing.

  “Why do I get the feeling that you’d enjoy seeing me get roughed up?” he says.

  “What do you want?” I ask, getting in.

  “I have something for you,” he replies, indicating the back seat.

  I see a round mesh box, wrapped with a satin ribbon.

  “What is it?”

  “Something that needs our immediate attention.” He pulls out of the parking lot and takes the highway.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Would you quit with the twenty questions and just relax?”

  I sit back and look out the window as the fall foliage whizzes by in spectacular streaks of red and yellow. It’s easier than dwelling on how good he looks in a leather jacket. He takes the exit a few minutes later and turns into a quiet park.

  “Come.” He grabs the box and walks me to edge of a big pond that mirrors the blazing colors of the trees around us. We follow a path up the hill, where a slight clearing gives way to a breathtaking view of the ravine.

  “Wow.” I take in the meandering silver of the Don River as it cuts through the valley, flanked by golden oaks and maples and birch. “It’s like we’re not even in the city. How did you find this place?”

  “I come here for my daily run,” he replies. “Here.” He hands me the box. “A little something for you. Make a wish before you open it.”

  “What?”

  “Close your eyes, make a wish and then open the box.”

  “This is silly,” I reply.

  “Do it.”

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Then I untie the ribbon and peek inside.

  A brilliant flash of red flutters inside.

  “Oh my god!” I snap the lid shut. “Is that...is that a butterfly?”

  He smiles at my obvious delight.

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “You’re supposed to release it.”

  I peek into the box again. “It’s a Monarch! I’ve never seen one this color before. Where did you find it?”

  “I happened to be frolicking through a field of wildflowers and there it was. And wouldn’t you know it? I just happened to have a butterfly net.”

  “Troy.”

  “I made a few phone calls.” He fesses up.

  “But why?”

  “Remember that first time we met? By the sidewalk outside Bob’s house?”

  “Yes?”

  “I lied. There was no butterfly. I made it up.”

  “Why would you do something like that?”

  “Because you were about to bolt and I wanted you to stay.”

  My heart stops, and then slams hard and fast against my chest, my thoughts racing back to that sunny morning in June.

  It was a long walk from the bus stop to Bob’s house. My hands were heavy with the contracts he needed for the day. I heard someone running behind me. Two girls, walking in the opposite direction, all long legs and bouncy hair, passed me by. They smiled. I smiled back, but quickly realized they were smiling at whoever was behind me.

  “Morning, girls.” The tone was bold, appreciative and wickedly playful.

  The girls giggled and walked on. The footsteps behind me slowed, then started up again.

  The next instant, I felt myself being knocked off my feet. I landed on my knees, papers flying everywhere.

  “Whoa! Are you all right? I didn’t see you there.”

  Of course not. Why would he? He was too busy checking out the girls over his shoulder, enjoying the rear view.

  He
chased down my papers before kneeling next to me. Dusty sneakers, grey sweatpants, a ‘University of Waterloo’ sweatshirt, and then—the most startling pair of blue eyes. They reminded me of the cut outs I had saved in my wish book, of the places I wanted to visit. Blue like the water that surrounds the islands in the South Pacific. I felt like I had been picked off the pavement and plopped smack dab in the middle of it. I floated there for a while, suspended in its endless horizons as it held me for long, still seconds.

  The chut-chut-chut-chut of an automatic sprinkler transported me back to the suburban street. I blinked and started getting up.

  “Shhh. Don’t move,” he said. “Not a muscle.”

  “Huh?” I had the most peculiar urge to flee. My cheeks were already burning like I had run a long way.

  “Don’t move. There’s a butterfly. On your shoulder.”

  I froze. I don’t know why. I couldn’t even see it.

  “What color?” I asked.

  “Red.”

  “Red?” I felt that molten blue stare on me again.

  “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen,” he said.

  I dared not breathe.

  “You know,” he continued, “there’s a Native American legend which says that if you want a wish to come true, you must capture a butterfly and whisper your wish to it. Since it makes no sound, it won’t tell the wish to anyone but the Great Spirit. By making the wish and releasing the butterfly, your wish will be taken to the heavens and be granted.”

  “Are you...are you going to try and catch it?”

  “Only if it wants to be caught.”

  I squeezed the bundle of papers in my hand to stop them from shaking. His gaze dropped to my lap, breaking that electric contact. When he looked up, his eyes were different.

  “It’s gone.”

  “What?”

  “The butterfly.”

  I nodded, letting my breath out.

  “Are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked.

  “No.” But every second he looked at me, he zapped through another layer of my safe, calm cocoon.

  “I’d say I’m sorry for running into you, but I’m not really.” He smiled as he handed me the rest of the papers.

  It wasn’t fair. Having a smile like that.