by Leylah Attar
We pick up a matching Beatles t-shirt for Troy and I get a pair of silver starfish hair clips for Natasha.
“No wigs?” asks Judy.
“No.” Troy kisses the top of my head. “No more disguises.”
By the time we head back, the stars are out and the sky is steeped in inky blue.
“You still use this laptop?” asks Troy when he spots it on the table.
“That’s how I tracked you down, once I saw your parents’ photo.”
“You spied on my property records? With the very laptop I gave you? That’s not very nice, Beetroot.”
“All is fair in love and war.” I reply. “Need I remind you, you lied to me.”
“About what?”
“You said you’re not free.”
“I’m not. I’m bound to you. Chained, wired, and branded, with your stamp across my chest. For life. I believe that earns me eternal kanoodling.” His hand explores the hollows of my back. “So did you finish the story about the prince?” he asks.
“I’m still working on it.”
“Are you ever going to let me read it?”
“When it’s done.” I stand on tip-toe and kiss him.
“Keep that up and we can forget about dinner.” He steps away reluctantly. “I’m still on a mission to fatten you up, you know.”
“But you make it so much fun to burn up the calories.”
“Grrrrr. You’re the queen of distractions.” He smacks my butt. “You want to eat out on the deck tonight?”
We set the table outside and turn on the mini-lanterns on the ledge.
Troy holds my hand as we eat, his eyes lingering on my fingers.
“What?” I ask, as he studies them intently.
“I can’t get enough of this. Bare fingers, mine to put a ring on. I’m trying to picture what would suit you best.”
“I already have something in mind. And it’s not gold or diamonds.”
“What are you thinking, Beetroot?”
“I’ll tell you when we get back.”
“I can’t wait to tell my parents.”
I push my food around half-heartedly. “They’ll never have grand-kids, Troy.”
“They’ll just have to make do with one deliriously happy kid. And two amazing step grand-kids. You gotta admit. That’s a pretty sweet deal.”
He balances me out so perfectly, it feels like we’re two pieces of a puzzle falling into place, part of a beautiful picture that was always meant to be.
I pull my shawl closer, feeling the chill of the night settle around us.
“Let’s go inside,” says Troy.
“Not yet.” I don’t want to give up this night, this moon, this last bit of magic before we head back.
“Then let’s get you warmed up.” He holds his hand out and leads me to the gazebo.
I lean against the latticed railing and watch as he turns on the patio heater. The tall column fires up a stunning flame, providing instant warmth. Troy opens a built in panel and punches a few buttons. Soft music surrounds us.
“You know what we didn’t do this time?” I ask.
“What?” He wraps his arms around me.
“Chicken wings and karaoke.”
“Easily remedied.”
We dance as he sings Duran Duran’s ‘Come Undone’ to me—something about an immaculate dream made breath and skin, in that sexy, breathless tone that sends goosebumps tingling all over me.
“I was listening to this when I saw you that day, by the pond,” he says.
The day I found the dead butterfly. The day that changed it all.
“Nice karaoke. And what about the chicken wings?” I ask, drunk on this moment, the look in his eyes, the silver reflections on the lake.
“Got those covered too.” He takes a hold of my bony elbows and flaps them.
“Troy!” I laugh.
“I love you, Beetroot Butterfly.”
“I love you, Scary Cherry.”
51. Laughter
August 12th, 2001
I sit up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat.
“What’s wrong?” Troy gets up.
“Crap!” I shake my head and bury my face in my hands. “Crap, crap, crap.”
“Shayda? What’s wro—”
“How am I going to explain this to Jayne?” I crawl into his arms
We fall back on the bed and start laughing—silly, absurd, convulsing chuckles. He rolls me over and puts his ear on my chest.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Listening to you laugh.”
I sigh and stroke his hair. “She has a baby now.”
“Jayne?”
“Yes. A little boy.”
“Good. She won’t give a crap, crap, crap.” He smiles.
At least, I feel him smile, because it’s too dark for me to see. So I trace his mouth and let my hands wander over his face, savoring the curves, the contours, the bones beneath his skin, the smoothness of ear lobes, the orbits of his eyes.
When I wake up again, the first rays of daylight are just peeking through the shutters.
“Going for a run?” I ask Troy, sleepily.
“Not today.” He snuggles into me. “Today, everything I need is right here.”
We drift off again, only to be woken up by the sound of the front door slamming shut. Then a dog barks from the living room, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet.
“Fuck!” Troy sits up in bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I forgot to tell Amy—no more rentals.”
The bedroom door opens. Four pairs of startled eyes stare back at us. Mum, dad, a little boy and the family pet.
Troy and I look at each other.
Caught naked under the covers.
“I don’t give a fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whisper in his ear.
“Excuse my fiancée.” Troy gives our unexpected guests a lopsided smile. “She has a real potty mouth.”
We fall back on the bed and start laughing.
“Say that again.” I pull the bedsheet over us.
“Excuse my fiancée?”
“I love when you call me your fiancée.”
52. The Window
May 9th, 2010
“I hope it doesn’t rain,” says Natasha, looking out of the arched window.
“If it does, they have the sun room and the tent ready to go.” I knot the sash around her waist. The bright fuchsia adds a pop of color to her soft ivory dress.
“I know, but I’ve always wanted an outdoor reception.”
“And that’s exactly what you’ll have.” I adjust the starfish clips that hold up the whimsical flower crown on her head. With dainty white cherry blossoms and baby leaves woven through delicate vine, it makes her look like an ethereal woodland creature.
“Beautiful.” I sigh. “My baby girl is all grown up.”
“Can you believe it?” She smiles as I admire her reflection in the antique mirror.
The bohemian dress hugs her figure and falls to her feet in layers of soft tulle. Its stunning low back is edged with silk rosettes. Lace cap sleeves accentuate her shoulders. She looks like every woman should on her wedding day—glowing, radiant and sublimely happy.
“Oh, mum.” She catches me wiping a tear for the umpteenth time. “It’s Nathan. Our Nathan. I’m married to my best friend.”
“And it’s about time.” I sniff. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you.”
I give her a small gift bag and a large one. She looks inside the first and lets out a squeal of delight.
“Your butterfly umbrella?”
The one that Troy gave me.
“It’s yours now.” I say. “I hope you don’t have to use it today, but if you do, it’ll help you dance through it all. All of your rainy days.”
“And this?” She pulls out a crimson coat from the bigger bag. “Oh my god! It’s the coat that dad bought you. Remember when I used to play dress-up with it? Now I can
take all those memories with me to our new place. Thanks, mum. I love them both!”
It’s an old coat and a used umbrella, but I am giving her little pieces of my journey, two things that brought me the same kind of joy that I wish for her.
“I hate to interrupt, but everyone’s waiting.” Jayne walks in with her four year old in tow. “Look Sophia, doesn’t Natasha look beautiful?”
“She’s a mini-you,” I say, admiring her daughter. Red hair, an elfin nose spattered with freckles, and arresting green eyes.
“She might look like me, but inside? She’s a little devil. Nothing like her older brother.”
“Like I said, she’s a mini-you.” I laugh. “Why didn’t you bring her and Brady yesterday?”
“And risk them ruining that elaborate set-up you had?”
“The sofreh aghd?”
“Whatever you call the traditional Persian wedding spread. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
“It was beautiful. And so was the ceremony. And it was all mum,” says Natasha, “But I’m glad it’s done. I just want to start my life with Nathan.”
“Awww.” Jayne and I move in to give her a hug.
“Careful, careful. We don’t want to smudge anything,” she says.
We laugh at what’s become her trademark line. From fashion shows to TV sets, to weddings to photo shoots, Natasha is renowned for her meticulous make-up and special effects skills.
“Where’s your maid of honor?” asks Jayne.
“Terri went to get my bouquet. She’ll be right back.”
Jayne looks around the room and sighs. “I’m so glad you chose to get married here. I remember this room like it was yesterday.”
I remember it too. Staring through the half-open door as Troy and Jayne kissed in front of this very window; dancing with him in the great hall after wards; the tipsy, barely-there kiss he left on my neck. All these years and I can still feel the ghost of its imprint.
“Wait till you see the sunken garden. It looks magical,” says Jayne. “Let’s get you seated, Shayda. Everyone’s waiting.” She picks up her daughter. “I’ll signal for your entrance, Natasha.”
Jayne and I walk through the meandering pathways to a cobblestoned area, shaded by a giant oak canopy. Green and yellow paper lanterns hang from the branches like bubbles full of bright, suspended wishes. Directly underneath the magnificent setting is the head table, with a punchy centerpiece of lemon & lime colored pinwheels, and mason jars glowing with candles.
“It couldn’t be more perfect,” I say to Jayne. “You’ve made her dream come true.”
“Just keep your fingers crossed that it doesn’t rain,” she replies, looking up at the gathering clouds.
I feel pacific blues on me as we enter, and can’t help but smile. The weather doesn’t stand a chance when Troy is around. He’s a gloom-dispersing dynamo, and he keeps getting sexier with the passage of time. The years have chiseled away the planes of his face so that the only points of softness are his lips, lips so sensual, no man should have them. The thick, rough tangle of his hair shows a liberal smattering of grey, and the years have etched crinkles in the corners of his eyes, but it only grips at my heart.
He clasps my hand as I take my place next to him, with Hafez and Zain standing on my other side.
“About time, Mrs. Heathgate,” he drawls.
My heart still takes a little leap everytime he calls me that.
We had a quiet ceremony at the cottage, a sunrise wedding by the ‘x’ on the beach, in our matching Beatles t-shirts. There was no exchange of rings—we had barbed wire tattooed around our fingers instead.
Maamaan sat in the front with Baba, Hossein and his family. She hmph’ed because it was too early and not traditional enough, but she wore a brand new hat with tall feathers that Bob had to part through to see what was going on. Elizabeth sat next to him, with Jayne, Matt and little Brady.
“Disgusting,” Jayne had said when I told her the truth.
Her best friend and her first crush.
“I’m sorry, Jayne.” I said.
“You should be. How could you waste all that time? I would have cavorted off with him that very first night. I mean, that body, those eyes.” She fanned herself dramatically. “So is he as good in bed as he’s reputed to be?”
“Jayne!”
“Come on! You owe me. Big time.”
Grace and Henry had welcomed me graciously into their family.
“We always knew it was going to take a very special gal to win his heart,” they said.
Hafez had attended with Marjaneh.
I smile at her across the family table. Hafez’s steady affection has done wonders for her self-esteem, and the kids have filled the void she felt about not having any children. She lavishes Hafez with all the nurturing she had locked up inside, and he, in turn, has been transformed. His limp from the accident is barely noticeable, and he walks taller now, as if a great burden has been lifted off his shoulders. Opening up to Natasha, Zain and the rest of the world about his past has been a liberating experience.
Troy and I set up the Haft Seen table with the kids every year, and invite Hafez and Marjaneh over. I added a figurine of them. It sits besides three others: the original one of our family, Ma’s broken one, and a new one of Troy and me. Next Nowruz, I will add Natasha’s and Nathan’s, and hopefully some grandkids soon. Each new addition, is like a new world, full of hopes and dreams. I finally understand Ma and her sparkling glass cabinet.
My heart swells as Natasha and Nathan make their way to the front. I never thought I’d live to see this day. Ten years is a damn long time in the cancer world. I remember passing the five year mark. 1,825 cancer free days. My doctor called it remission. I called it my bonus, my ‘more’, an extension to witness both my kids grow up, to see Hafez heal, to fall asleep in the arms of the beautiful man by my side—every freaking, unbelievable night. He’s my secret weapon, the love that fuels my ‘more’.
“No rock band t-shirt today,” he whispers. “They one-upped us.”
I laugh. Nathan has ditched his usual gear for a dashing grey suit, white shirt and a bright fuchsia tie that matches the sash on Natasha’s dress.
“Pink,” they said, while planning the big day. “For you, mum.”
“Can I get you anything?” I ask Maamaan when lunch is served.
“You’re just checking in to make sure Baba and I aren’t at each other’s throats, aren’t you?”
“Not at all.” I smile. “I’m counting on Hossein to do that.”
“So far so good,” he reports. “We’ve put away all the sharp objects.”
Maamaan doesn’t look amused. “I still say Natasha should have married a nice Persian boy.”
“Oh please,” replies Baba. “Look what happened when you tried to marry Shayda to a nice Persian boy. And then you married Hossein to a nice Persian girl. No disrespect, Adele.”
“None taken,” she replies. “Did you see your ex, Hossein?” She points to Marjaneh. “Let’s go say hello.”
“You see? Now there’s a woman who is completely secure,” says Baba after they leave.
“Are you saying I wasn’t?” counters Maamaan.
“If I thought you were, I would have brought a date.”
“A date.” She rolls her eyes. “You mean an escort.”
“Um...here come the children.” I intervene. “Kayla, you watch grandma. Ethan, you watch grandpa. And Summer, see that pitcher of water? Don’t be afraid to use it if these two get out of control.”
They laugh. Even Hossein’s kids know that this is the best it’s going to get with Maamaan and Baba.
“Shayda.” Someone taps my shoulder.
“Farnaz! I’m so glad you made it. It’s been ages. Where’s Behram?”
“He’s talking to Hafez. How have you been?”
“Good. And you?”
“Busy. We just sold the first restaurant. You remember, the one on Pape?”
I laugh. “How could I fo
rget? If it wasn’t for you guys and that place, I don’t know where we’d have gone.”
“It was nothing.” She shakes her head. “You have to come see the new place.”
“Still souvlaki and baklava?”
“It’s what we do best.” She laughs.
“Ladies and Gentlemen...” The announcement interrupts our conversation. “If you could all please take your seats. It’s time for the bride and groom’s first dance. We’d like to call Troy and Zain to the stage, please.”
Troy winks at me and accepts the microphone. I swear no man fills out a suit better than him. Today he’s wearing a bright yellow and green tie that matches my yellow dress and his larger than life personality.
“It’s the first color I saw you in,” he said, when we went shopping for a dress.
Zain sets himself up on a chair next to Troy, and starts strumming his guitar.
Natasha and Nathan take the floor, dancing to a fun, playful melody that Troy and Zain have written, especially for them. Between my husband’s sexy vocals, and my son’s stirring notes, I feel the seams of my soul start to come undone.
Hafez reaches for my hand across the table, as we watch Natasha dance with Nathan. Our little girl. His other hand clasps Marjaneh’s.
I like that we can sit like this—simply and honestly. Without static. In a strange way, the affair mended us. I fell off the pedestal Hafez had put me on. I became relatable. Real and human.
We have an infinite capacity to love, but when you wrap up your love and give it to someone, they expect all of it. And that’s what you think too—that you’re giving them everything you’ve got. You really do. Until you realize that love is end-less, bottom-less, boundary-less. The more you give, the more gushes out. It spills over, refusing to be contained in neat little parcels, swelling like a river after a flash flood. And in the end, it doesn’t matter which part was whose, because in the end it’s all one, like streams merging into the ocean. My love for Troy, my love for Hafez.
We clap as the song ends. Then Nathan gets his mother and Natasha grabs Hafez. The DJ takes over and Zain pulls me to the floor.
“That was beautiful,” I tell him. “I hope you’re taking notes, because you’re next.”