Accidentally Engaged(89)
“Also,” Shaila Aunty added, laughing, “Aziz was afraid you would change your mind and go with that other boy who wanted to marry you.”
Saira looked impressed. “Mum, you had two guys wanting to marry you?”
“Your mother was very popular with the boys then.” Shaila Aunty chuckled.
Reena looked at her mother, one eyebrow raised.
Mum snorted. “I was never going to marry Salim. My parents didn’t like him, so I didn’t like him.”
Reena dropped her kebob. “Holy Shit! Salim Shah!”
“Reena, language!”
“Salim Shah wanted to marry you, but you picked Dad! This explains everything!” Her father’s rivalry with the man now made sense.
Mum just shrugged. “I trusted my parents’ judgment. And it was the right choice, we’ve been very prosperous.”
What could she say to that? From everything she’d heard about Salim Shah, Mum’s parents were probably right. She understood Mum’s subtext, though—that Reena should trust her parents’ judgment. But if they didn’t really know her, how could they pick someone for her?
But maybe they didn’t know her because she didn’t let them. And, besides, she did fall in love with a man they chose for her. She had fallen so hard that she could barely think (or walk) straight today. They saw something in Nadim despite knowing so little about his past. Maybe they knew her better than she thought.
She should give them more credit for that.
But in the end, she was still losing him because of them. If she had met Nadim in any other circumstance, none of their issues would have existed. She closed her eyes, pushing past the tears she felt forming. She needed to change the subject.
“You didn’t marry him only because your parents wanted you to, did you? How could you know that would work?” Marley asked.
Mum smiled an unfamiliar smile. “You don’t. You take a leap of faith. It’s not hard, you know. You just need to find someone who makes you chai when you are tired, and who rubs your feet when they are sore instead of insisting you are wearing the wrong shoes.”
Mum made it seem so simple. And perfectly appropriate, considering Nadim’s little fetish.
“Now enough of this talk about marriages,” Mum said. “Let’s get to what’s important: weddings.”
*
As they walked toward the sari shop, Shaila Aunty clasped her hands together. “They fly in new stock from India every week. Only the latest designs. I asked the manager to put aside the best from this week’s shipment for us to look at.”
It was a huge shop, but instinctively, Reena went off on her own. Mum and Shaila Aunty seemed to be in some sort of contest for who knew the most about the newest styles coming out of India. And Marley, having more fashion sense in her pinky finger than the rest of them combined, acted as an age-appropriate advocate for Saira.
As Reena wandered toward the jewelry section of the store, she felt her phone vibrate with a text.
Nadim: Results were posted—congratulations. We made it to the finals.
Reena smiled as she texted him back.
Reena: Congratulations to you, too. We were a great team, weren’t we?
Nadim: We were perfect. The offer still stands. I’ll figure out a way to stay a little longer if you want to do this.
She looked up from her phone at the jewel-toned bangles and glimmering necklaces surrounding her. Her family in the distance, discussing color schemes and the benefits of georgette over silk.
Even if they won the whole thing, then what? He’d still leave after. And she’d still have to lie—to her family, to her friends, and to the FoodTV people. She’d still be pretending and avoiding the truth.
Reena: I don’t want to lie anymore. I am sorry I put you in that position at all.
Nadim: I get it. I’m not sorry, though. I had a blast.
Reena: I did too.
The three little dots appeared on her screen again for a few seconds, and then a final text.
Nadim: No pressure. I’m packing and running errands for the next few days, but I would open my door if you knocked on it on Sunday.
Reena closed her eyes. Should she? She could have one more day.
Reena: I’ll knock.
Reena put her phone away and looked closely at the jewelry in the display case. Like so many other little Indian girls, she’d always been drawn to the bright, colorful costume jewelry in velvet boxes. A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she remembered being in so many similar stores all over the world. It didn’t matter where she was: here in the suburbs or in the city. In London, Vancouver, or even in Dar es Salaam, Indian stores permeated with the scent of incense, sequins, and silk gave her that familiar feeling of shared culture. Home. Reena loved being Indian. Loved the food, the glittery clothes, and today, she even loved the deep-seated traditions. Like sari shopping with aunties.
Resisting her parents’ interference for so long all felt, in a way, like resisting her culture. Family meant everything to them, and parents were expected to look out for their children long after they weren’t children anymore. She was an individual, but an individual who was part of a family.
But there had to be a middle ground—a way to make the traditions work for her instead of stifling her.
As she approached the counter, a silvery chain in a black box caught her eye. It was an odd shape—a large bracelet with dangling bells on it and a big center medallion with a long chain hanging off it ending with a ring. The whole thing looked huge, like it had been designed for a basketball player’s hands.