Amal Unbound(28)

I joined Nabila and Mumtaz on a charpai on the verandah. Rain drizzled down in the garden and a warm mist coated the air.

“Here, have some soda,” Mumtaz said, handing us cola bottles. “Went to the store this morning for a few things. Figured you girls could use a treat.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“No shaking it this time, Nabila,” Mumtaz said. “Remember what happened last time?”

“As if anyone lets me forget anything in this house!” Nabila exclaimed.

Mumtaz laughed and took a sip of tea.

“Did the soda erupt?” I asked.

“Yes. And how was I supposed to know it would sputter and fly out like that?” Nabila protested. “You shake up the mango juice and nothing happens—I figured it would be the same!”

“My sister made that mistake, too. She jumped up and down so much, the top flew off. Our ceiling is still stained from the fizzy soda.”

“See?” Nabila smiled at me before turning to Mumtaz. “I’m not the only one who’s done that! It’s a common mistake.”

I smiled back at her. Nabila didn’t need to know Safa was two years old when this happened.

I removed the metal top and took a sip of the frosty drink—the fizzy bubbles reminded me of my sisters’ laughter.

“Can’t remember the last time we had a good rainfall.” Mumtaz nodded to the sky. “When I first came here, it seemed like my husband and I sat here all the time watching the raindrops dance.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes. He was a gardener for the estate many years ago.”

“You lived together here?”

“We lived with his family back then. But when my husband passed, I decided I’d rather live here.”

How bad must it have been at her husband’s home to choose this as a better alternative? But then I realized that Parvin had done the same thing. She lived in a shed behind our house instead of with her parents or her late husband’s family. I had always assumed she came to live with us because she wanted to be near us, but perhaps it was more complicated than that.

“It’s nice you’re teaching Fatima to read,” Nabila said. “She’s so proud of herself. Can’t stop tracing the latest letter you taught her.”

“I’m glad she’s enjoying it,” I said.

“It’s not too late for you to learn to read,” Mumtaz said, nudging Nabila. “I’m sure Amal could teach you.”

“Yes, I could,” I said, trying to hide my surprise that Nabila couldn’t read. But it made sense. Nabila came when she was Fatima’s age, and where would she have had the chance to keep up with whatever she might have learned before?

“Maybe,” Nabila said, but she quickly changed the topic. “Did you hear the latest on the wedding drama?”

“I haven’t.” Mumtaz lowered her chai.

“The latest girl Nasreen Baji wants Jawad Sahib to see is Rashida’s daughter!”

“Now, that’s something.” Mumtaz shook her head.

“Jawad was engaged to a cousin in that family,” Nabila explained to me.

“He was engaged?”

“Well, barely. It only lasted two days. They didn’t even announce it before he changed his mind,” Mumtaz said.

“That’s what he says,” Nabila scoffed. “I heard she called it off when she heard about his temper. He was crushed.”

“That’s a foolish girl if that’s true,” Mumtaz said.

“Why?” I asked. “If she said no to him, she sounds like a smart girl to me.”

“Nonsense,” Mumtaz said. “This is a good life for someone who knows how to comport herself and is smart enough to figure him out.”

“It’s not fair,” I said. “Why should anyone have to figure him out?”

“No, it’s not fair. But that’s life.”

There it was yet again, my father’s words: Life isn’t fair. Maybe it was true, but why was that a reason to just accept everything and go along with it? I hoped the rumor about the girl turning down Jawad Sahib was true. I hoped there really was someone out there who had the courage to stand up to him and say no.





Chapter 31





Nasreen Baji shut the phone and sighed. She was sitting in the sunken living room next to Jawad Sahib as I handed her a cup of chai. The television was on low in the background.

“What’s the matter?” Jawad Sahib asked.

“Zeba canceled our shopping trip to Lahore again.”

“You probably don’t want to go anyway,” he said. “Traffic is terrible there these days.”

“I need a new sari for your cousin’s wedding, and I’m two seasons behind with all my clothes. But ever since Zeba’s grandchild was born, she has no time.”

“Go yourself, then.”

“It’s lonely traveling to the city alone. Come with me?” She reached out and patted his hand. “We haven’t done anything together in so long.”

“You know how much work I have.”

She frowned. Then she looked at me.

“That’s it. Amal, you’re coming with me,” Nasreen said.