Ayesha At Last(23)

“Is this how you want to get married?” Ayesha faced her cousin.

Hafsa shrugged. “It’s actually kind of fun to meet the rishta and his parents. Think about it—all these guys drive to my house to take a look at me. I feel like a princess being courted by suitors. It’s like I’m on The Bachelorette.”

“Well, I’m glad you see it like that.”

Hafsa bit her bottom lip. “Listen, the reason I chased after you is because I need to ask a really huge favour. Imam Abdul Bari told Dad I came to the conference planning meeting yesterday. Dad was so happy he promised to give me money for my event planning business. Could you not mention the mix-up? I’ll be at the next meeting, and I’ll explain everything to the imam myself.”

Ayesha gave her cousin a shrewd look. “Where were you?”

Hafsa waved her hand airily. “Getting my eyebrows threaded. You’re the best!” She gave her a big hug.

Ayesha walked home in a more thoughtful mood. She wasn’t sure where Hafsa had been last night, but she did know one thing: Her cousin’s eyebrows hadn’t been threaded in weeks.

Then again, if it meant skipping all future conference planning meetings guilt-free, she would keep her mouth shut.

AYESHA was too annoyed to go home. Instead she drove to the condo Clara shared with Rob. She smiled at Malik, the security guard sitting at the condo reception desk. She came over so often, he just waved her through.

Rob opened the door, dressed in running shorts. “Clara’s on the can.” He motioned her inside. Their home was still full of Ikea furniture from university days, though they were both working “real” jobs now. “Clara!” he yelled. “I’ll be back in an hour.” He winked at her. “She’s in a mood. I’m heading down to the weight room.”

Ayesha settled into the grey couch and put her feet on the frayed leather bench.

“What are you doing here?” Clara was wearing a bathrobe, her hair wet.

“I’m thinking of divorcing my family,” Ayesha said. “What are you up to?”

Clara laughed. “What happened this time?”

“Hafsa got a rishta proposal. She needed me there to hold her hand.”

“She probably wanted you there so she could show off.”

“The aunties thought I was the bride until Samira Aunty pointed them in the right direction. You should have seen the way they jumped on Hafsa. They were practically drooling.”

“You hate the bride-viewing thing,” Clara said. “I remember when you had a few rishtas in university, you didn’t even want to meet the guys.”

Ayesha absently etched circles on the couch with her finger. She wasn’t upset at the aunties’ cursory glances or their quick dismissal. Not entirely. “I know I said I don’t want to get married. It’s just . . . I don’t know how this is going to happen for me. You met the guy you wanted to be with forever when you were eighteen. I’m twenty-seven and I’ve never even been on a date or held a guy’s hand.”

“Well, there was Kevin in high school. He asked you to prom three times.” Clara started to laugh. “And don’t forget Mo from Bella’s. He’s cute.”

“I don’t want to date the guys I meet at Bella’s. It’s too much work to explain all of this,” Ayesha said, indicating her hijab. “They wouldn’t get it, and even if they did, that’s not what I want.”

“What about Khalid?” Clara asked, her voice casual.

Ayesha stared at her friend. “The guy from Bella’s? Forget it. He’s the kind of guy who scares people in shopping malls and gets randomly searched at airports. Khalid is a fundamentalist—he’ll stick out wherever he goes. I don’t want any of that.”

Clara looked at her blankly. “He’s not a fundamentalist,” she said. “You’re being judgmental.”

“I know his type,” Ayesha said darkly, thinking about the prayer hall. “The whole rishta proposal was so frustrating, and everyone just sat there like it was normal. Hafsa said she enjoyed the attention. What’s wrong with her? Or is there something wrong with me?”

“What did Nana say?” Clara had a soft spot for Ayesha’s grandfather. Her own grandparents lived in Florida and rarely visited.

“He called it an ‘outmoded mating ritual’ and stayed home to watch the gardening channel.”

Clara laughed again and settled next to Ayesha. “Your family is better than any soap opera. I just don’t get why you have to play the martyr.”

“Shut up, Clara. Haven’t gone furniture shopping yet, I see. I think that bench is going to split down the middle soon.”

“Shut up, Ashi Apa.”

“Rob said you were in a mood.”

Clara sighed. “It’s nothing. It’s the same thing. I don’t want to talk about it.” Clara and Rob had lived together for the past three years. She had been dropping hints about a wedding, but so far he remained clueless, or was choosing to ignore her.

“You know, Prophet Muhammad’s wife Khadijah proposed to him,” Ayesha said.

“Among us atheists, it’s still the man’s job to drop to his knees.”

Ayesha’s hands were clasped in her lap. “Maybe he’s happy with the way things are. Maybe he doesn’t want to rock the boat because he’s afraid that something new will ruin all the good momentum.”