Ayesha At Last(24)

Clara leaned close to Ayesha. “Sometimes the only way to move forward is to rock the boat. Otherwise you risk losing everything. That’s why you went to teachers’ college, right?” Ayesha had worked for three years at an insurance company before returning to school.

“I guess,” Ayesha said. “Teaching is a good, stable job. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

“You should write copy for the teachers’ union,” Clara said. “‘Be a teacher—it’s a boring job, but you’ll eventually learn to like it,’” she mocked.

Ayesha sighed. “You want me to be an artist and travel, my family wants me to be a teacher and settle down. Do you ever wonder what I want?”

“You don’t know what you want. That’s why you should listen to me.” Clara picked her laptop up from the coffee table and pulled it close. “Okay, let’s strategize. You need to stop this substitute teaching thing and get hired permanently.”

“I didn’t come here to talk about my job! What about my crazy family?”

Clara ignored her, opening a new document on her laptop and saving it with the file name “Save Ayesha from Herself.” “I think you need to coach a sports team. Or maybe put together a fundraiser. Also, kiss the principal’s butt. Bake him some cookies. Trust me, benign bribery always helps. I’m the regional manager of HR for a very important company. I know these things.”

Ayesha smiled. “So now you think I should be a teacher.”

“I think you should always have a plan. While you’re working, you can spend evenings and weekends writing poetry until you make it big. One of Rob’s friends helps organize that arts festival in August. You should audition. You were really great at Bella’s.” Clara stopped typing. “I’m sorry about Khalid. He’s a good guy, just a bit awkward around women.”

“He’s a freak.”

“You sound like Sheila. He’s a good person. If he trimmed his beard and got some new clothes, he might even be a hottie.”

Ayesha laughed out loud at the thought of Khalid in tight jeans and a mesh tank, with his hair slicked back and a hipster beard. “He would look even more ridiculous than he does now. I don’t think he cares what people think.”

Clara’s typing slowed and she looked sidelong at her friend. “That can be quite sexy in a man,” she said.

“Khalid has no interest in me, and the feeling is mutual.”

“You deserve to be happy, Ayesha.”

“What I really want is to be happy and free. I don’t think I’m going to be either of those things.”

NANA was still in the living room when Ayesha returned a few hours later. He was watching TV with Idris and ignoring the clatter from the kitchen. Nani was upset about Hafsa’s rishta visit, and she was taking it out on her pots and pans.

Ayesha approached her grandmother carefully. “Nani, I’m sorry I was rude, but they started it. And I meant what I said. You’re the best cook in the whole neighbourhood. So what if I can’t boil water? I’m never moving out anyway.”

“You made me look bad in front of those horrible women,” Nani said in Urdu. “They’re going to think we didn’t do a good job raising you. I’m going to teach you how to cook, right now. Grab some onions and garlic-ginger paste.”

Ayesha looked alarmed. From the living room came Nana’s voice. “Beti, you promised to take me to Tim Hortons.”

“But Nana, you just had tea,” Idris said, his lips twitching. Unlike his older sister, he got a kick out of causing trouble.

“I wish to purchase an apple fritter,” Nana said with dignity. “I shall be waiting in the automobile.”

“You can teach me to cook when I come back. Or maybe tomorrow,” Ayesha said. She kissed her grandmother on the cheek and hurried outside.

Nana didn’t say a word until they got into the car and were driving toward the main street. “Your time will come,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” Ayesha turned into the Tim Hortons’ drive-thru.

Nana’s expression was serious. “Sometimes I worry you have been scared off by Saleha and Syed.”

Ayesha’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. Nana never talked about her mother and father. But she was not in the mood to hear about failed relationships or might-have-beens.

“Welcome to Tim Hortons, can I take your order?”

Ayesha turned to the drive-thru window and spoke quickly. “Two steeped teas double-double, and one apple fritter please.”

“Beti—” Nana started again.

“I’m fine. Really. My life is unfolding exactly as planned. I’m happy, I promise.”





Chapter Eleven

Khalid was even more silent than usual at breakfast the next morning, but Farzana didn’t notice. She placed two overcooked paratha flatbreads on his plate and busied herself with the dishes, talking the whole time.

“The mosque executive board is meeting this morning and I plan to be there. I will get rid of this silly youth conference idea once and for all. Imagine, Khalid—boys and girls mixing at the mosque. They should all stay home and listen to their parents. If they just stopped being so besharam and texting each other all the time, they wouldn’t have all these mental health issues or wear leggings. It’s disgraceful.” His mother had recently joined the mosque’s governing council. On the one hand, Khalid was happy that Farzana had something to occupy her time. On the other hand, he worried she would get caught up in petty political in-fighting.