Ayesha At Last(33)

Ayesha looked at Idris, who subtly motioned to the hanging spider plant in the corner of the room, the perfect hiding spot for the second video camera.

“This is an especially small house,” Nilofer Aunty said, breaking the silence. “How do you all manage to live here together?” She asked the question mildly, like a scientist who had crash-landed in a strange new world.

“We all have our little spaces,” Saleha said. “My parents are in the basement, and my children and I are upstairs.”

“My house is easily twice the size of this, and there’s only my husband and Masood. I never understood extended family living situations,” she said. Then, as if remembering the purpose of her visit, she peered at Ayesha. “Your cousin Hafsa is prettier than you,” she observed. “Younger too. Pity she rejected my Masood without even meeting him. I wanted to take a peek inside their house.” Nilofer Aunty sounded so wistful Ayesha nearly laughed out loud.

“I can give you a tour, if you like,” Ayesha said. “They’re offered every Tuesday afternoon. Admission is five dollars for adults.”

Nilofer Aunty glared at her, but Masood cracked a smile.

“What did you study in school?” he asked. His voice was mild, his eyes fixed on her face like a moony calf.

“Life sciences, and then teaching.”

Masood nodded slowly. “Teaching is a good fallback career.”

Ayesha bristled at his knowing tone. “I wanted a job that challenged me, and I like working with kids.”

They lapsed into silence again, and Saleha offered tea. Nilofer requested sparkling water—“Perrier, if you have it.” Masood declined all offers of food and drink, explaining that he was on a strict diet regimen.

Ayesha looked at the clock. Only five minutes had passed. She had forgotten how uncomfortable it was to go on a blind date in front of her entire family.

“What about you, Masood?” she asked, casting about for a topic. “What line of work are you in?”

Masood and Nilofer Aunty looked at each other. “Consulting,” he said quickly.

“What do you consult on?” Ayesha asked.

He hesitated. “Life.”

“Do you mean you’re a fortune teller, or a psychiatrist?” Idris asked. “And would you mind facing that way when you talk?” He motioned to the plant.

“I’m a life coach,” Masood said. “For professional wrestlers mostly, but I work with all professional athletes.”

Ayesha didn’t look at her brother. “That must be an interesting job,” she said. “Is there great demand for life coaches among professional wrestlers?”

“Professional wrestling is an elite sport that requires just as much mental stamina as basketball, soccer or gymnastics,” Masood said defensively. “People don’t really get how tough it is to be a wrestler in today’s competitive market. The Australians are really taking over. I blame the kangaroos.”

Ayesha blinked. “The kangaroos?” she asked, as her mother entered the living room with a tray laden with water, tea and cookies.

“Their national mascot is a kangaroo, so they really focus on jumping more than the rest of us. They’re trying to trademark the move for Aussies only,” Masood said bitterly. “I’ve seen a real uptick in business since the lawsuit.”

Ayesha’s eyes watered from biting her tongue. “I had no idea the world of wrestling was so fraught with international intrigue. You must need a Ph.D. in conflict resolution to understand it all,” she said, avoiding her brother’s gaze.

“Actually, I think being an effective life coach is something you’re born to do,” Masood said. “Just like wrestling.”

Saleha sat down abruptly on the couch. “You’re a wrestler?” she asked. “Is that a real job?”

“My son could have gone pro and joined World Wrestling Entertainment, but he held back for the good of the community. His life coaching skills were needed more than his Cross-Face Mississauga Eggplant move,” Nilofer Aunty said, looking fondly at her son. She took a sip of her sparkling water and made a face. “I asked for Perrier, not no-name club soda.” She stood up. “We have a few more girls to see today. We will be in touch if Masood thinks you will be a good fit for the position.”

Masood smiled shyly at Ayesha. “Nice to meet you. Call me if you know anyone who needs my services.” He passed her an embossed white card. “I’m trying to do some outreach in the Muslim community. Being a pioneer is lonely.”

Saleha accompanied the guests to the door while Ayesha and Idris remained in the living room, and the moment Masood and his mother left, they looked at each other and dissolved into giggles.

“Tell me that really happened. Tell me I’m not dreaming,” Idris said, tears of laughter streaming down his face. “I’m going to get so many views when I post this on YouTube.”

“You can’t post it—promise you won’t!” Ayesha was doubled over, holding her stomach.

“Fine, I’ll wait until after your nikah to Masood.” Still laughing, Idris picked a tiny device out from the hanging plant and strolled upstairs, leaving the plates and cups for Ayesha to clear up.

“That was interesting,” Ayesha said when Saleha returned. “Maybe the next rishta will have a secret identity—stockbroker by day, rock star by night.”