Ayesha At Last(4)

He was a large man, tall and broad, and the corridor was narrow. He looked up to see his co-worker Clara standing in the middle of the hallway, whispering into her cell phone. Khalid did not wish to disturb what appeared to be an intense conversation; he also did not wish to brush past her in the hallway. He had been raised to believe that non-related men and women should never get too close—socially, emotionally and especially physically.

“When an unmarried man and woman are alone together, a third person is present: Satan,” Ammi often told him. Khalid found this reminder helpful, especially when paired with cold showers. There wasn’t much more that a twenty-six-year-old virgin-by-choice could do, really.

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Clara had raised her voice. “When do you get to be happy?” she said sharply into her phone.

Khalid blinked at the question, which so neatly mirrored his own thoughts.

His cell phone dinged with a new email, and he opened it, grateful for the distraction. His heart sank when he read the subject line and recognized the sender: his sister, Zareena. He hadn’t told her about their move. He hadn’t been sure how she would react to the sale of their childhood home. It looked like some other busybody had thoughtfully informed her instead. He began to read.

Re: the last to know?

Khalid,

I can’t believe I had to hear the news from my father-in-law. You sold the house and moved? I loved that house. It was so easy to sneak out of my bedroom. But I guess it was too hard after Abba died.

Guess what? I got bored and started volunteering my time for a Cause. You would be so proud of me. I’m teaching English to a class of little girls at the local school. My students are super sweet. Their parents can barely afford to send them to class. Half the time they show up with no lunches, but their clothes are so tidy, their hair in neat braids, and they want to learn so badly. Not like when I was in school! They always bring me a flower or a fruit they stole from someone’s garden. I sneak them rice and dal sometimes.

—Zareena

P.S. Maple donuts and Tim Hortons hot chocolate.

P.P.S. Thanks for the gift. Can you use Western Union next time plz? It’s closer and you know how I hate to walk.

Zareena’s emails and texts arrived every few days and reported on her daily life. Sometimes she complained about the dullness of her days, or which of her dozens of in-laws were irritating her. Sometimes she asked him about work, or if he had talked to a girl yet . . . or even made eye contact with one.

The one thing she never asked about was their mother. The second thing she never discussed was her husband.

The postscript was always something Zareena missed about Canada. Her words brought the taste of maple dip donuts and too-sweet hot chocolate to his lips. Their father, Faheem, used to treat them on the way back from Sunday morning Islamic school when they were kids. Before Zareena went away.

After she left, whenever Khalid mentioned her name, his father would freeze and Ammi would become upset. Soon her name became an unspoken word in their home.

Clara’s call had ended, and he noticed her examining him as he read his email. They knew each other, but had never spoken. He wondered if she was uncomfortable with the way he dressed. Some people found his robes and skullcap difficult to reconcile with an office environment. But Khalid had long ago decided to be honest about who he was: an observant Muslim man who walked with faith both outwardly and inwardly, just as some of his Muslim sisters did by wearing the hijab.

Still, sometimes it made people nervous. Though Clara did not seem wary. She appeared almost . . . appraising.

Which made him nervous.

Khalid motioned in front of him. “After you,” he said politely.

Clara didn’t move. “My friend is having a crisis. Her first day at a new job.”

“That can be difficult,” Khalid said, looking directly at her.

Now she looked curious. About him? Women were never curious about him.

“It’s sort of my first day too,” Clara said, leaning close. “I was promoted to regional manager of Human Resources.”

“Congratulations.” Khalid inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I know you will fulfill your duties with integrity.”

“My boyfriend, Rob, is happy about the pay raise,” Clara said with a smile. “I’m reporting to Sheila Watts. Do you know her?”

Khalid shook his head. Sheila had replaced his old director a few weeks ago, but he had yet to meet his first female boss.

The door behind Clara opened and a petite woman with black hair and blue eyes stepped out. She was shorter than Clara, dressed in a sleeveless top and tight black pencil skirt. Above her right breast was pinned a large crystal brooch in the shape of a spider, its winking red eyes matching her lipstick.

Clara stepped forward with a friendly smile.

“Sheila, I wanted to introduce myself—I’m Clara Taylor. John promoted me just before he left the company.”

Sheila looked at the outstretched hand and beaming face before her. A faint expression of distaste lurked at her lips and she briefly shook Clara’s hand, using only the very tips of her fingers.

Khalid knew what was coming next, and he felt powerless to stop it. Usually when he was introduced to female clients and co-workers, he had time to prepare beforehand with a carefully worded email about his no-touch rule.

As the women talked, he subtly edged away from their conversation, taking tiny steps down the hall. But it was no use; Clara’s friendliness foiled his escape.