Ayesha At Last(40)

She led them to a large living room stuffed with furniture—four couches crammed along the walls, a large coffee table, a credenza, a hutch and a dining table. Khalid gingerly took a seat on a bright-green patterned couch.

A younger man who looked like Yasmeen’s son, his wife and Adam walked into the room and sat down. There was a moment of silence as the strangers looked at each other.

“How long have you lived in this house, Yasmeen?” Farzana asked brightly.

They chatted about the neighbourhood, the proximity of the halal butcher, the astonishing number of halal restaurants that had sprung up in recent years (“No good—outside food is so bad for digestion,” Farzana declared) and other topics unrelated to the real reason for their visit. Finally, after what felt like hours but was really only fifteen minutes, the main attraction entered the room.

Ruhi was slender and dressed in a mint-green shalwar kameez, her dupatta shawl pulled demurely over her head. She balanced a tray of tea and snacks, which she placed gracefully in front of Khalid before taking a seat beside her mother, eyes on the ground.

“You’ve gotten so tall since I saw you last, Ruhi. What are you studying in school?” Farzana asked her.

Ruhi’s voice was so low, Khalid strained to hear it. “Early childhood education, Aunty.”

“That will come in handy once you have children,” Farzana said, smiling at her. “Do you read your prayers every day?”

“Yes, Aunty.”

“And you live in an extended family, so you are used to listening to your elders.”

“Yes, Aunty.”

“How many dishes can you make?”

“Over twelve, Aunty. I’m also taking a course in Italian cooking.”

Khalid wondered if his mother realized she was carrying the conversation by herself. Farzana looked over at Khalid. “My son loves pasta. Beta, do you have any questions for Ruhi?”

Khalid’s neck prickled with discomfort. This whole set-up felt wrong. He thought about his careful explanation to Hafsa about marriage, his confidence in his mother’s method and in her selection of his wife. Was the process supposed to be this awkward? He had pictured his arranged marriage very differently, more sophisticated and mature, like a thoughtful business merger. This felt more like a backroom deal.

The rest of the family was staring at him—or in the case of Adam, shooting daggers at him—and he shook his head. Ruhi had yet to lift her eyes to look at him, and he shifted uneasily. Perhaps she shared Hafsa’s disapproval for the arranged marriage process and wanted him gone.

The silence stretched as everyone tried to think of another topic of conversation.

“Maybe we should let the young people talk on their own,” Yasmeen Aunty finally suggested. “They can sit at the dining table and get to know each other.”

Farzana narrowed her eyes. “Khalid does not talk to women,” she said. “It would not be proper.”

Khalid flushed at his mother’s words and their implication. Of course he spoke to women; he talked to Sheila, and Clara, and his clients at WomenFirst Design. He spoke to Hafsa—could not, in fact, stop thinking about their conversation. He wanted to correct his mother’s ridiculous pronouncement, but Yasmeen Aunty hurried to respond.

“Of course, of course. Ruhi, help me make some more chai for Farzana Aunty.”

Khalid wanted to disappear. He eyed the door and wondered how quickly he could orchestrate an escape. If Hafsa had been here instead of Ruhi, things would have been very different. She would have made jokes, laughed at his awkwardness and asked inappropriate questions. He would have enjoyed every second.

He stood up in search of the washroom, which was in the hallway near the kitchen. Khalid’s eyes looked wild in the vanity mirror, and he splashed cold water on his face. This is what I wanted, he reminded himself. Love blossoms after marriage.

When Khalid emerged, he was unsure whether to return to the living room or try to make a run for it. As he stood there considering his options, another conversation intruded on his thoughts. Yasmeen Aunty and Ruhi were talking in the kitchen, and Ruhi was not bothering to keep her voice down.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Yasmeen Aunty asked in Urdu. “They will think you’re mute!”

“I don’t want to be here,” Ruhi said, furious. “Farzana Aunty is a control freak, and her son is a boring mama’s boy. Why are you making me do this?”

“Do you have any idea how rich they are? Farzana is always boasting about the condos she owns and their property in India. Be reasonable, Ruhi. If you marry him, you’ll never have to work again. You can buy that BMW you always wanted.”

Ruhi was silent. Then: “Fine. I’ll talk to robot-boy.”

Khalid walked quickly back to the living room, heart thumping.

When Ruhi returned with another tray, she sat closer to Khalid. “Can I pour you some more tea?” she asked. “Milk and sugar?”

Khalid nodded and accepted the small china cup. She smiled shyly at him, then lowered her eyes and blushed becomingly. He gulped his tea and stood up. “Ammi, I have a meeting at the mosque tonight. We have to go.”

Farzana paused mid-sentence, surprised. But Khalid was determined, and they left soon after.

“That’s a good idea, to leave early,” his mother said as they walked to the car. “We must maintain the upper hand.”