Ayesha At Last(48)

Ayesha smiled and quickly texted him back:

I thought you wanted to talk to me, not take me on as a client.

He responded after a moment:

I’m sorry if I led you on. The truth is, I’m just not that into you. I hope we can be friends?

Ayesha laughed softly. Leave it to Masood to put things in perspective. Heartache and hastily uttered words were nothing in the face of farce. I choose to live in a comedy.

Only the very best of friends, she typed. She took a tiny bite of her bagel.

CLARA called after school with an impromptu dinner invitation, and Ayesha accepted immediately. It would be good to see her friend and talk about something other than the mosque, Hafsa and Khalid.

“Bring some non-alcoholic wine, the most expensive you can find,” Clara said.

At home, Ayesha threw on one of Idris’s old hoodies and fished the cleanest-looking pair of yoga pants out of the pile in her closet. She had been too busy lately to do laundry. She wrapped a favourite black cotton hijab, the one she wore for quick errands, around her head and kissed Nani goodbye.

“Where are you going?” her grandmother asked. “Why are you wearing that?”

“Clara invited me over for a girls’ night. I’ve been wearing teacher clothes all week and I want to be comfortable.”

Ayesha arrived at the condo at seven thirty, and she already felt lighter. This was just what she needed—a night talking with her best friend. Rob was cooking in the kitchen with The Hurtin’ Albertans turned way up while Clara tidied.

“Why are you dusting?” Ayesha asked, suddenly suspicious. “You never dust.”

“My allergies are acting up,” Clara said. She hugged Ayesha and they took a seat on the couch. Ayesha noticed the coffee table had been cleared of the usual magazines, plates and mugs.

Clara was still dressed in her work clothes, black skirt and white blouse. She hadn’t taken off her makeup either.

“I think I’m underdressed,” Ayesha said.

“No, you’re fine!” Clara said in a high-pitched voice. “You look really, really . . . great. But you know, if you wanted to put on some makeup, just for fun, I bought a new lip gloss.”

“You’re acting weird.”

“No, I’m not. Do you have a more colourful hijab you can throw on, maybe in the car?”

Ayesha gave her a strange look.

Clara stood up. “Let’s open up that faux-wine you brought. Does it need to breathe?” She winked at Ayesha and ran to the kitchen to grab wine glasses.

“So, what’s new?” Ayesha called out. “Your boss still a psycho?”

“You know, the usual. Nothing to report. Tell me about this conference you’re helping organize.”

Ayesha made a face. “I don’t want to think about the mosque or my family tonight.”

“Sure,” Clara said, returning to the room, her eyes roaming around. “What’s Hafsa up to?”

“Who cares? You keep telling me to focus on myself. My principal sort of offered me a permanent job in September.”

“That’s great,” Clara said absently. “So, have you seen Khalid anywhere, like maybe at the mosque?”

“Clara, what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Clara said, her voice rising. “I just like to be kept in the loop. What’s up with Hafsa?”

Ayesha sighed. Clara was distracted and spacey, like that time she’d smoked pot during frosh week. “I didn’t want to bring this up because I know what you’re going to say, but I saw Hafsa at the mall with this punk, Haris. I’m pretty sure he’s her boyfriend. She’s been hanging out with him while she sends me to conference planning meetings at the mosque in her place.”

Clara started to laugh. “Your cousin wants to get married this summer and she has a boyfriend on the side? Maybe she’s on to something. You should get a boy toy too.”

Ayesha scowled. “My life is complicated enough. I told Hafsa she was being childish, and we got into a fight. She told me she wants to be married and rich, not poor and alone like me.”

Clara sat down beside Ayesha. “Why do you put up with her?”

Ayesha shook her head. She couldn’t explain it. The loyalty she felt for Hafsa was instinctive and unflinching and didn’t make a lot of sense. It went back to her first few months in Canada, when Hafsa and her family had been her lifeboat in a new country.

Hafsa had been only three years old when Ayesha’s family immigrated from India. During that time, playing with her baby cousin was the only ray of sunshine in her life. Even now, whenever she looked at her cousin, she saw the preschooler who had never left her alone, who had climbed into her lap and wiped away the tears Ayesha cried for her father and everything else she had left behind.

Clara wouldn’t understand any of that, and so she changed the subject. “It gets worse. Everyone on the committee thinks I AM Hafsa!”

The doorbell rang, and Clara and Ayesha looked at each other.

“Did you invite someone else?” Ayesha asked, eyes narrowed.

Clara jumped up. “Don’t-be-mad-I-invited-Khalid,” she said in a rush.

“What?!” Ayesha said. She grabbed her bag. “I’m leaving.”

Khalid, dressed in a neatly ironed white robe with jeans underneath, stood with a bouquet of tulips in his hands. His eyes widened at the sight of Ayesha.