Ayesha At Last(71)

Khalid took a large, vicious bite of his donut. “As far as I know, Ayesha is single and available for anyone who’s interested in her.”

“Anyone except you,” Tarek said softly. “Isn’t that right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“An engagement is not the same thing as a nikah, Khalid. You’re not married to Hafsa. Yet.”

“Hafsa makes my mother happy. Love blossoms after the wedding,” Khalid said automatically.

Tarek regarded Khalid for a long moment. “You know that’s not true. I think it’s time you stopped lying to yourself.”

Khalid toyed with his empty coffee cup. He didn’t meet Tarek’s eyes.

“I loved someone very deeply, a long time ago,” Tarek said. “Things didn’t work out, but I never forgot her. You never forget your first love. As a Muslim, can you really stand in front of Allah and pledge to love only Hafsa when your heart belongs to someone else?”

Khalid looked up; he must have caught something in Tarek’s expression because he said softly, “I don’t know what to do. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I think you do know. You’re just scared,” Tarek said, trying to keep a satisfied smile from playing at the corners of his mouth. Really, if he had known Khalid and Farzana were so easy to manipulate, he would have exorcised his anger years ago. He continued, “If I were you, I wouldn’t delay even for a single moment. A girl like Ayesha—well, she won’t stay single for very long.”





Chapter Thirty-One

Khalid felt reinvigorated. He knew now what he had to do, and he went over the list in his mind: (1) Ayesha, (2) Zareena, (3) Amir. Heart, family, friend.

He took a small detour on his way to work. When he arrived at his office at eight, Amir was lying on the sofa, one arm thrown over his face, fast asleep.

Khalid didn’t know how he had missed the signs: Amir’s backpack was under his desk, stuffed with clothes; a bag of toiletries, which he had mistaken for a large pencil case, sat on a shelf; there was a towel on the back of his rolling chair; and he kept a toothbrush in his drawer.

Amir had been sleeping at work for weeks. Andy the Bouncer had helped him to connect the dots: His friend was homeless.

Khalid nudged Amir awake. “Here,” he said, passing him a plastic hotel key card.

“What’s this?” Amir asked, sitting up.

“Room 522. I paid for two weeks. It’s close to work and the subway. Just until you get back on your feet.”

Amir looked at the plastic card, the usual smirking smile gone. “I don’t need your pity. I’m fine, okay?” He held the key card with the tips of his fingers.

Khalid shifted, feeling awkward. This conversation had gone a little differently in his head. He tried a joke to lighten the mood. “How could someone like me pity you? You get all the ladies, and I can’t even decide on one.”

Amir smiled, but his eyes were wary. He examined the card: Sleeptime Inn. “Too cheap to spring for a Marriott?” He placed the room key on Khalid’s desk.

“I have a wedding to pay for,” Khalid said weakly.

Amir sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Look at the two of us. We’re pathetic, bro. I don’t know who’s sadder—you’re still a virgin, and I got no place to stay.” He paused, thinking, and his face brightened. “Actually, I think it’s you. Definitely more sad.”

Khalid looked at his feet. “I think you have a drinking problem, Amir. I looked it up and there is an AA meeting nearby. I think you should go.”

“Nah, man. Not really my scene. I just hit a rough patch. I’ll be all right.”

Khalid sighed and closed his eyes. “. . . I could go with you, if you want.”

Some of the old fire lit up Amir’s eyes. “K-Man at an AA meeting? This I gotta see!” He slapped him on the back and headed off to the bathroom with his toothbrush.

Time for item number 2: Zareena. His sister had warned him she would be busy for a few days, but it was strange that she hadn’t responded to his last, pleading email. He found her cell number in his contacts and dialed.

The phone rang twice before it connected and a singsongy voice chirped, “The number you are calling has been disconnected.” It repeated the message in Hindi, Telugu and Marathi while Khalid stared. Zareena would have told him if she had changed phone numbers. His fingers shaking, he quickly typed an email:

Salams. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Are you okay? I’m starting to worry. Please respond.

He pressed Send and tried to concentrate on the website for WomenFirst Design. Despite his earlier discomfort and irritation with the project, everything was going well. He had Sheila, of all people, to thank for this. She had wanted to humiliate him by taking him off e-commerce and network security work to focus on the lingerie website exclusively. Which meant that for the past few weeks, his sole job had been to brush up on his website design skills. The end result was a huge update from their existing platform. He hoped Vanessa and Lorraine would be pleased when he presented it to them next week.

Tomorrow was also the first day of the conference. Khalid had taken the day off to help with set-up and to coordinate the Singles Mixer in the evening. He wasn’t exactly sure what a Muslim Singles Mixer was—maybe all the parents mingled, with their children’s pictures and marriage resumés in hand? Regardless, he would be present at the mosque for the entire day. And so would Ayesha.