Ayesha At Last(75)

“Now I’m a life coach for wrestlers. You wouldn’t believe the problems we face in our industry. And do we get the same respect? No, it’s all about hockey players and soccer jocks.”

Hafsa nodded. “People don’t understand how difficult it can be to forge your own path and take risks. We can’t all hide in our classrooms.”

Ayesha cut her eyes at her cousin in the rear-view mirror. “Or depend on Daddy’s money,” she said.

“I’m sensing some tension in the car,” Masood said. “Let’s try a breathing exercise. Everyone close your eyes.”

Ayesha’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Hafsa doesn’t need a life coach. She needs a psychiatrist.”

“I consider myself a doctor of the heart,” Masood said. “How about a motivational mantra?”

“Don’t bother,” Hafsa snapped back. “Ayesha knows what’s best for her, and for everyone else too. Also, she’s always right.”

“I’m only trying to look out for you, but you keep pushing me away,” Ayesha said.

“You’re not my mother. Stop telling me what to do,” Hafsa said.

“Sounds like there are some real issues here,” Masood said. “Why don’t you book an appointment? Introductory sessions are free.”

“Shut up, Masood,” Hafsa and Ayesha chorused.

“All right, I’ll do one right now, on the house.” Masood rubbed his hands together, then he put a finger to his forehead, closing his eyes.

“I thought he said he was a life coach, not a psychic,” Hafsa whispered.

“He’s a lunatic. One of your rishta cast-offs. Please thank your mother for me,” Ayesha said.

“Ladies, this petty bickering conceals a deeper issue. Tell me, Ayesha—have you suffered a significant loss in your life?” Masood asked.

“No,” Ayesha said. “Mind your own business.”

“Her father died when she was a kid, in India,” Hafsa said.

Ayesha frowned at her cousin. “I don’t want to talk about this, especially not with you. You told Khalid it would be funny if my dead father turned out to be a gangster!”

Masood turned to Hafsa. “I can’t help unless I know what happened.”

“I heard my dad talking about it once with my mom,” Hafsa said in a halting voice. “Something about a ‘facade.’ I don’t know what that means.”

Masood looked pensive. “This early loss has led Ayesha to be particularly protective of the people she loves. Hafsa, meanwhile, is chafing under the restrictions and expectations placed on her. Tell me, Hafsa, have you made any significant decisions lately?”

It was Hafsa’s turn to squirm. “I’m getting married soon, and Ayesha keeps interfering because she’s jealous.”

Masood steepled his fingers together. “You are engaging upon the more adult path of matrimony, which frightens your cousin, who is afraid she will lose you, or that you will get hurt. My diagnosis, as an accredited life coach, is to confront your feelings head-on. Do some light meditation, followed by power wrestling three times a week.”

There was silence in the car. Ayesha didn’t know whether she should laugh, or pull over and smack Masood.

“You’re a genius,” Hafsa broke in, her voice awed. “Ayesha, I’m sorry for what I said about your dad, but I have no intention of being killed by a facade or whatever.” Her voice softened. “I know you don’t agree with my decisions and actions, but I’m an adult.”

Ayesha felt a lightening at these words, as if an unacknowledged weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Masood was a goof, but maybe he was on to something. She hated fighting with Hafsa, and this sort-of apology was probably the closest her cousin would get to admitting fault. It was enough, for now. There was a way forward from here.

They arrived at the airport. Ayesha parked in the carpool lane and leaned back to squeeze her cousin’s shoulder. “I told you I was done telling you what to do. Just be smart, and be careful.”

Hafsa car-hugged her. “I promise.”

Ayesha glanced over at Masood. His beatific smile had turned smug. “Don’t go all fan-boy on me now, but I think that’s Sheikh Rafeek.” She nodded in the direction of a short man wearing horn-rimmed glasses, dressed in a grey three-piece suit.

Masood squealed. “Sheikh Rafeek! Over here! Can you sign my business card?”

Moments later, distinguished guest speaker in tow, they headed back to the mosque.

The number of conference attendees had swelled significantly since they’d left, and Ayesha had a hard time finding a parking spot. She dropped the sheikh, Hafsa and Masood at the front entrance and drove around to the overflow parking lot.

Tarek was talking to Farzana near the back doors. She disappeared inside the building, but Tarek spotted Ayesha and waved.

“I was hoping to catch up with you. I’m so impressed with the way you all worked together to make our conference a success,” he said as she walked up to the mosque.

Ayesha gave him a hard look. “Where were you?”

Tarek shrugged. “Did you tell Hafsa about Khalid and his sister?”

Ayesha shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. The wedding is still on.”

“I was afraid of that.” He paused. “There’s more to the story, but I need to know I can trust you. I’m breaking someone’s confidence if I tell you the rest.” He put his arm around her shoulder and guided her to the other side of the entranceway, where it was quiet. The look on his face was serious. He took a deep, shuddering breath.