Ayesha At Last(97)

Hafsa was quieter now, her old playful fire subdued. Ayesha suspected she was suffering from a slightly bruised ego but would make a full recovery in time. Besides, the sun was shining, and June had arrived. Everything was sane and hopeful in June, even irreversible life decisions.

Ayesha looked up and spotted Mr. Evorem on the baseball diamond, watching the junior boys’ team practise. She squared her shoulders, put the notebook away and walked over to him.

“How are your classes?” he asked her, his eyes on the boys. He winced as the outfielder missed the catch. “Any plans for the summer?”

Ayesha chatted for a few minutes before growing silent. When she didn’t leave, Mr. Evorem turned to look at her. “Was there something else, Miss Shamsi?” he asked politely.

Ayesha shifted. She had practised her speech in the staff bathroom, but now she didn’t know how to begin.

His eyes were kind, the laugh lines that bracketed his mouth deeply etched, his crow’s feet a permanent notation from too many seasons watching school teams go to bat, or run after a black-and-white ball, or throw the perfect spiral. Mr. Evorem belonged here. She didn’t.

“I won’t be returning next year,” she said.

Mr. Evorem took a moment to absorb the news. A good poker face was essential for a high school principal. “I thought you wanted to be a teacher.”

Ayesha shrugged helplessly, unsure how to turn her churning thoughts into words. “I did too. There was so much pressure to take the road more travelled. I didn’t want to disappoint my family. But now I think I’m ready to chase a dream.”

Mr. Evorem looked back at the field, smiling at the firm thwack as the bat made contact with the ball, watching it sail past second base. “I admire your bravery. Where will you go? Dreamers need to eat too.”

“I was thinking overseas. See the world, write.”

Mr. Evorem nodded. “Just remember to pack light. Dreams tend to shatter if you’re carrying other people’s hopes around with you.” He shook Ayesha’s hand and wished her good luck. “A good teacher grows, they’re not born. If you ever change your mind, let me know. I think you have potential.”

Ayesha promised to keep in touch and left him staring after his team.

HFSA’S red Mercedes SLK was in the driveway when Ayesha returned from school. All Ayesha wanted to do was change into her yoga pants, crawl into bed and try not to think about the perfectly good job she had thrown away because of something a man she had decided never to talk to again had written in a letter she couldn’t forget.

Hafsa was waiting for her on the porch steps, and she had that look on her face, the one that said she wouldn’t be easy to dismiss. Still, Ayesha tried.

“Hafs, I have a splitting headache,” she said.

“So take an Advil. I need to talk to you.”

Ayesha had been secretly enjoying the new, quieter, less needy Hafsa. The one who didn’t whine or complain when Ayesha wanted time to write, and think.

And also quit her job.

Maybe there were advantages to constantly getting sucked into Hafsa’s vortex of trouble.

Her cousin followed her into the house as she dropped her purse by the door and kicked off her shoes. Hafsa plopped down on the couch. “Make me a tea too,” she said. “Where is everyone?”

Ayesha looked around, noticing the stillness. She busied herself with the chai and soon carried out two steaming mugs.

“Not even a cookie?” Hafsa pouted. “Though I shouldn’t. I have to watch my weight.”

“Why bother?” Ayesha said, sighing. “It’s not like you’re getting married.”

“Actually,” Hafsa said, smiling. “I am.”

Ayesha froze, her tea halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“I’m getting married!” Hafsa said. “It’s someone you know.”

“I think you’ve exhausted the list of men we have in common,” Ayesha said.

“Remember Masood?” Hafsa asked.

“What?” Life-coach-wrestler Masood?

“Don’t be mad. We sort of bonded on that car ride to the airport, before I ran off with Tarek. He texted me when I came back and it sort of fell into place.”

“This can’t be happening,” Ayesha said. “I thought you were swearing off men for a while.”

“Masood said you’d say that. He thinks you’re closed-minded,” Hafsa said. “You really need to open yourself up to the possibility of loss and gain. The world of wrestling is full of psychological complexity. Masood said if people understood it better, they would have a better understanding of themselves.”

“This is a joke, right?”

Hafsa shook her head. “He said he loves me, and he doesn’t care about Tarek or the pictures. We’re going into business together. We’re going to be rich!”

“What pictures?”

Hafsa waved her hand. “The banquet hall is already booked from the other wedding. There’s no sense losing the deposit for the caterers too. Dad actually smiled when I told him, especially because Masood said he’d pay for everything. We only have a month to plan, but I can do it.”

Ayesha put the chai down. “Hafsa. What pictures?”

Hafsa shifted uncomfortably. “They were supposed to be just for Tarek. We were going to get married, remember?”