Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating(70)
Abba’s smile widens. “I know that you and your Amma aren’t exactly his fans, but … he’s an important member of the community. Without him, I’m not sure I would even have a chance at this election. Though I guess, even with him, I’m not sure about my chances.”
I shift in my seat, pulling at my seatbelt and wishing that Abba would just start the car. That we could just go home so I can try and put what I’ve done out of my mind. Except … I don’t know if I can. What if Abba loses this election? What if that’s because of me?
The car jumps to life as Abba starts the ignition. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel as he pulls out of the car park and onto the road. All the while, my mind is whirring. For the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking about all the lies that I’ve told—to my friends, to Amma and Abba … and wouldn’t things have just been better if I told the truth to begin with? I definitely wouldn’t be in this mess if I had.
So by the time Abba parks the car in front of our house, I’ve made up my mind about what I’m going to do.
“Abba,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt as he puts the car in park.
“Hmm?”
“You know how I told you about my friends?” I ask slowly. “The way that … they don’t always listen to me. And … well, everything that’s happened with Ishu?”
“Right.” Abba nods. “Did something else happen?”
“Well …” I look out the window, at the rain rolling down the glass. It’s coming down much harder than it was this morning, and I can hear the raindrops hit the gravel of the road. “The other week … when you asked me to take my friends canvassing … I don’t know what happened. I shouldn’t have listened to them, but … I guess, I let them talk me into not doing it. I thought I’d make up for it later, but I … didn’t.” It sounds worse when I say it. I can barely get the words out. Because I’m not even sure who’s to blame here.
For a moment, there’s only silence inside the car, punctuated by the sound of the rain outside. When I glance at Abba, he’s staring straight ahead, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Abba … I’m sorry.” My voice comes out in a whisper. Abba just shakes his head slowly. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“So, when Salim said that nobody canvassed around his house, it was because of you and your friends,” Abba finally says. There’s a strange calmness to his voice that fills me with dread.
“Yeah … probably,” I say. “I shouldn’t have listened to my friends that day. I know. I know I let you down. I know that—”
“If Salim finds out about this,” Abba cuts me off, “do you know how this will look for me? I’ve been telling him, telling everyone, that my family have been supporting me throughout this entire election campaign. I’ve been singing your praises, talking about everything that you’ve done for me and the campaign. But you’ve been lying to me this whole time.”
“Only about this,” I say. “I haven’t lied about anything else. And Salim Uncle never has to find out, nobody does. I just … I wanted to tell you because I know you’re worried about what’s going to happen with this election and … I know I should have been better.”
Abba shakes his head, like he can’t quite believe the words coming out of my lips. “I know you’ve been having trouble with your friends, Hani. But I thought you were better than this.”
“That’s not fair,” I say. “You’ve been lying too.” At this, Abba’s gaze finally snaps to me, his eyebrows scrunched together as he takes me in.
“You said that if Salim Uncle finds out that I’ve lied it’ll look bad but … what about you? You’ve spent all this time lying to him and pretending that you’re someone you’re not. Going to the mosque every other day, when you and Amma never went to the mosque before this. You’ve been trying to get votes from the Muslim community, but you don’t even care about them and what they want.” I’m not sure where all of that comes from, but suddenly it’s all out there. Abba is still looking at me, but I can’t meet his eyes. Suddenly, this car feels uncomfortably warm, and the silence inside it is deafening.
“I said … I am sorry,” I finally say in a whisper, though it doesn’t feel like much. The guilt is twisting in my gut but so is a bite of anger that I didn’t even know I was carrying with me all this time. After all, aren’t all of the things I’ve said true? I’m not the only person who’s been pretending for the past few weeks. “I’m trying to make things right, Abba. But you … if you win this election, your lie will just continue on. Salim Uncle and the rest of them … they won’t know that you were never winning for them—you were doing it for yourself.”
I watch as Abba takes one deep, long breath. Then he pulls the keys out of the car’s ignition, clicks open the door and steps outside into the pouring rain. He doesn’t even wait for me to get out. Instead, he walks up to the house and pulls the front door open, disappearing inside.
There are tears fighting their way through me, but I blink them back. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I check the notifications, I see that I finally have another new message in our group chat.