Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating(74)
“I took an umbrella,” I mumble. “But … the wind didn’t help with keeping the umbrella up.”
Amma sweeps past me, grabs a towel, and begins to dry me off, like I’m a kid and not seventeen years old. She does it so gently that it feels nice, but I feel a pit of despair in my stomach. I know Amma’s not been sitting in my bedroom waiting for me just to help me dry my hair.
“Your Abba told me about what happened today,” she says slowly, like she’s really picking and choosing her words. “He wasn’t expecting any of that. Not today of all days.”
“I said sorry,” I say, though my words sound hollow. What good is a “sorry” when I might have lost him his election? What good is a “sorry” when I followed it up by accusing him of manipulating people like Salim Uncle? “I feel bad about it … I know I shouldn’t have gone along with Aisling and Dee and abandoned canvassing. I know it’s important to Abba, and it’s important to me because it’s important to Abba, but—”
“Hani.” Amma cuts me off. Folding the towel up, she sits down on my bed once more. “I know you’ve been struggling with your friends, but it’s not a reason to abandon all the things that are important to you. Your friends shouldn’t have the power to dictate what you do … and how you support your family.”
“I know.” I can only hang my head in shame. I should have known better—but it was just so much easier to give in to Aisling and Dee’s demands. It always has been. “Is he home? I’ll apologize again, and anything that he needs me to do to make it right, I’ll—”
“He says you were right,” Amma interrupts. “About what you said … about how he hasn’t exactly been telling the truth either. He went to see Salim Bhai.”
“Oh.” I blink. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t that. “Did he … do we know the results yet?”
“The polls haven’t closed yet, Hani.” Amma chuckles. “We won’t know for sure until tomorrow morning.”
“I didn’t mean to make this day even worse for him,” I say. “But … he was just talking about all of these things I had done to support him and the election and … it made me feel like the worst daughter in the whole world.”
Amma reaches up and takes my hands in hers. She pulls me down on the bed beside her and brings me close until I’m in her embrace, and I can smell the scent of her coconut shampoo. It feels like forever since the two of us have sat down together and really caught each other up on what’s been going on in our lives. I got so caught up in my lies that I forgot all the important things.
“You made a mistake, and your Abba made a mistake too,” she murmurs. “It doesn’t make anybody the worst anything in the world. It just makes us human.”
Abba is sitting at the breakfast table the next morning when I come downstairs. There’s a frown on his lips as he types away at his laptop. I haven’t spoken to him since our awful conversation in the car—he didn’t come home from Salim Uncle’s house until late last night. Now I’m not sure how to break the overwhelming silence between us.
I don’t have to worry for long though, because as soon as he glances up and notices me, his entire demeanour changes. His expression softens, and a smile spreads across his lips.
“Hani,” he says, like seeing me this morning is the best thing that’s happened to him in ages. “Did you hear the good news?”
“You won?” I ask.
“I won.” He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him when he says this, and it takes a lot for me to not just jump up and down with happiness.
“You won! Abba … that’s … wow.” It feels like there aren’t enough words to really express how amazing it is that he’s won. Because Salim Uncle was right—it’s historic that he’s won. It’s historic that he was even in this election to begin with. He’s going to be the first ever Muslim and Bangladeshi person to have been elected as a councilor in Ireland. But my excitement is quickly clouded by our argument yesterday.
“Amma said you were at Salim Uncle’s yesterday. Did you … talk to him about me? About what I said?”
Abba’s smile dissipates and he nods solemnly. “Actually, I’m working on something for him right now.” He waves me over so I can look at his laptop screen. I shuffle over to find a word document.
Islamic Center Outreach Program it says at the top, and a picture of our local mosque is pasted toward the bottom.
“What’s this?”
“Well … what you said, it made me think a lot about the people who were voting for me yesterday. Everybody I saw at the mosque, they were voting for me because they trusted in the fact that I’d represent them … as a Muslim.” Abba heaves a sigh. “Hani, has your Amma ever told you about how things were like when we first came here?”
I shake my head slowly. Amma and Abba have been living here for more than three decades now. They know Ireland like the back of their hands—it’s their home. Maybe even more than Bangladesh, since Bangladesh wasn’t even an independent country when they were born. But neither Amma nor Abba have spent a lot of time talking about the past—except to rave about all the ways things have gotten better.