The Henna Wars(33)

“It’s not a—”

“And when people find out, that shame is going to be on us, Nishat.” She’s finally looking at me, pleading with me. “Your Abbu and I need you to make a different choice.”

I swallow down my words about how none of this is a choice. That I can’t change the way that I feel. How do I make her see that? How can she not see that?

“Nishat,” she says, before I can say anything else. She puts aside the half-knit scarf and needles, and wraps her arms around me. This is the first time my mother has touched me in weeks and I flinch even though I don’t want to. Either she doesn’t notice my reaction, or she doesn’t care, because she lays my head down on her shoulder. “Your Abbu and I love you.” That’s all I’ve wanted to hear since I told them the truth. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear from them. But not like this. “But that means you have to make the choice to not be … this.”

This, meaning a lesbian.

This, meaning the person that I am.

The choice she wants me to make isn’t between being gay and straight, it’s between them and me. Who do I choose?

I pull away from her, biting down the tears rising through me like a tidal wave. This time, I’m the one who can’t look her in the eye. If I do, I think I’ll break.

“Can I go?” I manage to ask.

“Think about it, Nishat.”

“Can I—” I’m already standing up, but Ammu grabs hold of my hand, jerking me back.

“Have you …” She takes a deep breath. “You haven’t … with a girl …”

I shake my head frantically while pulling her fingers off of mine. Though at this stage, I’ll say anything just to get away.

“Good,” she says. “Good.” That’s the word that follows me out of her bedroom and into mine.

Priti is sitting on my bed, scrolling through her phone. Her head snaps up the moment I enter, but I don’t have the energy or the words to talk to her. I just collapse on the bed and let the waves of misery crash through me.

Priti must lay down next to me, because next thing I know, her arm is wrapped around me. The two of us lie there on my bed for what feels like hours, me with tears dripping down my cheek and nose and chin, her rubbing soothing circles into my back.

When my tears finally run dry, Priti turns to face me with a frown on her lips.

“Can I ask you something, Apujan?”

“About what Ammu said?”

“No …” She trails off. “About … you. Why did you … I mean … what made you tell them? You could have kept it a secret, right? It wouldn’t have made a difference. It’s not like you’re with someone.”

I don’t know where to begin or how to explain it. I’m not sure if I really understand it myself. But I’m also not sure if I regret it, after everything.

“It was because of Sunny Apu’s wedding.”

“Because …?”

“Because of the way they looked. Happy. Like … you know, they couldn’t wait until that was you and me. Like … I don’t know, like they had these dreams for us. And I knew that I couldn’t give them that. I know that. I just … I’d rather they knew. Sooner, rather than later.”

“If you give them time …” Priti starts again. The same old mantra. But I’m not sure if time is what they need. If time will make any difference at all.

“At least they have you,” I say. “They get to be proud of you. You bring home the good grades and one day you’ll marry a guy that they approve of.”

“How do you know they’ll approve of him?”

“Because he’ll be a guy, at least.”

She smiles at that. “He could be an awful guy.”

“I bet he will be. And they’ll still like him better than anyone I bring home. If I’m even allowed to bring someone home,” I say it jokingly, but there’s a sad truth to it.

“I love you, you know?” Priti says after a moment of silence passes between us. “Like … if I had to choose between an awful guy that Ammu and Abbu approved of and you, I would choose you every time.”

“I don’t think you’ll feel that way forever.”

“I will.” Priti nods very solemnly. “I promise to love you the most, no matter what. Even when we’re old and disheveled and dying and you’re somehow more annoying than you already are, I’ll still love you.”

I reach over and wrap my arms around her. At least I’ll always have Priti.



As I’m getting ready for bed on Sunday night, my phone beeps with a message.

You bought out all of the henna from Shahi Raj?

She doesn’t sign the message off with her name, but I know it’s Flávia. I wonder how she got my phone number. It had to be from Chyna, and I’m not sure exactly how I feel about that.

I type back quickly, I need it for my business

Flávia: Every single tube?

Me: Yes, I’m planning to make a profit, I don’t know about you.

Flávia is typing …

She types for a long time. I wait with my phone in my hand, my heart beating fast. Finally, after what feels like hours, a new message pops up.