Nik settles me with a glare. “You can hardly be angry with her for that.”
“Yes, I can,” I say, settling Nik with a glare of my own.
“It’s not like you’re always exactly yourself. You do things just because Ammu and Abbu think you should. Would you have let Aisling and Principal Gallagher walk all over you like that if Ammu and Abbu hadn’t been there?”
“Well, no. But that’s different. They’re my parents.”
“My point, dear sister, is that we all have people who we bend ourselves for the approval of. For you and me, it’s Ammu and Abbu. For Hani, it’s her friends. We all need to fit in, or need to be loved, or need approval. You and Hani aren’t that different, if you think about it.”
Nik is wrong. I know she is. I’m not bending myself or being someone I’m not because of Ammu or Abbu. They’ve never asked me to be what I’m not, have they? They didn’t ask me to be Head Girl, but … would I have tried to be Head Girl if I didn’t think it would get me their approval?
The noodles suddenly taste like cardboard in my mouth. I gulp down the mouthful I was chewing and push the rest of it away.
“Anyway, I know you were more than just ‘fake dating’ Hani,” Nik says matter-of-factly.
“I was not.” I cross my arms over my chest, but I guess my defensiveness is not convincing because Nik smiles.
“You obviously care about her,” she presses.
I shake my head, because yeah, maybe I do. But I don’t want to. If all of this has proved anything, it’s that Hani and I aren’t a good fit. That I should have never given weight to my feelings. Maybe then, all of this wouldn’t hurt so bad.
“Can we move on and talk for a second about you and this wedding? Are Ammu and Abbu really not going to come?”
Nik sighs, and pushes away the rest of her pad thai too. Like this conversation has immediately made her lose her appetite. “Look … I told them that … I’m not going back to university. That was the last straw for them, I guess. They said they were never going to come to my wedding if Rakesh and I were veering my life off course.” She shrugs like the whole thing is no big deal, but I can see her hands shaking underneath the table. I reach forward and take her hands in mine.
“Why aren’t you going back to university? Is it … are you …”
“Ishu … I never told you this, but … I never wanted to study medicine. Or … maybe I did. I don’t know.” Nik shakes her head. “The thing is, I was so caught up in what Ammu and Abbu wanted that I never spent a second thinking about what I wanted. They convinced me that studying medicine and going to UCL would be the best thing I could ever do with my life. I wanted to make them proud, and I was so used to competing. With you, with other students at school. So I just went along with it, and it was only when I got there, when I was in university, that I realized I hated it all. That I hated everything that we had been doing, really.”
She heaves a sigh and gives my hands a squeeze. I think it’s to give herself strength more than anything else. “My first year at university was awful. I was doing terribly in all of my classes and after competing and winning my entire life it was like … everything was upside down. And I was so determined to succeed in something that I didn’t even like or want that I became depressed, I stopped eating, stopped … taking care of myself, mentally and physically. Thank God I met Rakesh.”
“He helped?”
She nods. “So much. I mean, at first we were just friends, and he helped me study and get back on track. His older sister is a doctor so she helped me out a lot. I passed my exams … barely. I didn’t come back to visit because I was so afraid of disappointing Abbu and Ammu … which is awful, you know? I wanted to see them, I wanted to see you. I wanted to come back home, sleep in my bed, but I was paralyzed with fear about what Ammu and Abbu would say if I showed up with my barely passing grades. So I just stayed in London. Rakesh and I started dating and the more time that went by the more I realized just how much I didn’t want to do this anymore. At first, I thought I would take a year off from university. That was when I came here and I … used Rakesh and our engagement as an excuse when I shouldn’t have. He has nothing to do with it. He was just an excuse I was using to deal with Abbu and Ammu’s disappointment.”
“So … what do you want to do then?” I ask.
Nik sighs. “You know, I’m not really sure. I think what I want is a little bit of time just to figure that out. It’s like … ever since I decided to drop out … a cloud has parted over my head and I’m finally coming to terms with who I am. It feels like when you get out of a bad relationship and you have to learn about who you are all by yourself, you know?”
“No, but … I guess?” I say.
Nik smiles. “Right. I guess Hani was your first relationship.”
“First fake relationship …” I try not to think too much about the was, and the fact that so much of it felt real.
“You know you can still fix things with her.” Nik tilts her head to the side as she observes me. “It’s not too late.”
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter. I just want to focus on getting back on track. I can’t let everything I’ve worked for fall apart because of Hani and her shitty best friend.”
Nik sighs. “So … I wanted to talk to you about that. The whole doctor thing … that’s really something you want to do?”
“Well. Yeah.” I blink up at her. I guess I never thought of anything else I could do, but it’s definitely what motivates me.
“Because … if it’s just Ammu and Abbu pushing you, there’s still time for you to reconsider. I’d help you out, no matter what happened. I hope you know that. I’m only an hour’s flight away.”
“Thanks, Nik.” I shoot her a smile. She clutches my hands in hers tightly, and the warmth of the touch sends warmth throughout my whole body. I can’t remember the last time Nik and I spoke like this. I don’t think we ever have.
It’s kind of nice to have an older sister looking out for you.
chapter thirty-nine
hani
THE NEXT FEW DAYS OF SCHOOL DRAG BY SLOWLY, BUT at home everything is a rush. The election is only a few days away and it feels like there’s so much to do, and not enough time to do it. Abba goes to the mosque almost every day, praying shoulder-to-shoulder with the Muslims in the community before trying to smoothly convince them to vote for him.
I tag along with him whenever he goes, carrying a stack of his flyers as I stumble into the women’s balcony all by myself.
The good thing about the rush of Abba’s election is that it doesn’t really give me a lot of time to think about Aisling and Dee and … Ishu. It’s been days since I’ve spoken to any of them, even though I keep picking up the phone to text Ishu about every little thing. But I know it isn’t right. I can’t reach out to her when I haven’t figured out where I stand. When I’m not sure if I can make up for the things that Aisling has done. When I don’t even have the guts to call Aisling out for what she’s done.
I’ve been avoiding Aisling and Dee like the plague too. That’s been a little difficult since we share almost every single class together and usually spend our lunches together. But I’ve changed seats in all our classes, sitting toward the front where I can feel Aisling and Dee’s disapproving frowns. And during lunchtime I sneak outside, toward the front of the school. I sit with my back against the trunk of a tree and eat my lunch alone, trying to forget about the fact that in the past few weeks it seems that everything in my life has shifted. And I don’t know how to make things better.
On Friday afternoon, I come home to find Abba in the sitting room with his head buried in his hands. Amma is sitting beside him, her hands moving in soothing circles on his shoulders.
I shut the front door behind me as softly as I can, but both of them look up at the click of it. Amma puts on her usual smile, and Abba contorts his expression into something that’s definitely supposed to reassure—but doesn’t. A smile that looks more like a grimace.
“
Is everything okay?” I ask. I can’t imagine what would lead to Abba being upset—unless something has already come out about the election.
“Everything is fine.” Amma smiles, but I must not look convinced because the next moment Amma and Abba share a look between them.
“Your Abba is just a little stressed about what tomorrow is going to be like,” she finally says with a sigh. “But … we’ve done all that we can.” She looks pointedly at Abba as she says this.
Abba sits back and heaves a sigh. He doesn’t seem convinced by Amma’s words either but he nods and repeats, “We’ve done all that we can.”
The words open up a pit in my stomach. Have we done all that we can? I never told Abba about how I skipped out on canvassing the other day. How Aisling and Dee convinced me to go into town and celebrate with their boyfriends instead. I’ve been so caught up with Aisling, Dee, and Ishu that for so much of this election, I’ve neglected Abba and what I should have been doing for him.
Amma stands up and claps her hands together. “There’s no point sitting around stressing about what may or may not happen tomorrow. How about I make us all a nice dinner?”
Abba nods in agreement, and Amma drifts off into the kitchen. I can tell that Abba doesn’t really feel much better about everything, though.
I squeeze into the sofa next to him, even though I’m still wearing my school uniform.
“Something happened to make you stressed out now, didn’t it?” I ask slowly.
Abba heaves a sigh. “We got some poll results that … don’t look very positive.”
“Poll results are wrong a lot of the time,” I point out. “Things can still turn around.”
Abba turns to me with a smile. “Your Amma tells me that you’ve been dealing with a few things yourself.”
I shift around uncomfortably on the couch for a moment. The last thing I want to do is unload all of my problems onto Abba the day before his big election. “I’m fine.”
“Hani … you know you can always talk to me about anything at any time,” he says. “Your Amma … she’s been a little worried about you.”
“And she’s been worried about you,” I say.
His smile widens. “So, if we help each other out, maybe your Amma will worry a lot less.”
Slowly, I fill Abba in on everything that’s been going on with Aisling, Dee, and Ishu. “I know that I need to do something to make it up to Ishu for everything that I’ve done, but … I don’t know how to apologize to her. Not when I can’t even really confront Aisling or Dee. I don’t know how to … make things right with anyone.”
Abba looks at me thoughtfully for a moment. “If you were Ishu in this situation, what would make things better?”
I have to think about that for a few minutes. It’s not exactly easy to place myself into Ishu’s headspace. We’re so different. When I think of her now, all I can think of is that day she was sitting outside our door, looking small and broken. “I think I would just want to know that … someone I considered my friend didn’t think the worst of me.”
“So, you just need to find a way to show her that.” Abba says it as if that’s the easiest thing in the world. But how can I show Ishu that she’s important to me? That I haven’t chosen Aisling or Dee over her? And when I think of what the answer to those questions might be, I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to show Ishu that she can trust me, that we are friends … and maybe more. Maybe Ishu is right … maybe we are too different from each other to be together. Maybe we’re too different from each other to even be in each other’s lives. Maybe the reason why the two of us haven’t been friends all this time isn’t because of our fear that we would be pushed together, but because of our differences.
I wake up the next morning to an overcast sky and drizzling rain tapping against my window. Amma makes porota and halwa for breakfast, and it’s supposed to be celebratory but nothing in the atmosphere of our house feels celebratory.
Amma has a PTA meeting, so it’s just me and Abba driving down to the polling station together. It’s in a primary school only a ten-minute drive away, but it feels longer. For the first time in the past few weeks, I’m not really thinking of my friends or Ishu, but of exactly what this election could mean for us.
We barely have the chance to shuffle out of the car before Abba spots familiar faces from the mosque outside the school building. There are a few people that I recognize—like Salim Uncle—but most of the faces are unfamiliar. I can tell that most of them are not Bengali.
“Assalam Alaikum,” Abba says as he approaches them slowly. His glum expression slowly transforms into the polite, political smile he’s developed throughout this election campaign.
“Walaikum Salam,” all the Uncles murmur back in unison.
“We were just talking about how this is a historic moment,” Salim Uncle says. “One of our own is about to become a councilor!”
Abba’s smile is strained. “Well … Insha’Allah.”
“Sajib, you’ve really done an amazing job on this campaign,” one of the Uncles—a tall man with pale skin and a black moustache—says. “I’ve been seeing your posters all over everywhere … and the people who came knocking on my door to convince me to vote for you? Phenomenal. If I wasn’t already voting for you, they definitely would have convinced me.”
Salim Uncle’s expression shifts slightly. He turns to Abba with a slight frown. “You had canvassers?”
“A few,” he admits. “It’s difficult to coordinate too many over the course of the elections, but I managed to send out a few different groups. And … Hani.” At this, he turns to me, putting his arms all the way around my shoulders. “She helped me out a lot. She convinced her friends to give up their Sunday afternoon to canvass … so who knows what other kind of convincing she’s done?”
I try to smile, but all the while I can feel the gnawing guilt in my stomach. Abba didn’t ask much of me during this election—this historic time, as Salim Uncle put it. But I didn’t even do the bare minimum to help him.
Salim Uncle seems to consider me for a moment, before turning back to Abba. “I think you should have probably targeted our neighborhood too,” he says. “I don’t remember any canvassers in our area who were campaigning for you. But, well … what’s done is done.” He heaves a sigh, as if it pains him that nobody came to his door to convince him to vote for someone he was already voting for. “Let’s go in, shall we?”
I take a photo of Abba with the polling station sign before he goes in with the rest of the men from the mosque. I tell Abba that I’ll wait for him in the car.
As soon as Abba is inside, I pull my phone out of my pocket. I haven’t spoken to any of my friends for so long that it feels strange to pull up the group chat with Dee and Aisling.
Hey … are your parents voting for my dad today?
I hit send before I can think about it too much. After all, just because we’re in a fight doesn’t mean that we’re not friends anymore. Right?
Aisling’s reply comes almost immediately: oh, so now we’re okay to talk to?
I heave a sigh. I don’t know why I expected anything more from Aisling. I wait for her to say something more—yes, her parents were still voting for Abba, or no, they aren’t. But there are no more messages.
chapter forty
hani
IT’S ALMOST TWENTY MINUTES BEFORE ABBA FINALLY comes back to the car. Waving goodbye to all the Uncles, he opens up the car door and slips inside. He lets out a sigh of relief as soon as the door clicks shut behind him and leans back in his seat with his eyes closed.
“I wish I could vote,” I offer when the silence stretches out for a few minutes too long. “That would be one more for you.”
Abba finally blinks his eyes open, a small smile appearing on his lips. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen on him all day. “Hani, you’ve already done more than enough for me and for this election,” he says. “I mean … going to the mosque with me all the time, getting your friends to come and supp
ort me during rallies, gathering up your friends to help you canvass … putting up with Salim Uncle.”
“He’s not … that bad,” I say, trying to muster up a laugh. It feels hollow, because all I can think about is how Abba thinks that I went above and beyond to support him. When really … I could be the reason that he loses the election. And he won’t ever even suspect it.
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?”
Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating Page 20
