But then, Ammu says, “Fine,” turning back to her chicken curry. “Did you eat out? Or do you want to eat with us?”
“Um … I … I ate,” I say, not sure if I’ve heard her correctly.
“When is your flight?” She doesn’t look at me as she says it, like she’s afraid to be seen approving of my decision.
“Friday … evening.”
“I’ll drive you,” she says. “I’ll handle your Abbu.”
I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips, or the tears prickling behind my eyes. I feel like I’ve picked this up from Hani—too many emotions. I’m not really a crier, but ever since becoming friends with Hani …
“You can come too, you know,” I say. “If you want to. Nik wants you to. She really wants you to.”
Ammu just shakes her head. I’m not sure if it’s coming from her or from Abbu, but I know there’s nothing I can say or do to change her mind.
chapter fifty-one
ishu
NIK’S HOUSE IS LIT UP LIKE A CHRISTMAS TREE. IT’S A tiny apartment just outside of London, and its sparkling with fairy lights streaming down the front and back. It’s actually a little difficult to look directly at it.
“This is such a pretty house,” Hani says, even though she’s squinting her eyes so much that I’m not sure she can see the house at all.
“Thanks …” Nik sighs. “We’re hoping to move out of London to somewhere a little more affordable soon. Once all the wedding stuff is over and done with.”
She helps us pull our suitcases inside the house and then takes us in with bright smiles. “I’m so glad you’re both here,” she says finally. “It’s nice to have … family here for the wedding. Rakesh has such a big family in London and it’s just nice to have some—”
“Okay, don’t get all sappy.” I cut her off, rolling my eyes. “Are we sleeping on the couch?”
“It extends out to a bed, actually.” Nik leaps toward it in two quick steps and demonstrates how it becomes a bed big enough for two people. “See?”
“Nice.” I nod. It’s a lot roomier than it looks at first glance.
“You guys aren’t sleeping here together, though. Only Hani,” Nik says. “You are sleeping in bed with me.”
“What? Why?” I turn to Nik with a frown. “I didn’t think you were going to be weird about this, of all people.”
Nik sighs. “I’m not being weird. I just … wanted to talk and spend some time with my sister after not seeing her for a long time! But if—”
“Okay, okay.” I give in. Mostly because I know that if I don’t, Nik is going to keep pushing and pushing until I do give in. She’s been doing so much for me over the past few months, the least I can do is sleep in bed beside her. Like when we first moved to Dublin as kids and only had a tiny one-bedroom apartment.
“You’re okay to sleep on the couch all by yourself?” Nik asks Hani. Because obviously she gets a choice.
“Of course, no problem. Looks comfy, really.” Hani is all smiles, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes again.
I settle myself down on the couch, and when Hani sidles in next to me, I wrap an arm around her. It’s like it’s become second nature to me. Before all of this started, I didn’t even know what being in a relationship was, but now I’m sure I can write a guide to real dating. Hani would probably say I can’t, but I’m sure I’m pretty much a dating expert by now.
“So … when is your holud?” I ask Nik. In India, whenever we had weddings, the holud was my favorite part. It was always so intimate and fun. Full of family, food, and an outpouring of love. Also, a lot of music and dancing.
“I’m not having a holud.” Nik sighs. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? You’re the only family attending!”
“But you have friends coming.”
“Like … a few. Half a dozen. It’s going to be such a small wedding that a holud seems … pointless.”
“You have to have a holud,” Hani says. “Holuds are supposed to be small. With family and close friends … and it’ll be fun. When else are you going to get your mehndi done after all?”
“We’ll plan it!” I exclaim, even though I’ve never in my entire life planned a party. There’s a first time for everything, I guess. “We can have it tomorrow. Just invite your friends, and Hani and I will take care of everything else.”
Hani glances at me hesitantly, like she’s not sure she thinks we can do this, but I know that we definitely can. So I ignore her gaze.
“Are you sure?” Nik asks, looking at us with narrowed eyes.
“Yeah, we’re sure. I’m not going to let you have a wedding without a holud, Nik.” Especially not when she’s already having a wedding without Ammu and Abbu.
Nik finally smiles. “Thanks, Ishu.”
We spend all of the next morning preparing for the holud. Hani strings up flowers on the walls of Nik’s sitting room. Nik and I push the couch to one side and lay down a throw, pillows, and cushions on the floor to make a seating area. With the mattress and an old bedsheet, Hani and I create a makeshift stage just in front of the seating area. We decorate the wall of the back of the stage with flowers and glitter and balloons.
While Hani prepares the turmeric paste and mehndi and creates a holud playlist, Nik and I work together to cook a large pot of biryani.
“You have to go get ready,” I tell Nik once the biryani is done. “The guests will be here soon … make sure you wear holud, okay?”
“You guys have to get ready too,” Nik says.
“We will. You’re the bride though—you’re kind of more important.”
“Okay, okay,” Nik concedes, before finally disappearing into her bedroom.
Hani disappears into the bathroom to get changed, so I pull out my own set of clothes: a delicate yellow and green lahenga. Lahengas are not usually my thing—but you can’t really go wrong with them during a wedding. I even slip on some green churis that jingle with every movement of my arms.
When Hani steps out of the bathroom, I feel like my lahenga can’t compare. She’s wearing a dark red kameez that’s as long and wide as a ballgown. There are subtle hints of green splashed onto the dress. The two colors shouldn’t go together— but they do. And it makes Hani’s bronze skin look more beautiful than ever—though that might also be the makeup.
“You look amazing!” I exclaim. Stepping forward, I take her arms in mine. Both of our arms jingle with churis. That sound has never sounded better to me.
“So do you,” Hani says.
I reach up to brush back a lock of her hair before leaning forward until our lips touch. Hani leans into me, and I thread my hand through her hair and—
“Ow!”
I jump back.
“Your churi …” Hani says.
My bangles are caught in the strands of her hair. I lean forward, trying to unclasp the churi.
“Bengali clothes are really not designed for kissing, are they?” I sigh. This isn’t the first time we’ve been caught up in each other awkwardly while wearing Desi clothes. You would think we’d learn by now, but I suppose we’re determined.
“How does Bollywood make it looks so effortlessly romantic?” Hani asks, pulling at the threads of her hair.
“I guess we’re no Deepika and Ranveer, huh?” I sigh.
Thankfully, we don’t have to be a Deepika and Ranveer to take a picture together in front of the stage we decorated. A photo where we’re pressed together a little too close and Hani is kissing my cheek. After all of our old fake photos together, we’ve gotten pretty good at taking the cheesiest real couple photos together.
Nik’s guests start pouring in by seven o’clock. They’re mostly her friends from university, but also a few friends from outside university. They ooh and aah at the décor, and I can’t help but feel pleased that the three of us have pulled this all off in just a few hours.
When Nik comes out of her bedroom, dressed in a bright yellow salwar kameez that makes her glow, the room descends into silence. She
blushes a pretty pink and comes over to greet everyone and give them huge hugs and thank them for coming.
“Okay, okay.” I step in when the hugging has gone on for a bit too long. “We need to get started. Come on, Nik. Up on stage.” I guide Nik onto the mattress. Someone dims the light, and a kind of fairytale glow descends onto the room. The music comes on, and the speakers begin to thump out a Bollywood song: “Mehndi Laga Ke Rakhna.” I can’t help the grin on my face—Hani couldn’t have chosen a more perfect song to start off the evening.
It’s not until hours later that I finally manage to find my way back to Hani. She’s standing at the edge of the room, leaning against the wall, watching as Nik’s friends dance to “Bole Chudiyan.”
“Hey,” Hani says, resting her head on my shoulder as I wrap an arm around her waist.
“This is nice, huh?”
“It is. Nik looks … happy.”
I watch Nik smiling and laughing with her friends. She looks happier than I have seen her in a long time. I just wish Ammu and Abbu were here to see this too.
“This has been a tough few months for her,” I say in a low voice. “I just … wish I could have convinced Ammu and Abbu to come, you know?”
Hani picks her head up off my shoulder and turns to me with a frown. “You’re not allowed to think about that stuff today,” she says. “Or … well, for this entire trip. We’re here to celebrate your sister and her wedding. Not to think about all the stuff that’s gone wrong.”
“I just—”
“Shh.” Hani reaches up her finger and presses it against my lips. “It’s easy to get caught up on the negative stuff. But this. This is a good day. We deserve to enjoy it.”
“You’re right.” I nod, because she is. We do deserve to enjoy this day. Hani slips her fingers into mine and, for the umpteenth time, I’m surprised at all of the ways the two of us fit together. All the ways I never expected us to fit together in a million years. “I’m glad you’re here to share it all with me.”
“The good and the bad,” Hani says.
“The good and the bad,” I agree. She squeezes my hand, sending a jolt of electricity through me.
Gathered up in her arms with the beat of Bollywood music all around me, everything feels strangely right. Like none of the bad stuff even matters anymore. Because as long as Hani and I are side-by-side, everything will be all right.
acknowledgments
It almost seems like there is a never-ending list of people who helped make this book possible. Thank you to each and every one of you.
Thank you, first of all, to my wonderful agent, Uwe Stender, for your endless support and belief in my work. I hope that we can bring many more books into the world together.
Thank you to my editor, Lauren Knowles, who pushed this book to be the best that it could be and always understood my vision. I get to write books that are unapologetically Bengali, Muslim, queer, and many other things, all thanks to you.
Thank you to everyone at Page Street who helped make this book the best version of itself. Thank you to Tamara Grasty, Franny Donington, Hayley Gundlach, Elliot Phillips, Aïcha Martine Thiam, and Marissa Giambelluca for helping shape this book into something very special. Thank you to Meg Baskis and Julia Tyler for designing this book to be beautiful inside and out. Thank you to Lizzy Mason and Lauren Cepero for all of your hard work in promoting this book.
A massive thank you to Nabigal-Nayagam Haider Ali. I could not have dreamed of a more fitting cover for this book. Thank you for bringing these characters to life.
Thank you to my Bengali squad, Tammi and Priyanka, for always being there when I need a listening ear or (more often) have a question about Bangladesh or Bangla. This book would not exist without the two of you.
Muita obrigada to my friend Gabhi. I’ve spent countless hours complaining to you about this book, about writing, about revisions … and you’ve always been there to listen. I cannot believe how lucky I am to get to call you a friend.
Thank you to my friends Aleema and Faridah. You basically held my hand through the first draft of Hani and Ishu, and listened to so many hours of me trying to figure out plot and character problems. You never complained, and you helped make this book into what it is today. This book would be worse off without the two of you.
A huge thank you to my debut buddy, Anuradha. You were such a source of light and support while debuting at a very difficult time, and I will always be grateful for that.
Thank you to all of my friends who have been immensely supportive throughout the years: Amanda, Gavin, Lia, Ramona, Alyssa, April, Kristine, Shaun, Timmy, Alechia, Maria, London. I appreciate all of you so much.
Thank you to my brother, and my sister-in-law, Biyut Apu, for hosting me in your house for two weeks while I wrote the large majority of this book. Thank you especially for taking me out for some amazing biryani at Dum Biryani and Dishoom. I’m not saying that all of the biryani scenes in this book were written as a result of that, but I’m also not not saying that.
I debuted during a strange time, and I’m immensely grateful to all of the people who helped me navigate everything at a difficult time. First of all, thank you to my two very talented friends Fadwa and Vanshika. I feel very lucky to know the both of you. And a huge thank you to Saajid and Carmen for all you support. It was such a pleasure to get to work with you.
Thank you to every single person who supported my debut, who showed up to virtual events, who messaged me or sent an email to share how they connected with my work, who tweeted out their support, who drew fanart, or made an aesthetic or edit. All of this helped me keep going and motivated me to work on bringing this second book out into the world. If I wrote down everyone’s names it would be a never-ending list. But there were a few people who have been immensely supportive of me, and it would be unfair to not shout them out here. So, a huge thank you to Fanna, Gargee, Mis, Lili, CW, not just for your support of my work, but for all you do to uplift diverse books and voices. The book community is incredibly lucky to have all of you.
Lastly, and most importantly, thank you to you, the reader, for picking this book up and giving it a chance.
about the author
Adiba Jaigirdar was born in Dhaka, Bangladesh, and has been living in Dublin, Ireland, from the age of ten. She has a BA in English and History from University College Dublin and an MA in Postcolonial Studies from the University of Kent. She’s the author of The Henna Wars. All of her work is aided by many cups of tea and a healthy dose of Janelle Monáe and Hayley Kiyoko. When not writing, she enjoys reading, playing video games, and ranting about the ills of colonialism. She can be found at adibajaigirdar.com or @adiba_j on Twitter and @dibs_j on Instagram. You can sign up for author updates here.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter fifteen
chapter sixteen
chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
chapter nineteen
chapter twenty
chapter twenty-one
chapter twenty-two
chapter twenty-three
chapter twenty-four
chapter twenty-fi
ve
chapter twenty-six
chapter twenty-seven
chapter twenty-eight
chapter twenty-nine
chapter thirty
chapter thirty-one
chapter thirty-two
chapter thirty-three
chapter thirty-four
chapter thirty-five
chapter thirty-six
chapter thirty-seven
chapter thirty-eight
chapter thirty-nine
chapter forty
chapter forty-one
chapter forty-two
chapter forty-three
chapter forty-four
chapter forty-five
chapter forty-six
chapter forty-seven
chapter forty-eight
chapter forty-nine
chapter fifty
chapter fifty-one
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2021 Adiba Jaigirdar
First published in 2021 by
Page Street Publishing Co.
27 Congress Street, Suite 105
Salem, MA 01970
www.pagestreetpublishing.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
eISBN 978-1-64567-258-6
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension. 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020945228
Cover design by Julia Tyler for Page Street Publishing Co.
Cover illustration © Nabigal-Nayagam Haider Ali
Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating Page 25
