“What is there to talk about?” he goaded. She turned the car towards her own apartment. He needed sustenance and something to bring down his intoxication, and she would cook for him. Miad didn’t protest. He gazed out the window, seeing his reflection in the glass. He looked terrible. His hair was shaggy and unruly, and there were dark circles under his soulful brown eyes. He wanted to run away from the sight, but no matter how fast they traveled, he had to face himself. Miad closed his eyes again.
Zoya parked on the side street and waited patiently for her brother to leverage himself up out of the car. She stood next to him, ever the devoted sister, and let him drape his arm over her shoulder so she could assist him up the stairs and into the building. Zoya had appropriately replaced her hijab, hiding her face. She prayed anyone seeing them together wouldn’t notice her brother was stumbling drunk. It was embarrassing.
They made it to the elevators and up to her floor, where Miad made a stronger attempt to put one foot steadily in front of the other. “I can walk,” he growled, pushing away from her. Zoya covered her face and moved quickly up the hall to unlock the door to apartment 212. She stood at the threshold waiting for him to drag his weight along the wall and into the apartment.
The first matter of business was to get him something to eat. She directed her brother to the sofa and helped him out of his shoes, putting his feet up and his head on a pillow. Miad dozed. Zoya stepped into the kitchen and dug out her cellphone to call Callie. Her friend had to be frantic, wondering what had happened.
Callie answered the cellphone on the first ring. “I’m on my way home. I heard. One of Micah’s friends told me there was some kind of problem in the parking lot between Micah and someone you left with. Tell me it isn’t who I think it is.”
“My brother,” Zoya said tiredly. “He’s here. Listen, friend, I’m at the apartment, and I’m going to talk to my brother. Tonight.”
“What was he doing at the biker bar?”
“I have no clue, Callie. Your guess is as good as mine. He pulled a knife on Micah, and things are getting out of hand. I can’t let this situation continue like this. I’m going to tell him he can’t run my life anymore. He needs help, Callie!” She teared up, thinking how low Miad had descended from the big brother that fought her battles to the big brother who called her a whore and harlot and threatened to kill the person she loved. “The drinking is out of control. Do you remember you told me you had a connection or knew someone at the rehab center?”
Zoya grated onions and pulled a pack of thawed, boneless chicken cutlets out of the fridge. She would make kebabs. She mixed onions, lemon juice and salt in a bowl as she talked on the phone. She didn’t have time to let the chicken marinate for long, but she set it aside and leaned against the kitchen counter, listening to Callie.
“I’ll be home in the next fifteen. I’ll help you talk to him. I can tell him all about the place. It’s not like the usual center.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I better do this alone. He’s not going to take it well coming from me. I can imagine how he’ll take it coming from a complete stranger. His problems have always been deep, dark family secrets, and he won’t appreciate me telling you.” Zoya melted butter on the stovetop, dissolving slivers of fragrant, colorful saffron with the butter. She pulled a few metal skewers from under the kitchen counter, just enough for her and her brother.
“In that case, I have a couple of spare pamphlets in my bedroom you can use to show him about the place. Check in the top drawer of my dresser. It’s my junk drawer. In the meantime, I’ll linger out instead of coming right home.”
“Where are you going to go?” Zoya asked in curiosity, as she threaded the chicken pieces onto the metal skewers.
“Met a guy,” Callie said mysteriously. Zoya could hear the smile in her friend’s voice. “I ended up leaving the bar in a hurry to get to you, but now that I know it might be better for me to linger out for a while, consider me off the radar for the night. Call me if you need me though. I’ll keep my ringer on.”
Zoya preheated the countertop grill and placed the chicken skewers on it, brushing marinade on top. “Will do. I’ve got this covered though. I’m taking off the gloves. If Miad wants to fight dirty…then, he’s about to see I can do the exact same.”
“That’s it, baby! Fight like a girl. Kick his ass!”
“It was a metaphor,” Zoya giggled, lightening up. “I’ll talk to you later, friend.” When she hung up the phone, she felt a bolster of confidence. She threw a bag of quick rice on the stovetop to boil and placed a bag of veggies in the microwave to steam.
Zoya left the chicken skewers, planning to come back and baste after she checked in Callie’s bedroom for the pamphlets to show to her brother. Callie’s room was orderly and well-organized. It was often odd to think of her flighty, free-spirited best friend as the neat-freak of the household. As Callie had said, Zoya found the pamphlets in the top drawer. The junk drawer was laid out like an office desk with coupons clipped together next to a ball of rubber bands, a handful of writing pens bundled with a band, spare lighters, a few boxes of playing cards, and other knickknacks. What she sought was a stack of glossy folded papers in the bottom. She tried not to displace Callie’s things as she slipped a brochure from the stack.
Zoya padded back into the living room while reading. The facility was private-run and staffed by local physicians and psychiatrists, offering both detox and recovery programs with the option to stay on-grounds after detox or come in for daily check-ups. She could imagine the benefit her brother would get from therapy and counseling sessions. What Miad needed most was new ways to cope with the problems he faced living with a strong sense of entitlement but a very poor work ethic.
The mouth-watering aroma of chicken wafted through the apartment, and she stepped back in the kitchen to turn and baste the food and check the rice and vegetables. She pulled out plates and set them on the bar where she and her brother would eat. Tiptoeing into the living room, she peeked in to see if he was awake, but he was snoring softly. Zoya wrung her hands, wondering if she should abandon the plan. Maybe she should just accept that she couldn’t be with Micah.
But that wasn’t acceptable. Besides, if Miad didn’t get help for his drinking, his life would be ruined by it. The two seemed tied hand-in-hand in her mind. She knew if her brother’s personal life hadn’t been destroyed by his drinking, then he would be more rational and logical about her relationship with Micah. They had both grown up in this country. Muslims married secular partners every day in America, didn’t they?
She sighed and nudged Miad’s shoulder to wake him.
“What?” he grunted, disoriented.
“I cooked for you. Come eat, brother. We have things to discuss, and I didn’t want to talk about this stuff at Maman and Baba’s home. You’re at my place.”
“Your place?” he scowled and sat up, swinging his legs around to the floor. He seemed a little better in charge of himself. Zoya stepped back and cautiously watched him amble to the kitchen area where the countertop served as a bar with stools on the side of the living room. She gestured for him to sit and moved into the kitchen to fix their plates.
“This is getting out of control between us. We never used to fight like this,” she muttered. Zoya served the rice, kebabs, and vegetables. “What’s happened to us?”
“You think I want this?”
She moved to the kitchen sink and poured a glass of cold water. He’d need it to flush the alcohol out of his system. “I think you rely too heavily on booze to cosset you from real world problems, and you jump at shadows, ready for a fight at every second as a result of it. So, yeah, I guess I do think you want this, because you keep it going.”
She slapped the brochure down on the counter next to his plate. Miad glanced at the cover. The navy blue pamphlet pictured a sparkling steel and glass facility on the front overshadowed by a smiling practitioner. “What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s help. Like the rehab facility
Maman and Baba got you admitted into the first time.” She picked up her fork and started to eat though she wasn’t hungry. She encouraged Miad to do the same.
“You’re worried about the wrong things. I’m a man. I can handle myself. It’s you I worry about. These American ways have subverted you, changed you from the wholesome, virtuous woman you used to be into someone I barely recognize. You leave me no choice, Zoya. I’m telling Maman and Baba you have been consorting with the biker.”
“You don’t know of what you speak,” she hissed angrily. Her fork clattered out of her fingers, and she turned her body on the stool to face Miad. “I stopped seeing him because of you, because of my respect for you and in an attempt to do what I thought must be right. But, I have prayed, brother. I have sought counsel and studied the Word.”
“Then, you must know that to be with him puts your soul in danger,” Miad countered. He wasn’t about to back down. He knew that he was right.
Zoya sighed and averted her gaze, having nothing she could say to defend herself. There was little uncertainty to it. She was wrong, religiously, to be with Micah. Yet…she didn’t care. “It’s my choice,” she whispered. “My soul is mine to bear.”
He pointed at her with the fork. “Which is exactly why I’m telling our parents. Maybe they can talk some sense into you.”
Zoya’s eyes flashed. They were the color of shifting sands and sunrises, soft brown with golden flecks, and ringed in rich brown. She told him seriously, “If you tell my Maman and Baba about Micah, then I will tell them about you and your drinking.”
He faltered, his fork lowering to the near clean plate, appetite sated. Miad wiped his mouth and muttered expletives, furious at Zoya for leveraging his drinking against him. “So what if I drink!”
“So what would Baba say, eh? What would he think about you throwing away everything he has invested into your future, our future! At some point, you have to grow up and realize there is more at stake than reputations where your alcoholism is involved. You steal from our parents to support your habits. You gamble away the money they give you, and now you live off of them like a child. You’re not a man, Miad. You’re a leech. And, you worry about my soul? What about yours?”
Her scathing commentary fired through him like missiles, cutting Miad to the core. It was one thing to suffer in privacy with his demons. It was quite another to realize they were so obvious even his sister could see them. He couldn’t let his parents find out. In a final show of authority, Miad viciously snatched up the brochure for the rehab facility and ripped it up into pieces, letting the blue and white paper flutter to the floor. He grabbed his keys and prepared to leave.
Zoya thought all hope was lost. Her threat hadn’t scared him the way she had intended. But, Miad stopped at the door and turned back to fire a retort. “I’m not going to that place. I’ll take care of my problems on my own…You just make sure you handle yours. I won’t tell Maman and Baba. That infidel will knock you up and tell on his damn self.”
He flung open the door and breezed out, slamming it shut behind him. The noise made Zoya jump. She pressed a hand to her beating heart. Miad had brought up a concern she hadn’t, in her lovesick wonder, thought about before. She slipped a hand to her tummy and pressed in fear. She hadn’t had her cycle.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
CHAPTER 14 Zoya sat with Callie in the campus clinic, the two girls holding hands like nervous best friends preparing to receive bad news. Zoya was anxious about any judgment that might be made for being young, unmarried, and having sex, but Callie put her mind at ease. “The majority of people at this school fall into that category. I just wish you would have asked me about it sooner,” Callie said for the third time, squeezing Zoya’s hand in a sign of solidarity.
Zoya shushed her, glancing around at the others in the waiting room. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. “How was I supposed to ask?” she whispered. “It just happened. We didn’t go into spending the weekend together thinking we were going to have sex, Callie. Micah’s not that kind of guy, and I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Bless your innocent little heart,” Callie tisked. “For future reference, when a guy asks you to spend the weekend—not saying he has any intentions—just go prepared, okay? I can’t stress enough how important safe sex is. I mean, getting pregnant isn’t even the worst of it.” She had lowered her voice. She wasn’t trying to lecture, but Callie found it hard to keep her peace. She felt like the culture that shunned sex and kept girls in the dark about the birds and the bees was the same culture that set girls up to make these kinds of mistakes.
At length, the nurse called Zoya’s name. She glanced at Callie anxiously. Callie patted her hand encouragingly. “You’ll be okay. They’re just going to talk to you and give you your options as far as birth control. Do you want me to go in there with you?”
Deeper into the week after the harrowing conversation with Miad about Micah knocking her up, her cycle had finally arrived, removing all doubt. She wasn’t pregnant. But, Zoya wasn’t willing to take any more risks either. The next week she had scheduled an appointment at the clinic to put barriers in place so she’d never have to worry about pregnancy again, not until she was ready to have kids.
In conversations with Micah, he had set her mind at ease about his sexual history and even gone the length of sending her a copy of his most recent testing. Now, she was going in to take control of her reproductive system.
“I think I can do this on my own,” she said to Callie. Callie threw up the rock star sign and waved her to the back. Zoya followed the nurse into the doctor’s office. By the time she left the building, she was safely on the patch.
“I have to wait a few weeks before it’s effective,” she told Callie.
They climbed in the Porsche and headed off campus. “Are you excited? You’re doing grown woman stuff now! I’m so proud of you! You stood up to Miad, and you’re in charge of your destiny. Next up, giving your parents the same speech.”
Zoya shook her head, smiling. “You never give up, do you?”
“Of course not. I’d never have made it this far if I had. What do you say we grab a coffee or something? I don’t feel like lingering around the house all day. I’m too antsy. You know I have a date tonight, right?”
It was Friday, and Zoya had gone to mosque before going to her apartment. She had spent the entire week talking to Micah on the phone but avoided seeing him in person. It was part of her attempt to keep a low profile. At the thought of being home alone all night, however, she wondered if she could trust herself to be alone with him yet.
The girls drove over to the coffee shop where Callie ordered a latté and Zoya got tea. They settled at a table in front of the large plate glass window and stared out at the sleepy Friday afternoon. Zoya nibbled at cookies, deep in thought, as Callie prattled on about her new beau.
“I know it’s scary,” Callie replied.
Zoya looked up. The conversation had turned from Callie’s courtship with Garrett to this. “What do you mean?”
“You’re worried about messing up or making a mistake. It’s natural. I’m worried about screwing up, too. I like this guy, but I don’t have a track record for holding onto a relationship. So, you know what I plan to do?”
“What exactly do you plan to do, Queen of Hearts?” Zoya smiled.
“I plan to live it up, enjoy the moment. Love isn’t about forevers. It’s about now.”
“Wise words, friend. In the Quran, there is a scripture. It says, ‘I created you from one soul, and from the soul I created its mate so that you may live in harmony and love.’ I’m not really looking for forever, but I would like to know that he’s the one.” She stared wistfully out the window. It was complicated.
Callie shrugged, carefree. “You’ll never know until you rule him out. That would be my approach…of course, I’ve ruled out a lot more men than you, but…” They burst out giggling. Callie smiled softly. “I have a feeling it’s going to work out for
you.”
“We’ll see. I’m going to my parents’ tomorrow. It remains to be seen whether Miad will keep silent or not. I think he’s concerned about me telling them he’s been drinking, but he might not even care. He might tell them anyway.”
“Then, that’ll be a prime time to let them know you’re standing up for yourself and staking a claim on your own life instead of letting other people own you.”
“If only I could be as blithely confident as you.” Zoya chuckled. If Miad told her parents about Micah, she knew there was no staying with him. Callie knew it, too, but it was nice to dream. “Anyway, I hope you have fun tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she teased.
Callie’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Oh, goodie. That means I can spend the weekend with him and make mad passionate love then, right?”
BIKER DADDY_The Chain Gang MC Page 28
