by Amal Awad
But my gut instinct popped by unannounced, just when I almost had myself convinced. Nothing about Menem suggested I had the wrong idea about him. I knew in my heart and soul and every fibre of my being – and just about anything else you can throw in there – that Menem wasn’t a playboy or Casanova.
Okay, he obviously wasn’t fundy – he’d definitely had more experience with the opposite sex than, say, Hakeem. I knew this, but for some reason, it didn’t bother me. There were no double standards at play, and that mattered to me a hell of a lot more than a couple of dalliances. Let’s face it: completely observant types like Hakeem were rare.
Menem was respectable. More importantly, he attached value to things. He enjoyed life, which was sort of new agey when I thought about it. Oh, and he still lived with his parents without feeling a shred of embarrassment about it, which I felt deserved some cool points.
Anyway, when I wasn’t feeling anxious about things or listening to Lara throw out convoluted theories, I was on the top of the world. Menem and I had clicked. There was a spark, a chemistry – call it what you will. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The courtship rules were frustrating. My imagination began to soar and I found myself yearning for things I couldn’t yet have. My mind was in overdrive, and I began to wonder how anyone could survive being in love.
Lara was soon missing in action. She’d slipped away unnoticed. As she’d barely done a thing, it wasn’t a great loss to the working bee. She was probably outside pretending to be interested in Jamal’s ute.
I was aching to get up and speak to Menem, but the presence of parents made this difficult. I saw Mum glance my way when he’d walked in, analysing my response. Too chummy and I’d get lectured.
Mum was pretty stern in these matters.
I chose life.
Menem also knew better than to approach me. We were still in the pre-engagement “getting to know each other” stage, so we had to be extra proper about everything. It was getting to the point that he would have to officially propose if he wanted to continue seeing me, meaning I’d have to accept or refuse Menem.
He’d hinted that he was ready to do so on more than one occasion, but I’d change the subject to something less frightening, like the old Greek lady who sat next to me on the bus and showed me pictures of her grandkids.
I really liked him. But I’d never visited this place, Serious Suitor, before. While the view was great, it took some time to settle in. I didn’t want to rush. I wasn’t going to, if at all possible. I figured I still had some time.
I realised there were high school kids more experienced than me in relationships, and it left me feeling embarrassed rather than stoic about my restraint. I was disappointed in myself for letting it get to me, but the rules all seemed too restrictive now that I actually had an interest in someone and he happened to want me.
Lara reappeared at lunch, plopping down beside me at the dinner table looking chirpy. We’d bought, amongst other things, barbecued chickens, hot chips and cauliflower bake. Zahra’s mother had also made fattoush – a tangy cucumber and radish salad with chips of fried Lebanese bread, while Mum made fried rice, with pasterma of all things.
“Hakeem wants you,” Lara said, reaching over to grab a plate. She began furiously scooping food onto her plate, then after a moment’s consideration, opted for more salad too.
“Sure you have enough there?” I asked, a little astounded by how much she took. God, I hated thin people sometimes.
“Did you hear what I said?” she asked, putting her plate down and picking up her fork. She looked at me expectantly.
“You’re not going to start on that again, are you?” I frowned.
“No, I mean he actually asked for you. He’s outside. He asked me to tell you to come outside. Please,” she said.
“Really?” I said, a touch doubtfully.
“Yes, really. He’s with your cousin Jamal. Go,” she ordered. She began shovelling food into her mouth, as though she’d just returned from an exhausting trek and hadn’t eaten real food in weeks.
“Now?” I protested. “I haven’t even finished my lunch!”
Lara didn’t say anything immediately but I could feel her disapproval. That and she punched me in the thigh.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Go, otherwise he’s going to think I didn’t pass on the message,” she said with her mouth full.
“Okay, well, don’t let anyone clear away my food,” I said, as I got up from my seat. Lara waved a yes with one hand as she continued to attack her own plate with the other.
I went outside as Lara had instructed, manoeuvring my way around a dressing table and sofa. I padded my way down the driveway and located Hakeem by Jamal’s ute. My cousin was nowhere to be seen, and he was all alone.
“Hey” I said, as I approached.
Hakeem was roping up some furniture, what appeared to be dinner table chairs. He was dressed in a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt, and wore a faded baseball cap turned backwards. He turned to face me when I reached him. He seemed a little tense, barely acknowledging me.
“Hi.”
“Lara said you asked for me?”
Hakeem finally looked up, but his expression was one of confusion. “No,” he said.
It was my turn to look confused. Then I felt embarrassed and foolish. My face flushed as I folded my arms awkwardly. Gawd, he might have thought I was lying.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, feebly. “I must have misunderstood her.”
I was going to physically harm Lara. Actually hurt her. What on earth could she be thinking sending me out under false pretences?
“She might have overheard me saying to Jamal that you’d need to wrap up some of the smaller items we’re moving,” said Hakeem. I wondered if he was trying to cover up for Lara, but I doubted it. Still, she had explicitly told me that Hakeem asked for me, which had little connection to what Hakeem had actually said.
“Sure, no problem,” I told him.
“If you don’t mind, that is,” added Hakeem. “We’re pretty tied up lugging this stuff back and forth.” He shook his head. “They’re not making it easy doing it this way.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Anyway, we’ll be done with the party favours soon, so I’ll help with the packing.”
Hakeem shoved his hands into his pockets and looked to the side. But he didn’t move from the flatbed. I wasn’t sure if I should just go because I had no reason to stay. I smiled politely, about to leave when he turned back to me.
“Will you be making party favours for yours next?” he said.
I looked up at him in shock. I was, understandably, a little taken aback by the question. It wasn’t what he said so much as how he said it though. There was something in his tone.
“Um, I don’t know,” I managed, realising I truly hadn’t given that any thought. A wedding, that is.
He looked away again, a little broody. I still had my arms crossed against my chest as I stood there, unsure of what my role in today’s unfolding saga would be.
Hakeem went back to fixing the rope on the truck. I said bye then turned to go, stopping when I heard him say my name. Still feeling a little bewildered, I faced him again. I waited for Hakeem to say something to diffuse the funky tension. He did look as though he wanted to share a thought or two, but before he could, Lara’s voice crashed through the moment.
“Oh, there you are!” she said, coming down the driveway, completely oblivious to what was going on. Not that I actually had a handle on what exactly was going on here. But it seemed pretty obvious that Hakeem wanted to say something important.
I looked behind me and my heart stopped when I saw that Menem was a few paces behind her. He slowed down as he got closer and smiled tightly at me. I had no idea what just happened, but I knew he’d seen something he didn’t like.
Lord, I hated weddings and all manner of wedding-related preparation.
By 5.00, the last bonbonniere had been constructed and Zahra’s smaller pieces of furniture
had been boxed. We’d separated into two teams because the bonbonnieres were nearly done. Zahra and Sahar finishing them off, while I took care of the furniture. Lara supervised.
I would have much preferred continuing with bonbonnieres as it kept me safely within the dining room. But I wasn’t as efficient as Sahar and there was no way Zahra was going to opt for manual labour. Since she was the bride, I figured that she was owed a free pass. I did the lugging, and kind of got stuck with the wrapping too. In any case, Zahra seemed rather pleased with the work we’d done. And so she should be, I thought. We’d done a great job, even if I was saying so myself.
Still, I was feeling a bit crap after what had happened. I did my best to not show it, but I was also a little miffed at Lara. Ordinarily I would have been furious, but right now I was more concerned about Menem’s reaction rather than what led to it.
He didn’t say anything to me about it obviously. But I could see he was, well, upset? Annoyed? I wasn’t quite sure. He was definitely something.
So my afternoon had gone to pieces. I didn’t let it completely ruin things though.
I’d speak to Menem and sort everything out, I was sure of it. Will it and it will be so, I decided, in a moment of self-inspiration.
Playing on my mind was the look on Hakeem’s face and the way he’d said my name. He’d clearly been about to reveal something significant. Or so I thought. I really had trouble reading the signs these days.
The bonbonnieres were neatly placed into several boxes, ready for deployment next week. All of the furniture had been moved to Zahra and Malek’s new apartment. Everyone was present and accounted for. It was time to go, and not a minute too soon. It had been an exhausting weekend of hysteria, dancing and drama. Couldn’t take another bite.
Just as we were leaving, Zahra motioned me over to where she was standing in the hallway.
“Samira, um, thank you for helping out,” she said, standing awkwardly with one leg crossed over the other. “Not just today,” she added. “You’ve been very helpful the whole time.”
I could see that it was a bit of an effort for her to say it. I did think it was rather good of her to do so though, even if I still wasn’t sure how to deal with the New and Improved Zahra. She produced a fancy paper bag from behind her.
“This is for you,” she said magnanimously.
“Thanks, Zahra,” I responded in surprise.
It wasn’t just any fancy paper bag. It was that distinct, signature aquamarine blue.
Oh, my heart. Tiffany’s!
It lifted my mood a tiny bit.
“It was my pleasure to help out,” I said finally. And not just because of the Tiffany bag, of course. Although I had to stop myself from reaching out and saying “The darling thing!” I’ve always wanted to do that, mainly to see if I can pull it off.
Truth be told, the last three months had been quite strange. Life-altering. At times, wonderful.
30
As it turned out, Menem was a very capable brooder. I’d never put him down as one, what with star brooders like Hakeem about. But he wasn’t happy. Placid, easygoing, patient Menem was showing signs of discontent.
I couldn’t blame him for his broodiness really. He’d been so understanding with me so far. He’d endured my periods of doubt without complaint. And now he’d seen me with Hakeem and gotten completely the wrong idea. He thought he saw something that wasn’t there. I didn’t even know what was there.
I really wasn’t sure what Menem was thinking, what he must have been imagining about Hakeem and me. Still, I wasn’t too worried about Hakeem just then. I was more worried about Menem.
I was doing my utmost to shut out any Hakeem and Menem-related thoughts as I did the obligatory Monday morning things: checking emails, running through the week’s location shoots, confirming conference schedules, etc etc. I just wanted to shove them way into the back of the closet. Remember them next summer and bring them out again.
I wished I could. But Hakeem’s face was boring into my mind, as was Menem’s as he approached us on the driveway yesterday.
I didn’t want to live in a world where Lara could be right about affairs of the heart. But – and there’s always a but – recently Hakeem’s behaviour had graduated from non-suspicious brooding to outright questionable. And it was affecting me. I couldn’t deny that. It was quite possibly one of many sources of anxiety in recent days.
I’d no idea what any of it meant though. However, and this is crucial information so get out your pen and paper, I was quite sure that it wasn’t because I was in love with him.
I think I’d know.
Perhaps I needed him. I was certainly used to him. But surely I would have known if I wanted to marry him. I never understood how Scarlett remained convinced she loved Ashley over Rhett. Honestly. As if you wouldn’t know.
Don’t even get me started on Anne of Green Gables. Gilbert Blythe had to be on his deathbed before Anne realised she loved him. Which is just silly.
Anyway, I was probably overreacting. Menem looked something, but it’s not as though he came storming down the driveway and challenged Hakeem to a duel.
He had emailed me on Monday morning and asked me if I was ready to move onto the next step, just like that. It was barely civil and I didn’t have the heart to respond. To be fair, I was a little shocked by the abruptness of the request.
He’d spent the rest of yesterday afternoon moving furniture, unable to speak with me. But I hadn’t heard from him in the
evening – no phone call, no SMS, no email. He wasn’t on Facebook. I’d expected accusations to be flung my way. Even a public denouncement wouldn’t have surprised me by that stage, although I did concede later that that was a little fanciful.
I summoned the courage to email Menem back, writing that I honestly didn’t know if I was ready. I thought I had more time – which I did, until Hakeem gave me that strange look and asked me that strange question yesterday, making me all confused, but worse, causing Menem to think God knows what.
Of course, I wrote an essay, but somewhere, probably around the fifth sentence, I mentioned that I was afraid. I studiously avoided any mention of the awkward moment at Zahra’s house. I was feeling completely anxious by then. His response didn’t help matters.
Subject: RE: Going forward
Samira, I’d like to see you. Can you please meet me outside your building in ten minutes?
I won’t leave the office until you let me know.
Menem
Approximately ten minutes later I was pacing outside my building, my heels clicking against the pavement. The lovely weather was an affront to my mood and I fought the urge to rush back inside and sulk. I further toyed with the notion of taking up smoking since drowning my sorrows in alcohol was not an option and I already had too much sugar and caffeine in my diet.
I stopped pacing when I saw Menem walking towards me. I felt a dreadful knot form in my stomach as he approached. I took in the blue suit, the white business shirt, his tie. He looked beautiful to me as he crossed the courtyard outside my drab building.
“Hi,” I said. I was fit to burst with emotion but I kept my expression was neutral. Menem looked slightly stunned.
“Hi,” he eventually replied.
He pointed to the park behind the building in silent invitation. I nodded once and followed him.
We found a bench to sit on and for a moment, we were both quiet, only the sound of traffic and pedestrians walking along the footpath intruding.
I was the first to speak. “I’m so sorry, Menem.”
“Maybe I’m daft, but what’s going on?” He looked hurt and frustrated, and I just wanted to cry then and there.
I studied my shoes. “Nothing. Nothing has changed.”
“I thought the feelings were mutual,” he said, after a pause.
“They are. Look, it’s not that simple. Menem, we don’t know each other that well yet. This isn’t easy for me. I don’t want to rush.”
It might have sounded
like a lame excuse, but I swear it was the truth. I mean, clearly we were both very interested, but we’d barely scratched the surface. There was none of that instinct you share with someone you’ve known for ages.
I felt comfortable with Menem, which helped truckloads when it came to getting to know him, but there was a great deal I didn’t know yet. I did know I cared about him. I thought about him constantly.
“I might not be as religious as you are, but I’m not a flirt. I don’t make it a habit to befriend girls and pursue them,” said Menem stiffly.
I willed the tears to not come. Isn’t that what people always do? They will it, kind of like that Secret book. I’d never read it, but it all sounded rather empowering. Believe and it will happen and all the rest. So right then I truly willed myself not to cry. It would just be too mortifying to cry right now, especially in front of Menem. The guilt was killing me.
“I never said that you’re a flirt,” I responded softly.
“What’s going on then?”
“There’s nothing going on!”
“Samira, that guy I saw you with- your family friend,” he began, but stopped when he saw my look of mortification.
I felt so cheap all of a sudden, as though he’d caught me in a wild embrace with Hakeem. Meanwhile, Menem actually looked utterly pissed off. I’d never seen him like this. Was he- could it be that he was just that deeply jealous? Ordinarily I would have found this adorable and attractive, even if he seemed a bit scary. But nothing about it seemed appealing just now.
“Samira, look, is there something I should know? Do I have competition?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said in confusion. “Menem, I don’t know what you think you saw, but there’s nothing going on. Hakeem’s just my friend. I’ve known him all my life.”
Menem shook his head. “Samira, please, I know what I saw. I saw how he looked at you.”
