Courtship: A 'Snowflake' Novel

by Nia Forrester

  “But things didn’t work out? With …”

  “With Vidhya?” Raj exhales deeply. “We had a difficult time getting pregnant, both times. I don’t think we every recovered from the strain.”

  A fleeting look of regret crosses his face then it brightens again.

  “But what about you? When last we were in touch, you and the high-schooler were well on the way.”

  “Married. Still married.”

  Raj looks genuinely pleased. “Ah. You followed my good example, and you got results even better than I did. Children?”

  “One. A son. Kaleem.”

  “Kaleem. It means ‘speaker’.”

  Laughing, Ibrahim nodded, remembering Raj’s penchant for knowing the meaning of names. “His mother and I named him well. It fits. He also has a son, my grandson. Anwar …”

  “Which means …”

  “Light. Yes. I know.”

  Raj leans back in his seat. He folds his arm. “It’s so good to see you, my friend. I’ve thought of you many times over the years. I even looked for you, and then …” His eyes fill with something like pain.

  “You heard.”

  “I did. I saw the old news reports. By then you had already …” He sighs. “What happened?” he asks, his voice lowering to a whisper.

  “So much. So much happened. I …” He is unable to continue, and Raj comes to his rescue.

  “We don’t have to talk about it. But, it’s not where I would have imagined you. I was grief-stricken when I heard.”

  Grief-stricken.

  He always had a way with words, and always chose the most expressive ones. Ibrahim doesn’t ask whether Raj’s grief was for the man he killed, or for Ibrahim himself.

  Then Raj is looking around, and places both hands, palms down, on the surface of the table preparing to push himself up.

  “But let’s not have our reunion in Starbucks. You must come to my home. Right now. We’ll have a real breakfast. And talk about old times, and whatever’s new.”

  Ibrahim studies his old friend.

  Raj knows he was sent away for taking a man’s life and seems to have no hesitation about it inviting him to his home. Even though, given where Raj currently is in his life, maybe he should. It’s been more than two decades since they say each other last. But Raj doesn’t even seem to be entertaining the thought that he might not know Ibrahim as he once did.

  He stands.

  “Come,” he says. “And no smart remarks about my fancy car or the ridiculous, vulgar sprawl that is my house.”

  ~~~

  Ibrahim wouldn’t call it vulgar. In fact, it is quite elegant, but Raj’s house is undoubtedly sprawling. It looms ahead as they pull through Spanish-style wooden gates into a flagstone courtyard, at the center of which is a fountain. The enormous hacienda has turrets and arches, and is painted a warm, buttery yellow.

  When they left Starbucks, Raj led him outside to a shiny, midnight-blue Tesla S. That had been impressive enough, but the house is awe-inspiring. Surrounded by palm trees and precision-manicured grass to rival a golfing green, the entire tableau looks like a page from Architectural Digest.

  “You done good, man,” Ibrahim says. He gives a low whistle and shakes his head. “Not that there was ever any doubt.”

  “There was plenty of doubt,” Raj says. “Believe me.”

  They have their breakfast in the “center courtyard” as Raj calls it. The house, it turns out, is built in the shape of a square, and in the hollow is a mini-arboretum, some of which is paved in the same flagstones as the driveway, the rest of which is shaded by well-maintained orange and lime trees.

  After leaving Ibrahim alone for about ten minutes, Raj returns, shortly afterward followed by a woman who serves them eggs and slices of avocado on whole-grain toast, yogurt and fresh berries, and jasmine tea.

  “You look like you’re still eat healthfully,” Raj says. “You haven’t aged a day. I, on the other hand …”

  He pats his soft middle.

  “You’re fine. For a middle-aged guy,” Ibrahim ribs him.

  “My new wife is twenty-nine,” Raj announces in a ‘can-you-believe-this-nonsense’ voice. “She was my yoga teacher.”

  And when Ibrahim gives him a deadpan look, he laughs.

  “I know,” he says. “I’ve become a Silicon Valley cliché.”

  The laugh subsides to a smile. And then the smile disappears.

  “I don’t quite know how it happened,” he adds wryly. He reaches for his tea. “The divorce, the remarriage, the entire thing.”

  The silence lengthens until Ibrahim feels duty-bound to fill it.

  “But life is good, right?” He extends an arm to indicate the beauty surrounding them.

  “I have … many physical comforts,” Raj says in the tone of one taking a compromise position.

  “If you tell me that deep down inside you’re miserable while surrounded by all this?” Ibrahim says. “Then that would really make you a cliché.”

  “Something only becomes a cliché because of the frequency with which it occurs,” Raj says.

  That silences Ibrahim again for a few moments.

  For the past year of his life, he has had two preoccupations: the sense of distance in his marriage, and his inability to provide materially for his wife. The first concern, he believes, is a clear product of the second. It has never occurred to him that he could provide for her—and in abundance—and still not be satisfied.

  Raj extends his arm and points at his expensive watch.

  “I’m married to a woman who gave me this as an anniversary gift,” he says. “What’re the chances such a woman knows anything about who I am?”

  “But look at all this.” Ibrahim indicates the grounds. “Why would she think you wouldn’t like an expensive watch? How many rooms are even in this place?”

  “Enough for a large family to stay. It wasn’t about the opulence … Okay, it wasn’t only about the opulence. It was about having room for my parents, my brother and his family, Vidhya’s parents. Her siblings and their families. All of us here together at once.

  “It was about proving to Vidhya that her years of sacrifice after medical school, financing my dreams, were worth it. The house itself means surprisingly little to me, but once you can afford most things, you’d be surprised how easy it is to lose your sense of scale.”

  “I don’t even know your new wife’s name,” Ibrahim says, shifting the conversation away from material things.

  He had learned from the internet search that Raj was successful, but that wasn’t the reason he wanted to get in touch.

  “Patricia,” Raj says. “Her name is Patricia. She likes to be called Trish.”

  The way he says that, “Trish” tells Ibrahim everything he needs to know about this new marriage. Raj gives the same wry smile he has given now several times, and shakes his head, almost in disbelief.

  “I haven’t seen you in more than twenty years. And in twenty minutes, you know my entire life,” he says. He looks down at Ibrahim’s almost empty plate. “If you’re done, let me show you the house.”

  For the next half hour, they only speak as Raj is pointing out features of his almost palatial residence, and Ibrahim asks the occasional question. By the time they make their way back outside, they have both lost interest in looking at the impressive real estate and the land on which it sits.

  The tour ends at the showpiece infinity pool.

  They stand at the edge, staring out at it.

  30

  Now

  “You want to take him for a while?”

  Asha has brought Anwar in to Jada where she is sitting in the guestroom, reading a book. The book is ‘Soul on Ice’, Eldridge Cleaver’s memoir.

  The first time Jada read it was when she was pregnant with Kaleem. She had picked it up from the coffee table in her and Ibrahim’s small apartment, where it had lain facedown for weeks. He was reading it, but as far as she could tell, hadn’t gone beyond halfway. Thinking it had probably
failed to maintain his interest, she grew curious and opened it, and flipped through.

  What she read made her by turns sad, and then angry. And she understood immediately why Ibrahim had taken a break. Ibrahim was exactly the kind of Black man in whom a book like that would stir very complicated feelings.

  “It’s rare that you get to keep him for more than an hour or two,” Asha says. “And since you’re here …”

  Jada sets the book aside and takes her grandson.

  “I’d love to have him visit with me for a while.”

  Anwar is sucking on a fist soaked in drool. He looks content and pumps his cubby brown legs as he is being handed over. His dark-brown, curly hair seems to be trying to decide whether to go lighter, because she can see, at some angles, that there are occasional streaks of gold and auburn.

  When he is against her chest, he cranes his neck to look up at Jada with his wide, long-lashed hazel eyes. He settles in comfortably after taking her in (‘oh I know you!’) and her heart wrenches in her chest with an indescribable love for him.

  “If Kal and I popped out for a little while, would that be okay?” Asha asks, giving a tiny grimace, as though she’s afraid the request may be an imposition.

  “No, of course not. Go on. Enjoy yourselves.”

  “It’ll just be for about an hour or two,” Asha says. “Or maybe we’ll have lunch while …”

  She is blushing now. Obviously, she and Kaleem want some time alone. Jada remembers all too well how much of a premium that was for her and Ibrahim when they had a new baby. Her parents weren’t always willing to take Kaleem for long periods of time. It had taken them a long time not to be difficult with her and Ibrahim, wanting to “teach them a lesson” about the consequences of assuming adult lives far too early. And anyone else … well, there was practically no one else to whom Ibrahim would relinquish their son.

  Sometimes for ‘adult time’ guiltily, they would put Kaleem in the center of their bed, buffeted on all sides by pillows so he wouldn’t roll off. Then they would make love on the floor nearby while he strained to raise up onto his arms, his little head bobbing, curious at the strange noises he heard.

  “Whatever you feel like, Asha. I’m in no hurry. And since Ibrahim …” Is MIA, I won’t be going home anytime soon.

  He didn’t take their car, which should mean something but doesn’t. He could be ten miles away, even without having taken a mode of transportation. Ibrahim would have not shied away from a long walk or run.

  “Great. He’ll take the bottle if I’m not around, so if we don’t get back in …”

  “It’s fine,” Jada says. “Go. Have fun. Take as much time as you need.”

  Asha lingers in the doorway for a few moments. “There’s this cool new farm-to-table place that I’ve been wanting to try, and you know Kal won’t eat almost anything that didn’t come directly from the earth like ten minutes ago, so …”

  Jada laughed. “Well, he’ll live to be a hundred, so I guess there’s that benefit.”

  “Yup. Anyway. Thanks for, you know, taking him while we …”

  “Go,” Jada says yet again. “Anwar and I will be fine.”

  “One more thing.” Asha is still leaning in the doorway and for a moment, Jada wonders whether she is nervous about leaving Anwar with her for too long. But that isn’t it. “Kal and I were just talking about this this morning. What do you want Anwar to call you?”

  Jada smiles.

  “He’s convinced you would hate it if he calls you ‘granny’ or something like that.”

  “Asha.” Jada shakes her head. “I’m just so giddy at his existence in this world, it scarcely matters what he calls me.”

  “My vote was Nana,” Asha says. She is blushing again.

  “Then that’s what we’ll use.”

  Asha gives one brief nod and then ducks out of the room.

  Jada looks down at Anwar.

  “We didn’t even think to ask you your opinion, did we?” she says, smiling at him.

  He gurgles and says something unintelligible to her, taking the moment to remove his fist from his mouth.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Jada kisses him on the soft curls at the dome of his head.

  ~~~

  She is sitting on the floor of the living room with Anwar, playing with his colorful plush animal toys. She lifts and names each one then puts them in his chubby hands. When her phone rings, Jada jumps at the sound, only realizing at that moment that she has been waiting for it to ring all along.

  It’s Ibrahim.

  “I didn’t want you to worry,” he says. “I’m … I met up with an old friend.”

  Who? Jada wants to ask immediately. But she doesn’t. She has already said enough over the last two days to imply she doesn’t trust him.

  “Okay,” she says instead. “Were you … Did you plan to …?”

  “Did you have a shift tonight?” he asks, which is just as well since she was having trouble formulating her thoughts, much less a coherent question.

  “No. Not until Monday.”

  Anwar is becoming restless. He was enjoying their game and sees that he no longer has her undivided attention.

  “I’ll be a while more,” Ibrahim says. “Maybe even overnight. You can leave without me, if you need to get back.”

  “I’m not leaving without you,” Jada says, sounding more annoyed than she intended. “Ibrahim, what’s going on?”

  “We’ll talk when I get back,” he says. “I just wanted you to know where I am. And that you shouldn’t worry.”

  His evenness of temper has always stood in stark contrast to her excitability. Even now, when she is sure she has ample reason to be—and sound—annoyed with him, he responds calmly, making her feel like she’s the one who is overreacting.

  “Is everything alright over there?” he adds.

  “Yes. Kaleem and Asha are out, having some time without the baby. So I’m home with him.”

  “That’s nice.”

  It sounds like he’s making idle conversation. Jada senses that he has already heard as much as he needs to, has communicated all he intended to and wants to get off the phone.

  “Yes,” she says. “Anyway. Call me later when you’ve decided. If you plan to stay overnight, I mean.”

  “I will,” he says.

  But she can tell that he has already decided.

  31

  Then

  “Have you spoken to your brother lately?”

  “Ahm … yeah. I live with him, so I speak to him all the time.”

  Jada was lying with her head in his lap, in the park just across the street from her school. Sometimes, even though it was technically against the rules for seniors to leave campus during the school day, people went to hang out. Most of the time it was because it was a convenient meeting place to see friends who didn’t go to Crestlawn and were not allowed on campus even if only for an hour during lunch.

  Ibrahim sometimes stopped by now that he had the convenience of his own car, especially on the days when he had an evening shift and wouldn’t have time after Jada was out of school to see or even talk to her much on the phone.

  “Tell him he needs to call Dee.”

  Jada’s voice was uncharacteristically hard, and Ibrahim knew why.

  “He hasn’t been calling her?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but not nearly enough.”

  He said nothing. So, what he knew, Jada knew as well. But if one of them was going to be first to refer to it directly, it wasn’t going to be him.

  “I’ll pass on the message,” he said.

  Her legs, in her short pleated Crestlawn uniform skirt, were visible from mid-thigh. It was baffling that a get-up that was supposed to look modest and even prim was anything but.

  Jada was sometimes almost sexier in her school uniform skirt, a thought which to Ibrahim felt perverse and made him slightly ashamed of himself. The short skirt exposed was a raw scrape on her left thigh, and the shadow of old bruising from where she had taken a har
d foul in basketball practice a week earlier. Whenever Ibrahim looked at it, he felt a strange twinge. That had been happening more and more lately. Any thought of Jada’s discomfort, no matter how slight, and he felt discomfort as well, and sometimes even anger.

  “Do you know?” Jada asked, her tone still combative.

  She was going to start a fight with him, he understood now. Transferring onto him all the emotions she wished she could unleash on Manny.

  “Do I know what?” he asked, still determined not to be the first to break.

  “About what Dee had to do last week.”

  Ibrahim sighed.

  “If a girl has to do something like that, the least the guy can do is be there for her.”

  “You’re right,” he said.

  Idly, he reached for bottle next to him and tossed back the remnants of his carrot and ginger juice.

  “Then why hasn’t he …?”

  “Jada. That’s their business. That’s his business. I’m not gettin’ in the middle of it.”

  “She committed a sin, Ibrahim. For him. Because he wanted her to. If it had been up to her, she would have had that baby.”

  “They can’t take care of a baby,” he said before he could stop himself. “To have one under those conditions? That’s what would be the sin.”

  Jada sat up and looked at him, eyes wide. “You don’t think abortion is wrong?” she demanded.

  “Baby …”

  “If you and I were to … If that were me, would you want me to have one?”

  “That couldn’t be you and me,” he reminded her.

  She rolled her eyes, and quickly looked about them as if making sure no one else heard what he said. There were other off-campus guests of Crestlawn students nearby, as well as some of her classmates. Ibrahim inwardly shook his head. Jada was almost as embarrassed that people find out they weren’t having sex as she should have been if the wrong people thought they were.

  “But if it was us …”

  “It wouldn’t be,” he said again. “And that’s one of the reasons why we … If ever something like that happened by accident to you and me, we would be married. So, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, and we’d take care of our kid.”