Ayesha At Last

by Uzma Jalaluddin

  Allah was testing him, and he was failing.

  Khalid flipped onto his side and checked the time on his cell phone. It was nine in the morning and he hadn’t heard Ammi in the kitchen. She had been so secretive since the conference, distracted and silent, leaving the house for hours at a time with no explanation. One more thing to add to his growing list of worries.

  The doorbell finally roused him out of bed, and he padded downstairs in bare feet and pajamas, his hair and beard standing in tufts around his head like a lion’s mane.

  A young woman dressed in a black cotton shalwar kameez stood on the landing, a red suitcase by her side. Her face was round, eyes the same colour and shape as his own. A dupatta shawl loosely covered her hair. One hand clutched the bag, the other cradled her large, very pregnant belly.

  Khalid’s face drained of blood and he clutched the door, knees buckling.

  “Zareena?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  His sister threw down her bag and launched herself into his arms.

  ZAREENA refused to come inside the house, so Khalid picked up her suitcase and carry-on bag—she had come straight from the airport—and they walked to the park, which was empty this early in the morning.

  Khalid could not stop staring at his sister. When she had lived with them, she’d hated to wear shalwar kameez or any traditional clothing, preferring hip huggers, platform heels and belly tops. The minute she was out of Farzana’s criticizing glare, she would put on bright-red lipstick, tease her hair and coat her eyes in black liner and sooty eyeshadow. The Zareena that Khalid remembered looked like an indie rock star. The Zareena sitting beside him looked like an Indian housewife. She saw him staring and grinned mischievously, and Khalid caught a glimpse of his long-lost sister behind her tired, jet-lagged face.

  “You look like you’re about to go on religious pilgrimage,” Zareena said, nodding at the grey robe Khalid had thrown on before they left the house. “Have you heard of beard clippers?”

  “I’ve been trying to email and text. I even called, but some man said you were gone. I was so worried.”

  Zareena laughed, and Khalid realized how much he had missed the sound. “My father-in-law. He’s so dramatic. Iqram and I lived with him, and when we told him we were moving to Canada, he didn’t take it well. Did he complain I burned his breakfast every day?” Zareena laughed again. “He’s sweet, really. He’s going to be lonely without us.”

  Khalid’s gaze was now fixed on her swollen belly. “How far along are you?” he asked.

  Zareena’s hands tightened around her stomach. “Almost seven months. We gave up, and then it happened. She’s the reason I’m here. I’ve been thinking about coming back for years, but when I found out I was pregnant, that I was having a girl, I knew it was time.”

  Khalid didn’t know how to ask the next question. “You and your husband . . .” he began.

  “Iqram and I are still together,” Zareena said firmly. “I’m going to sponsor him just as soon as I get settled.”

  Khalid was silent. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  Zareena stood up. “I came back to face her,” she said. “I came here straight from the airport. Twelve years without a call or letter. I wanted her to see I’m still alive and doing well.” Zareena’s shoulders drooped. “When you opened the door, I lost my nerve.”

  Khalid didn’t know what to say. “You must be tired,” he said awkwardly.

  Zareena smiled at him again. “You have no idea. Could I trouble you for a ride?” She was crashing with an old high school friend, Lauren, and refused Khalid’s offer to stay at the house. He drove her to the small east-end bungalow and took her bags inside. Then he stood on the porch, fidgeting.

  “Can I see you tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I’ll even let you take me out for dinner.” Zareena hugged him, holding him close. Khalid hugged her back carefully—he didn’t want to hurt his soon-to-be niece.

  “I was so afraid something had happened to you. I didn’t know what to do,” he said, his voice trembling.

  “You’re the reason I could come back. All that money you sent . . . I saved every cent.”

  KHALID called in sick the next day too, and accompanied his sister to Ikea. Zareena joked she was a cheap date as they stood in line at the cafeteria, Khalid holding her tray while she picked out dinner: a small carton of 2% milk, almond Daim cake and vegetarian meatballs. Khalid’s stomach felt queasy, and he settled for a cup of coffee, black with three sugars.

  They settled into a table in the back corner. Zareena’s eyes rested on a toddler evading the grasp of his mother.

  “We could have gone somewhere else to eat,” Khalid said.

  “I like the food here. Also, I need to buy some furniture,” Zareena said. “A bed, crib, some sheets, a dresser.”

  “We’re not just here for the food?”

  Zareena smiled. “I found an apartment close by. I need to show that I have a place to live, and a job, before I can sponsor Iqram.” She hesitated. “The landlord wants someone to co-sign the lease. Lauren said she’d do it, but if you’re willing . . .”

  Khalid nodded. “Of course. I’m not sure where you’ll be able to find any work, in your condition.”

  Zareena shrugged. “Even if it’s tutoring or babysitting, I’ll do anything for my family.”

  Khalid smiled at his sister. “You’re so different.”

  “You’re not the same skinny little boy either.” Zareena took a careful bite of the Daim cake and closed her eyes. “So good,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your emails. I meant to, but packing up everything to move here took so much time. How’s your fiancée?”

  Khalid’s smile faltered. “We didn’t work out.”

  “Probably a good thing. You seemed more into that other girl, Ayesha.”

  Khalid’s smile completely disappeared. “That didn’t work out either.”

  “And here you are, taking your homeless, knocked-up big sister to Ikea. I don’t know who has it worse.”

  Khalid looked at his sister—newly immigrated, financially insecure, emotionally vulnerable. Yet her face was glowing, and the teasing smile blossomed repeatedly on her face. “I think you’re amazing,” he said.

  Zareena squeezed his arm. “Right back at you. Now let’s go check out some cheap double beds.”

  She was careful with her money. She picked out a simple crib and dresser and a plain double bed; a queen might not fit in the rental basement apartment. A small sofa and armchair completed her purchase, and she refused Khalid’s offer to pay. On the drive home, she leaned her head against the window and fiddled with the radio.

  “I’m moving into my new place tomorrow,” Zareena said. “Maybe you can come over. Bless it with your beard or something.”

  Khalid parked the car in Lauren’s driveway. “Do you need more money? For groceries or something.”

  Zareena shook her head. “You already gave me some, remember? Every month for years.”

  “It was nothing,” he said. “I should have done more. Zareena—”

  But she was already opening the door and stepping out. “Let’s talk tomorrow,” she said. “My feet are killing me, and this conversation can wait one more night.”

  He watched her waddle to the front door. The light turned on and Lauren let his sister in out of the cold.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  When Khalid arrived at work on Wednesday, the office was empty. Amir was not sleeping on the couch, and his friend’s desk was devoid of toiletries. Khalid settled into his chair and checked his email. The presentation meeting with WomenFirst Design was scheduled for today. Maybe Sheila would be so pleased with his work that she’d let him go home early. He’d promised Zareena he would assemble the Ikea furniture.

  He entered his username and password, and a screen popped up: ACCESS DENIED. PLEASE SEE NETWORK SECURITY ADMINISTRATION.

  What was going on?

  The phone rang, Sheila’s assistant on the line. “I’m
calling to remind you about your meeting with Ms. Watts. You’re already five minutes late.”

  Mystified, Khalid hurried up to Sheila’s office. She was waiting with a smirk on her face, Clara beside her looking stricken.

  “Late again, Khalid,” Sheila said.

  “I seem to be locked out of my workstation,” he said. “I apologize. I did not know about this meeting in advance.”

  “You always have an excuse, don’t you?” Sheila walked around to the other side of the desk and perched in front of Khalid. “There is no excuse for your behaviour this time.”

  Khalid was confused. “I’m sorry?”

  “Khalid Mirza, you have been found in violation of the employee code of conduct. Effective immediately, you are no longer an employee of Livetech Solutions. Please hand in your badge and security clearance, and clear out your personal effects immediately,” Sheila said.

  Shocked, Khalid gaped at Sheila. “What did I do?” he asked.

  Sheila looked at Clara, who was sitting up very straight and trying not to cry. “We found pornography on your personal workstation. Does the website Unveiled Hotties mean anything to you?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.

  Khalid’s momentary confusion cleared. That stupid matrimonial service Amir had found! “It’s not mine.”

  “It is a subscription service, and it was accessed several times last week,” Sheila said. “What you do in your personal time is your own business, but to spend company time trolling the internet for exploited brides is truly disgusting.”

  Clara handed Khalid a form detailing the terms of his termination. “I’m sorry, Khalid, but there really are no other options in these situations.” Her voice was shaky.

  Khalid’s face reddened in anger. “I would never use such a service. This is all a grave misunderstanding.”

  Sheila’s mouth curled in disdain, but Clara motioned for her to keep quiet. “Please just sign the form, Khalid. You’ll get some severance.”

  Khalid bowed his head, as if in prayer. The only sound in the office was the steady tick of an ornate desk clock. He thought about the five years he had worked at Livetech, happy ones until Sheila showed up and launched her campaign against him. The only reason he’d wanted to keep this job was to send money to Zareena. But his sister was here now, and eager for independence. He picked up the pen and signed.

  Khalid returned to his office trailed by two security guards.

  “What’s going on, bro?” Amir asked. His hair was still wet from his morning shower.

  Khalid didn’t pause, emptying drawers into his backpack. “I’ve been fired. They found porn on my computer. A website called Unveiled Hotties. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

  Amir reared back as if slapped. “No, no, no,” he whispered under his breath. He leaned over Khalid’s desk, punching in a code to override the lockout window, and clicked on an icon at the bottom of the screen.

  The website, filled with nude or half-clothed women draped in some form of hijab or traditional clothing, popped up. Amir looked at Khalid with a stricken expression. “I logged on one night and paid for a subscription. It was a joke, a gag engagement gift,” he said. “I must have forgotten to cancel it.”

  “You were probably drunk,” Khalid said.

  The images scrolled past at a leisurely pace. “You were so bummed about your girl problems, I thought this might help.”

  Khalid gently placed his hand on Amir’s shoulder. “I don’t find mistreating young women the least bit helpful,” he said.

  He finished throwing his possessions into his bag, then removed his security badge. “I was supposed to present my website to WomenFirst Design today. I feel bad I am letting them down.”

  Amir looked puzzled. “What are you talking about, bro? They came here yesterday. Sheila showed them everything you’ve done so far and they seemed really happy.”

  Khalid closed his eyes. This wasn’t about pornography on his workstation. It was about the very lucrative WomenFirst Design account. Sheila wanted to take all the credit and leave him with nothing but a lousy severance.

  Amir looked guilty and unhappy. “This is all my fault,” he said. “If they fire you, they’ll have to fire me too. I’ll tell the Shark I paid for the subscription.”

  Khalid shook his head. “There’s no point. I was on my way out anyway. Sheila made sure of that.”

  Amir straightened, staring down at the computer. He clicked on a picture. “Is that Hafsa?”

  The picture featured a young woman in a pink floral hijab and long gown. She was smiling brightly into the camera, looking young and vulnerable. Our Latest Unveiled Hottie! the banner ad screamed underneath. Local Girl Bares All! $19.99 for a Sneak Preview!

  Khalid stared at the familiar face, horrified. “It can’t be. How did those pictures even get there?” But he recognized that dress. She had been wearing it the last time he had seen her, at the mosque conference. Somehow, Tarek was involved in all of this.

  “It looks like there’s some kind of auction for the pictures,” Amir said, clicking on the link. He looked up at Khalid. “I wonder if she even knows.”

  Khalid lifted his bulging backpack and nodded at the security guards, who were watching his every move. “Take care of yourself.”

  Amir hugged Khalid. “I’m going to make this up to you, K-Man,” he said. “I’ll find a way to make this right with Sheila.”

  But Khalid’s thoughts were not on Livetech anymore.

  He had more pressing concerns: how to help his pregnant sister, Zareena, and how to save Hafsa from public humiliation.

  KHALID paced the living room of his sister’s basement apartment, fingers raking his hair. Zareena’s Ikea furniture lay in unassembled piles on the floor. He couldn’t concentrate on anything, couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened at Livetech.

  The worst part, worse even than the contempt on Sheila’s face, was the disappointment on Clara’s. He had expected Sheila to jump to conclusions, but Clara wouldn’t even meet his eye or give him the chance to explain. In the end, she couldn’t reconcile the Khalid she had invited into her home with the person he looked like: the women-hating, backward-thinking Muslim man.

  That thought hurt most of all.

  Zareena sat on the newly assembled Poäng armchair and watched him with amusement.

  “You’re going to wear a hole in my carpet, and I want to get my security deposit back,” she joked, but he ignored her. She took another sip of chai and looked around her new home.

  His sister had a peaceful expression on her face, and Khalid paused in his pacing, struck once again by how much she had changed. The old Zareena had worn her discontent like a dark cloak. The old Zareena would have been unhappy with everything in this room.

  “Well, if you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong, let me at least make you dinner.” She disappeared into the kitchen and returned fifteen minutes later with an overcooked egg that had somehow cooled to freezing, paired with dry toast. One thing at least was the same: She was a terrible cook.

  “Iqram used to do most of the cooking back home. His chicken karahi is amazing,” she said wistfully.

  Khalid stopped pacing but remained standing, taking a small bite of toast. He mulled over Zareena’s use of “back home.” If India was “back home,” what was she doing here?

  “Home is wherever my family is,” Zareena said, reading Khalid’s mind. “You’ll know what I mean when you get married.”

  “But you were forced into marriage,” Khalid said. “Ammi didn’t give you a choice.”

  Zareena became very still. “Your memory is very clear. Do you know the whole story?”

  Khalid shook his head, feeling a familiar frustration.

  “There was someone else, before Iqram. I was obsessed with him,” Zareena said, sighing. “The way you are at that age.” She glanced at Khalid. “The way most people are at that age,” she amended. “We were only seventeen years old, and we were crazy about each other. I used to sneak out alm
ost every night to see him. I was so happy,” she said, closing her eyes. She looked at her brother, who shifted uncomfortably. “Then I found out I was pregnant.”

  It was Khalid’s turn to be still.

  “I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want to be a mom at seventeen. So I made arrangements at a clinic, and I had an abortion.” Zareena was silent now, cradling her stomach. “I don’t regret it,” she said softly. “I went on a school day during lunch and was back for gym class. Nobody knew except Lauren.”

  “Who was he?” Khalid asked.

  Zareena didn’t answer. She looked like she was in a trance, thinking of events long ago. “I thought I was okay. I didn’t want anyone to know or suspect, and I didn’t take care of myself. I collapsed after school by my locker. There was so much blood.” Zareena was speaking into her lap now, wiping her eyes. “That’s how Ammi and Abba found out. The doctor told them I had nearly died from the hemorrhaging.”

  “I didn’t know,” Khalid said, leaning forward to grip his sister’s hands.

  “If there’s one thing our family is good at, it’s keeping secrets,” Zareena said, smiling. “When I got to Hyderabad, the nikah was done before I knew what was happening. Afterwards, when they left me alone with Iqram, it was terrible. He had no idea what was going on. His mother had arranged the whole thing. He was pretty surprised to be stuck with me.” She laughed. “By that point, I wasn’t crying anymore. I was angry.”

  “A nikah is not valid without the bride’s consent,” Khalid said.

  “He never gave up on me,” Zareena said, a note of wonder creeping into her voice. “He was so gentle, even when I was throwing things at his head and swearing at him in English, French and Urdu.”

  Khalid shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “He made me donuts,” she said simply. “All the things I was craving: poutine, pizza, spaghetti, cheeseburgers. He showed me the Charminar temple and the Taj Mahal. He waited for me. He never left, not once. I fell in love with the person I saw reflected in his eyes.”