Wrong to Need You

by Alisha Rai

  Busyness, they all understood.

  “Busy with the café?” Noor made a dismissive noise. “Sell that place, Sadia. One of us can find you something better to do.”

  A busy job in one of their practices, probably. She’d been a stay-at-home mom for years and had a small amount of experience running the restaurant. What else was she qualified to do?

  Sadia swallowed, feeling her self-esteem deflate, as it always did when she measured herself against her sisters. Her list of career milestones and daily accomplishments paled next to theirs.

  I got through another day.

  I showered.

  I got out of bed.

  I combed my hair.

  They weren’t the kinds of accomplishments her family was used to.

  But they were hers. And she didn’t need to get entangled in a romantic relationship now, when she was still smarting from the failure of her last one. “The café is doing fine, thank you.”

  Her mother opened her mouth, about to launch another attack, but her husband crowded into the kitchen behind her. Noor’s eleven-year-old and six-year-old sons hung off his neck and back, while Kareem clung to his legs.

  Mohammad Ahmed was growing skinnier as he aged. With his ill-fitting clothes and wild hair, he looked the part of the absentminded professor that he was. He had wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, but they mostly came from smiling and squinting. The man could never remember where he put his glasses. “Are we talking about the party? I don’t want it to be formal. No suits.”

  Matchmaking for her daughter forgotten, Farzana whirled on her husband while his grandsons dropped off of him and ran over to Amal, who was delicately blowing on her nails. Sadia tried to grab Kareem, who had chocolate smeared on his chin as he raced past. He was too fast for her, but not too fast for Zara, who caught her nephew by the collar, wiped his face with a napkin while he struggled, and released him, all in one smooth motion.

  “I want to wear my new dress,” Farzana said. “The dress code will be fancy.”

  “Daddy, you wear suits every day,” Ayesha interjected, her tone as soothing as always. “What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is that I wear suits every day and I don’t want to have to wear one at home.”

  Farzana folded her arms over her large chest and narrowed her eyes at her husband. Dressed in brown from her head to feet, she resembled a very tidy, plump sparrow. “You cannot dress up to show that you are happy to be married to me? What will people think?”

  Sadia pursed her lips and noted that all her sisters had occupied themselves with other things: Noor staring intently at her magazine, Zara examining the crown moulding, Jia cleaning up her nail polishes, and Ayesha straight-up staring at the floor.

  What will people think, loaded with that incredulous concern, was like their mother’s trump card, carefully deployed and capable of shutting any of them up. The only time it hadn’t worked on Sadia was when she’d made the decision to elope with Paul.

  Sure enough, her father pressed his lips together and backed down. “Fine. We can dress however you want. Kids, come. We have ice cream in the freezer downstairs.”

  The kids whooped and ran toward their grandfather, Kareem launching himself into his grandfather’s arms, little Amal scurrying to catch up. Farzana followed after the procession, scolding. “Be careful not to hurt your back.”

  “I am, I am.”

  Once they were out of earshot, Sadia breathed. “I’m glad they settled that themselves.” She crossed out Finalize dress code on the list.

  “Seriously. I knew that was going to be an argument.” Jia joined them at the counter and leaned against it.

  Zara patted Jia on the back absentmindedly. She’d been ten when the twins were born, and was almost as maternal with them as she was with her own daughter. “You did a good job on her nails.”

  “Oh thanks.” Jia’s laugh sounded forced. “It’s like it should be my job, right?”

  The words rang a bell in Sadia’s head, and she glanced up, frowning. It was weird, Jia repeating that same phrase she’d said yesterday to her. And with that intonation.

  Like she wasn’t joking.

  Noor snorted. “Yeah, right. Don’t quit medical school while you chase being an Internet sensation is all.”

  “I mean . . . I’m not far from being that sensation, though, you know?” Jia licked her lips. “I could probably get there faster if I did do this full-time.”

  The sisters went silent, the only noise the kids’ distant yelling from their parents’ finished basement.

  Sadia put her pen down. “Jia, are you saying you want to quit school to pursue this?”

  “This hobby?” Noor asked in disbelief.

  Jia stiffened, and Ayesha put her hand on her sister’s back. She was the only one of them who did not look surprised. No shock there—the two of them rarely did anything without the other being aware of it. “It’s not a hobby. It’s a job. A good one, which pays really well.” Each word was spoken carefully, like her sister had rehearsed them.

  Noor raised an eyebrow. “As well as being a doctor?”

  “Yeah, I mean, it could be better, even.”

  Zara cleared her throat. “Sweetheart, maybe we should all get together in my office some day this week and talk—”

  “I don’t need therapy,” Jia said, cutting her off impatiently. “I need your support so I can tell Mom and Dad.”

  Sadia was the only one of them who had intimate knowledge of how her parents would react to one of their daughters dropping out of school. “They’re going to be upset.” Which was an understatement.

  Jia nodded. Her eyes were shiny. “I know they’re going to be unhappy. That’s why I need your help.”

  Noor was shaking her head before Jia was even finished speaking. “I cannot support this, Jia. This is utter nonsense.”

  “Not nonsense, exactly,” Zara soothed. “Jia, did something happen? Are you doing poorly in a class? Medical school was hard on all of us. It’s not easy. But you can’t quit simply because you didn’t get a good grade.”

  “My grades are fine,” Jia said. “I just don’t enjoy it.”

  “You’re not supposed to enjoy your job,” Noor replied, with a touch of exasperation. “You’re especially not supposed to enjoy school. You do it, and then you become the best at it, and then you have the money to do other things.”

  “My videos are earning lots of money right now. You don’t even know.”

  Noor crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “You’re right, we don’t know. Are they earning more than anyone at this table earns?”

  Jia glanced around the table. Sadia flinched when her sister’s gaze lingered on her, telling her that yes, Jia probably did make more money than her.

  “I think what everyone’s trying to say, Jia, is that even if it is successful right now, banking on the Internet is a bit of an unreliable gamble,” Sadia finally said.

  “I know it’s unreliable, and that doesn’t bother me. I’m young and I can pivot if the bottom falls out of this, but it feels right to pursue it now.”

  Noor scowled. “This is a ridiculous discussion. You are staying in school.”

  Their little sister’s shoulders squared. “No. I’m not.”

  Noor waved that declaration aside. “You are too young to make such a huge decision.”

  “I’m twenty-four! Mom was younger than me when you were born, Noor.”

  “That was a different time.”

  “Sadia was younger than this when she had Kareem!” Jia added triumphantly, and Sadia almost groaned. “And she never even finished college and she’s doing fine.”

  Had her sister been sleeping all this time? She was the bad example, not the good one. Her parents never wanted her younger siblings to follow in the footsteps of the family screw-up.

  Noor’s nostril’s flared. “Is she doing fine?”

  Sadia inhaled hard, absorbing that hit like a wrestler absorbing a punch.

  “No
or.” Zara’s tone was sharp, and she elbowed her elder sister. “Uncalled for.”

  Noor’s lips tightened, but she shook her head. “Sorry, Sadia. I didn’t mean for that to refer to Paul or anything.”

  Oh no. Sadia hadn’t taken it as a comment on the ill-advisedness of her wedding. Her financial struggles were apparent and embarrassing enough. She was still the screw-up, even if they didn’t know about her marriage.

  This doesn’t hurt you. Don’t let this hurt.

  “I can’t support you in this,” Noor said.

  Zara frowned, furrows appearing on her smooth forehead. “I still think you should come by the office—”

  “No.” Jia looked at Sadia, entreating eyes on full blast. “Sadia. Come on. You understand, right?”

  Sadia tried to avoid looking at her older sisters. Of course she understood. She understood perfectly. She’d hated school, had never excelled at it the way any of her sisters had.

  But how could she rubber-stamp a decision that she knew would bring her baby sister a lot of criticism and heartache? Noor’s reaction was nothing compared to what their parents would be. Plus, what advice could she give? She didn’t regret her marriage, but Noor was right, she wasn’t exactly the shining success story to come out of the School of Following Your Dreams.

  Her parents weren’t bad people; they just had a certain hierarchy of priorities. As far as they were concerned, Jia needed to stay in school and get her degree. When she was done with that, then she could find a nice boy to marry—one who was as well-educated and ambitious as the rest of the family was.

  Ultimately, they cherished their daughters and wanted the best for them. They just didn’t understand that each child’s priorities might be different from theirs.

  Sadia bit her lip, unsure of what to say.

  At her silence, Jia’s eyes teared up, and she whirled away to stomp out of the room. Ayesha gave them all a condemning glance, and followed after her.

  Sadia was left with her older sisters. She looked down at the pad and doodled a picture while Noor and Zara spoke in hushed tones. Soon she’d collect her son and leave, go back to the world where she busted her ass to tread water and not drown.

  Drowning was not an option.

  Chapter 7

  Sadia’s home was only twenty minutes from her parents’, but Kareem fell asleep the second they got moving. Which was good, because she was in no mood to smile and mm-hmm at his animated chatter about his cousins. Her knuckles grew tighter around the wheel the farther they drove, her body trying in vain to reject the sense of failure hanging over her like a cloud.

  At some point, Sadia would talk to her little sister and see what she could do to smooth things over, but not now. Not when she was angry and upset with the family she loved so much it hurt.

  Is she doing fine?

  She blinked away hot tears, the delayed reaction not unusual when it came to fights with her sisters.

  Sadia pressed her hand over her heart, hating the swirl of emotions in there. She couldn’t journal or plan those emotions away. She wanted so badly to be able to not hurt like this.

  She pulled into her driveway and got out of her car, shoving her battered leather purse up her shoulder. When she was a teen, she’d used to sneak her mother’s designer handbags out of her closet. Paul had loved seeing her all dressed up, and she’d loved how it made her feel.

  After they’d been married a few years, they’d both grown a little too comfortable, and after Kareem had been born, forget it. She hadn’t been unable to justify spending money on a purse or clothes for herself when the money could buy her son a new pair of shoes, or allow her to enroll him in some new activity that would enrich his life.

  She unbuckled Kareem’s belt and pulled him out of the seat. His heavy weight settled on her, making her grunt softly. One more growth spurt and she wouldn’t be able to carry him at all. She pressed her face against his neck and inhaled, pulling in the scent of soap and little boy, trying to soothe herself.

  “Do you need a hand?” The voice came out of the shadows of the garage, and she almost dropped Kareem.

  A large shadow pulled away from the stairs, walking into the spill of the motion-activated lamp above the garage. Jackson. In all the night’s excitement, she’d almost forgotten about him.

  How, she wasn’t sure. Forgetting that she had a very large, rather painful houseguest wasn’t something she would normally do.

  “I can carry my son,” she said, surprise and lingering frustration making her tone sharper than she’d intended. Seeing the boy in his hands would be too much, would have her hoping for all sorts of nonsensical things she knew would end in disappointment.

  The same way she’d always been disappointed when she’d sent an email and gotten no response. She needed to remember that disappointment where this man was concerned.

  “Yes. I can carry your purse if you’d like,” he offered quietly.

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  With the practice of someone who had spent years juggling her son and other items, she made it inside her house.

  She dropped her purse on the carpet and carried Kareem to his room, laying him on top of the unmade bed and stripping off his jeans. It was warm enough in the house that he’d be okay to sleep in just his shirt for the night.

  He stirred when she tucked the comforter around him and opened his eyes. “Was that Uncle Jackson?” he asked drowsily.

  Uncle Jackson. She’d tried to tell Kareem about his entire family, even the absent members. Paul had always grown quiet when she mentioned Aunt Livvy and Uncle Jackson, so she had tried not to do it in his presence, but he had never stopped her.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, tenderness edging through the evening’s distress. “Yes.”

  “Can I sit on his motorcycle tomorrow?”

  That damn motorcycle. She didn’t want her precious son anywhere near those dangerous machines, though she supposed there was no harm in him posing on the thing. “We’ll see,” she said finally.

  A line furrowed his small brow. “That means no,” he grumbled.

  She pressed her hand over his head, smoothing down the lock of hair that always refused to stay down. “No, it means we’ll see.”

  “How come you and the aunties were fighting in the kitchen?”

  She faltered, and then she resumed the soothing motions. “No one was fighting. We were talking.”

  Kareem nodded, accepting this explanation easily. Paul had been bewildered by how loud her family was compared to his, but Kareem had been born into this. Raised voices weren’t uncommon and didn’t always denote anger.

  She sat by Kareem’s side until he fell back into a deep slumber, staring at his perfect, symmetrical, beautiful features. He’d taken the best parts of her and Paul, of that she had no doubt.

  A sharp stab of pain worked its way into her heart. There was no one who knew and understood Paul’s faults better than her, but Kareem should have been able to have his father longer. Paul had doted on his son from the second the boy had been placed in his arms. He was the reason her husband had kept up the charade of their marriage for as long as he had. Paul hadn’t been able to stay away from his baby.

  Sadia stood up from the bed and walked to the window, hesitating when she started to lower the blinds. The apartment’s lights were out, but the moonlight gave her enough light to see Jackson walking around her car, closing her doors.

  That was nice of him. Damn it.

  Stay mad at him.

  She was happy to, but her snippiness tonight was undeserved. He’d had nothing to do with the cause of her temper. That she could lay at the feet of her own sense of inadequacy.

  She closed the blinds and trudged outside, nervously tugging at her blouse. It was one of her nicer shirts, but she’d lost some weight since she’d bought it so it hung baggy on her now. At some point, she’d have the money to have a changing wardrobe based on her body. Maybe.

  Or maybe, if Jia did b
ecome a rich Internet superstar, Sadia could take a loan from her billionaire baby sister without guilt. A girl could dream.

  The scent of cigarette smoke reached her before she could make out Jackson’s features on the bottom stoop of the steps.

  She’d been intending to be conciliatory, but she was so surprised she couldn’t modulate her accusatory tone. “You smoke now?”

  “Occasionally.”

  She inched forward. He scooted over, until he was pressed against the railing, and something compelled her to take the silent invitation and drop down next to him.

  It was a wide step, and there was substantial distance between them, but she felt dwarfed and crowded. “It’s not good for you.”

  “I’m aware.” He paused. “You still have asthma?”

  “Only when my allergies are aggravated.”

  He dropped the cigarette on the gravel and ground it out with the tip of his boot. “Sorry.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I’ve been in Europe for too long. I always take it up when I’m there. I know it’s a bad habit.”

  She crossed her arms over her stomach. The tiny detail about his life away from here fed her curiosity and she followed the breadcrumb trail like a starving animal. “Where in Europe?”

  “All over.”

  “Working?”

  “Yeah.” He hesitated, then continued. “I do pop-up restaurants.”

  “Oh. Like, temporary restaurants?”

  “Yes. I have a small team. We scrounge around for empty restaurants all over the world, rig them up quickly, and then put together a business for a few weeks.”

  She inched closer, fascinated despite herself at this new glimpse she was getting of Jackson’s past. “How often do you do this?”

  “Almost every month, in the beginning. Now we go every few months. We’re doing one in New York in a couple of weeks. It’ll be our first one in the States.”

  “What’s the name of your . . . of this venture?” She was so going to google this later.

  “Kāne.” He pronounced it differently, like KAH-neh. At her questioning look, he explained. “Same spelling. Kāne is the correct native pronunciation. When my grandparents came here, they got rid of the accent on our last name.”