by Sara Jafari
She grinned; it was the most genuine smile she’d given in a very long time. As he handed them to her he swore under his breath. “The thorns,” he explained. She looked down and saw he hadn’t got the roses wrapped, so his palm was encircling the sharp barbs. She laughed, and then they were both laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation.
Racing around Neda’s mind in that moment was the word “love” and how easily, she realized, she could fall in love with this man.
“Are you sure about this, Neda?” Baba’s voice startled her, causing her to spill water from the can she was holding onto the cracked tiles in their garden. She moved it back towards the flower beds she had been watering, paying particular attention to the red roses that were in bloom.
“Sure about what?”
The silence that followed made her pause in what she was doing. Her father had a worried look on his face and his hands were folded together, which she knew was a sign that they were itching to fidget. She had seen him peel the skin from his fingers when he didn’t know she was looking. As she grew older she had realized the man she thought was the fountain of knowledge and wisdom had cracks underneath just like everyone else.
“Baba?”
“I have a bad feeling about Hossein,” he said slowly. “But you seem so certain, so sure. I didn’t want to say anything before, but now I feel I have to. He doesn’t seem good enough for you, Neda.”
“What? You didn’t say anything at the khastegari—”
“You looked happy. I thought maybe I was being overprotective…”
“So, what’s changed since then?” She shifted on her feet, feeling almost dizzy, as though the one thing she wanted more than anything was close to being snatched away. She hadn’t realized she felt as much as that for Hossein until this moment. “Maman loves him, why can’t you?”
Baba’s face hardened and he tutted sharply. “Watch your tone.”
Neda muttered an apology that she didn’t mean.
He stepped closer to her, but instead of looking at her he watched the roses she had just watered, brushing his fingers over their petals.
“Of all my children you’re the most intelligent, you know that, don’t you?”
She said nothing in response.
“I know your mother gives you bother because of your ambition. It’s because she doesn’t understand. You’re destined for things much greater than this.” He pointed at the small garden they shared with the other residents of their building. “When you first said you wanted to wear a hijab, I couldn’t understand it. You’d be making your life so much harder. But you were so determined, just like you are with your studies, like you are with everything you do. I want to make sure you’re happy. As your father it’s my duty to advise you.”
“But, Baba, I will be happy with Hossein. You don’t understand, he’s had such a hard life. After his dad died he had to be a father to his sisters, to look after his whole family. He’s a good man. I know I’ll be happy with him.”
She knew what she was doing, knew if she mentioned Hossein’s hard life it would soften her baba.
Or so she thought.
He snorted in response. Neda smiled automatically until she realized he was laughing at her.
“You’re young, azizam, marriage is hard, you don’t know the other person until you’re living with them and then it’s too late. There’s something not quite right about him—he seems very melancholy, no?”
“What do you mean, ‘melancholy’?”
“He has a sadness in his eyes. When no one is looking he seems sad. Do you want to live with someone like that?”
Neda was momentarily speechless. Her baba viewed Hossein in a very different way; he saw emotions as a weakness, a flaw, when it was precisely Hossein’s softness that attracted Neda to him.
“You don’t know him like I do. And you didn’t give any of my siblings this hassle when they got married!” She blurted out the words and once she began she couldn’t stop. “You agreed to this, and now you’re trying to make me doubt myself, and him, and it isn’t fair. He’s just shy, and he’s had a hard life.” Her eyes were filling; she hoped the tears wouldn’t discredit what she was trying to say.
“He’s a loser!” her dad bellowed. “Why not marry someone with a job, stability, a good family? Why sell yourself so short?”
She could feel what she most wanted slipping rapidly through her fingers and it made her all the more determined, all the more certain that she wanted the thing she was trying to hold on to. Neda was the type of person who wanted something all the more when it was taken away from her, or even if its being taken was merely suggested.
In all the romances she secretly read, the characters had to face obstacles, but she didn’t want that for her and Hossein. This wasn’t Romeo and Juliet; it should be simple. Two people who like each other enough to marry. To be with each other forever.
Baba looked at her face then rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Neda, don’t get upset.”
“If you think I’m smart, believe me when I say I want to marry Hossein and only Hossein.”
He sighed, disappointed but resigned.
“He’s good, Baba, believe me.”
The glimmer of a smile traced his lips, and she relaxed.
“You always get what you want in the end, don’t you, azizam?”
Magnus let go of the lead and the black Labrador bolted off into the distance, sniffing various leaves and sticks as she went.
Soraya was overwhelmed by the novelty of being with a dog; she was more of a cat person. A fact Magnus was keen to change.
“I don’t mind cats,” he had said. “But dogs are better, fact.”
“Dogs are needy, but with cats you have to win them over; it makes their love so much more special.”
Magnus rolled his eyes. “You haven’t met the right one yet.” He winked. She laughed at that.
“Are you calling yourself a dog?”
He pushed her jokingly, making her laugh even more.
She had never been to Clapham Common before. Magnus’s friend had asked him to look after his pets while he was on holiday, and consequently Magnus was house-sitting for the week.
The dog came bounding back to them, jumping up against Soraya’s thighs, almost knocking her over in the process. She pretended to laugh, patted the animal’s head, hoping she would back off.
“Holly, sit,” Magnus said. The dog complied. With her legs back on the ground she did look cute. Soraya tentatively patted Holly’s head, finding the fur not quite as soft as it looked.
Magnus waved a plastic toy in the shape of a bone, pretending to throw it multiple times before he launched it off into the distance.
“How does your friend afford to live round here, and with pets? Who even has their own pets at our age?” she asked.
Before they went for the walk Soraya had been given a tour of the house and met the quiet resident tabby and white cat, named Tyson, who was rightfully suspicious of her. She was taken aback by how polished the house was; the walls and carpet cream and pristine, except in the kitchen, where the floor was gray marble. They even had a Nespresso machine. A symbol, Soraya thought, that you had made it in life.
“His dad bought it,” Magnus said, in a tone she knew very well. They had had many conversations criticizing those whose parents handed everything to them, especially in London. They knew, however, it was because this was something they would never have; if they could, they were sure their opinion on the matter would be different.
“I always wanted a dog when I was younger,” Magnus said, bringing Soraya back to the present.
“Did your family not want one?”
“Well, they had one when I was little, but I don’t remember it. When she died I think my dad was quite cut up about it, so they never wanted to get another.”
“That’s sad,” Soraya said, trying to envisage Magnus as a child. “What were you like growing up? I can’t imagine it.”
Holly ran towards them with the toy in her mouth. Soraya pulled it out and mimicked Magnus, pretending to throw it multiple times before hurling it as far as she could. It wasn’t a long way. She wiped her now wet hand on her coat.
“I was a bit of a geek really.” He looked sheepish. “I didn’t fit in at school.”
“Seriously? That’s not the vibe I get from you at all. I’d have guessed you’d have been popular.”
He shook his head. “Not really. I mean, I guess I hung out with the more popular lads, but I never felt like I belonged when I was with them. Stuff at home was always intense, and I never told anyone about it. I definitely didn’t tell them I wrote stories.” He let out a short laugh. “That would be a surefire way to get the piss taken out of me.” She noticed the tops of his ears were pink.
Magnus wrinkled his nose. “I sound pretty lame, don’t I?” he added quickly.
“No,” she said. “Not at all. You keep surprising me.”
He gave her a sideways grin. They reached the bandstand and walked up the steps to stand under its canopy. She gazed out across the common, at the pond in the distance, the people walking around it through orange leaves scattered on the ground.
She knew then that Magnus, like her, put a mask on to cope with his dysfunctional family. While his response was to become more extroverted, she, by contrast, became more introverted. She wished, so much, she had it in her to tell him about her dad. She wondered what he would say, whether he’d feel comforted by it, whether they’d both feel less alone.
“What were you like growing up?” he asked.
She thought for a moment. “I wasn’t unpopular, I wouldn’t say, but I wasn’t popular either. I’d say my time at school was quite unremarkable. I wasn’t really allowed to do anything fun—sleepovers or parties or anything like that. So, I don’t know, I found growing up a bit boring at times.” She was careful to omit the occasions on which it was far from boring, but distressing, when her dad would get angry, or when Laleh was mentioned.
“I get parties, but why weren’t you allowed to go to sleepovers?”
She took a sip of the coffee they’d bought before they began their walk, thinking about how she’d word this.
“When I was a teenager my parents were suspicious that instead of going to sleepovers I’d really be with boys. Or”—she let out a small laugh—“when I was younger, my mum always thought someone’s dad would be a pedophile so they were doing it to protect me.”
“Wait…what? A specific person you knew—their dad?”
“No, just other people’s dads in general. It doesn’t make much sense but she must have read about something like that happening in the news. They’re superprotective. I guess living in a foreign country, you have to be on your guard. It was only when I was older that they switched their suspicions towards boys. It was really shit at the time. I just wanted to be normal. I guess I’ll never know what a girlie sleepover is like.”
“Were they strict with your brother too?”
Soraya snorted. “No, different rules apply to boys, in my family at least. It pisses me and Parvin off so much.”
Magnus simply nodded. Probably because there was nothing else he could really say. After a short pause, he said, “You have another sister, right?”
At this, Soraya began to cough on her own saliva from the shock. “What? Why would you ask that?”
“When we first started talking you mentioned having more than one? Or did I get that completely wrong?”
Soraya was left with a decision: tell the truth or lie.
“As far as I’m aware, I only have one sister,” she said, pretending to laugh.
Her phone pinged with a WhatsApp message. She knew she shouldn’t check it immediately, but her mind ran wild when she received texts from her family. They were the only ones she spoke to on WhatsApp.
It was from Parvin: Found out Dad has been taking zopiclone. Explains why he’s sleeping even more lately…
Soraya’s heart sank.
She quickly Googled zopiclone. A highly addictive sleeping pill.
“Hello?” Magnus waved a hand in front of her face, giving her a start.
Holly was sniffing another dog in the distance.
She put her phone in her pocket and wrapped her arms tight around her body.
“Sorry, I was miles away.” She said the words but could feel the hollowness around them. Knew she couldn’t pretend to be calm anymore. She often felt this bubbling in her chest, like if she didn’t vent to someone she would explode. Her hands were itching to get her phone back out of her pocket, to reply to Parvin, to text Oliver, to throw this hot potato of information until it was no longer just her burden, until the pain was spread around.
“Hey, you OK?” She could tell even though Magnus was trying to help her, he was also distracted by the sight of Holly leaping about in the distance. “Hold on one minute,” he said, before running over to break up a dog fight, dragging Holly back with him. “Probably time to take her home anyway.”
They walked in silence. Soraya was aware she should say something, but her brain couldn’t figure out what exactly, what a normal thing to say would be. All she could think was that this news was hopeless for her dad, who wasn’t even stabilizing; he just made himself worse and worse.
After Holly had been fed, they sat together on the sofa, next to the cat, which was curled in a ball. Soraya absentmindedly stroked him as he purred contentedly.
“What’s up?” Magnus said, putting his forefinger beneath her chin, lifting her face so he could see her better.
She let out a shaky breath that surprised her.
“Family stuff,” she said. “My dad isn’t really well…it’s quite difficult to explain.” She knew from past experience that when she said this people tended not to push further, accepting an ambiguous explanation of her dad’s medical condition.
Magnus didn’t surprise her.
“Ah,” he said. “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head.
“What can we do to cheer you up?” He gave her a tentative smile, which made her heart jump.
“I don’t know. Whenever me or Oliver are upset about something we put on a playlist we made on Spotify, with songs that either cheer us up or relate to how we’re feeling.”
“You’re really close with him, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, he’s my best friend. Probably the only friend I’ve ever had that I’ve been able to be truly myself with.”
“Why couldn’t you be yourself with friends before?”
“My Brighton friends didn’t really ever understand why I grew up the way I did. Oliver instantly got it. His parents don’t really understand him either. They still don’t accept him being gay, you know, they think they can fix it somehow. It’s pretty fucked up.”
“Really fucked up.” There was a short silence before Magnus said suddenly, “Let’s see this playlist then.”
She took out her phone and handed it to him.
“Robyn.” He nodded in approval. “Pitbull? Flo Rida?” He laughed. “What are these guys doing here?”
She folded her arms defensively. “They’ve produced some of the best feel-good songs of our generation.”
He barked out a laugh, pulling her into a hug. “Whatever you say, Ms. Nazari.” He kissed her head. Still hugging her, he put on “Fireball” by Pitbull. She began to laugh. “I don’t ever want you to be sad,” he said into her ear. She drew back then, looking into his earnest eyes, which contrasted so markedly with the upbeat music.
She felt something else bubbling within her and knew she had fallen for him. It was too late now to fight it. She leant in to kiss him, expecting a quick peck
in return, but it was surprisingly tender, loving even. He put both his hands to her face as she wrapped her arms around his neck. When they stopped kissing, he rested his forehead against hers for a moment. This felt more intimate than anything they had done before.
“You’re really special to me, you know that?” he said.
“I…” She stopped herself from continuing. “You’re pretty special yourself.”
They were meant to meet at the cinema thirty minutes ago. Magnus still hadn’t arrived. Soraya stood in a cinema lobby that was now almost empty. She had two tickets for Gone Girl in her hand.
How many times can you ring someone before it’s just embarrassing? She had already rung three times and sent numerous text messages.
To begin with, she thought he may have just been late, but now she had a sinking suspicion that she had been stood up. Either that, or he had forgotten, a thought equally terrible in that moment. Like whatever they had was forgettable. Her jaw was tight, and her mood rotated in a loop among irritation, anger, slight optimism, and then humiliation. Ultimately, though, she decided she was stupid to think she mattered to him, that he wouldn’t drop her suddenly, like he had all the other girls he had been with before.
So instead of ringing him again she texted Oliver and Priya to explain that she’d been stood up.
Priya: The question is…WHY ARE YOU STILL SEEING HIM? I thought this was a temporary thing?!
Soraya: It is, but that’s not really the point.
Oliver: How…odd. You may as well come back home. We ordered Domino’s.
Soraya: What if something’s happened to him??
Priya: I hope something has happened to him. Respect yourself and leave. NOW.
Despite her harsh words at times, Soraya knew Priya didn’t mean to offend. Oliver had coined the statement “That’s just Priya” to excuse her bad behavior. Over the years Soraya had learnt how to handle her when she became too much, her opinions grating.
