If You Could Be Mine (14 page)

“You can go now.” He raises his hand to shoo away Katayoun. She looks gutted and I’m glad, but I’m envious of her as she rushes out of the restaurant.

“You would really have me arrested?” I ask.

Ali leans back in his chair and purses his lips. “You would really be a man? What are you thinking?” I thought he would be supportive. He’s so indifferent about what I do as it is, why should he care now? He gets whatever he wants. Why can’t I get this one crucial thing? “It doesn’t make everything go away. You will have to live in a body that isn’t yours. A body that you don’t belong in.”

“It’s legal this way,” I whisper. Why can’t he see that? I’m going to be free as a man. I’m going to live life fully for once.

He shakes his head. “She’s not going to leave him. No matter what crazy thing you do.”

That’s not . . . He doesn’t know that. I mean, she may just postpone the wedding or maybe Reza will fall down a cliff. The reality hits in a way it never has. I gasp. Everything is blurry. Ali motions a server for water. I drink, but it quenches nothing.

“Did Parveen put you up to it? Make it sound wonderful?” I shake my head. He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. “Nasrin . . . she likes you as you are. A male version of you would be perverse. It would frighten her.”

No. I’m not going to give up. Even if it’s wrong, there is still a chance, and that’s more than I have as a woman. A chance. My only chance. I’m going to have that operation, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop me. I just have to figure out who is going to help me.

14

BABA IS BUILDING A
dresser for Nasrin and Reza. Mrs. Mehdi commissioned it, but I have a feeling it’s more of a gift to my father than it is to her daughter. I’m grateful it gives him something to do, and he seems to enjoy his work again. It’s a start. The past few nights he has stayed late at the workshop, and I have had the apartment to myself and my own thoughts. When I should be thinking about math equations and literature, I’m thinking about whether Parveen will help me. Even if my change isn’t finished in time, maybe Nasrin won’t go through with the wedding.

Nasrin will see me in the room, with peach fuzz growing from my chin, and she will stand up from the ceremony. She will topple over the
sofra,
all the elements before her: the pastries, flowers, candelabras, the cup of honey, the bowl of gold coins breaking. The mirror that the young couple is supposed to see themselves in will shatter, and we’ll run away. A helicopter will be waiting for us to take us to Switzerland, where I will finally learn how to ski while Nasrin sits in a lodge eating chocolates. OK, none of that will happen, but if she knows I’m doing this, she will call off the wedding. She has to wait for me.

The intercom in our apartment buzzes. I’m not expecting anyone. I get up from the kitchen table, abandoning my books yet again, and push the intercom button. “Yes?”

“It’s Parveen. May I come up?” I hesitate. After the debacle with Katayoun, I am sure word has gotten around that I am not who I presented myself to be. Parveen has been kind to me, though. I don’t see why she would act differently now. I buzz her in and open the door, waiting for her to reach me at the top of the stairs. I can hear her high heels clack. I watch her from the doorway as she glides up the stairs. She is more of a woman than I will ever be. Being a woman comes naturally to her, effortlessly, and sometimes I wish I didn’t know she is transsexual. It might make me feel better about my neglect of feminine pursuits. At least I wouldn’t keep thinking about it when I speak with her.

“
Salam,
Sahar
joon,
” Parveen says as she enters, kissing me on both cheeks. I lead her into the living room and wait for her to sit down. I offer her tea, but she declines. She can’t stay for long. I sit down, waiting for a lecture or some kind of reproach for the way things happened at Restaurant Javan. Neither comes. Instead she asks me about the test and school. I’m grateful. Is it possible Katayoun didn’t tell her? Our small talk continues for a while. We discuss the weather and how humid the days have become recently. Parveen even tells me a tame joke about a gorilla and tiger. I don’t find it all that funny, but I laugh anyway.

“So, do you want to tell me why you really want to have the operation?” she asks at last.

I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am caught off guard. My heart beats fast.

“As I said before, I feel like I am in the wrong—”

“It’s okay, Sahar. I won’t judge you. Just please don’t lie to me or yourself anymore.” I swallow down the fear that’s been lodged in my throat for weeks.

“I suppose Katayoun told you.”

“No. Your cousin called me. He sounded very concerned.” She’s waiting for me to explain myself, but I just can’t. She clears her throat and goes in for the kill. “He mentioned a friend of yours getting married.” My eyes snap wide. I could kill Ali. Parveen reaches over to take my hand in hers. “You didn’t judge me, Sahar
joon
. I have no reason to judge you now.”

I take a deep breath and apologize for deceiving her over and over again. I surprise myself by not crying. I don’t explain the nature of my relationship with Nasrin, but I’m sure Ali has said more than he should. All I can tell her is that I thought my life would be easier as a man.

Parveen pats my hand and tells me I couldn’t be more wrong. She tells me about Maryam and how Maryam, as a man, was in love with another man, which her older brother found out about. The brother was so angry, he threatened to turn Maryam into the police unless she changed from a man to a woman. Since her surgery, Maryam has become a heroin addict. She is always angry and has even attempted suicide. Goli
khanum
eventually took Maryam in to keep an eye on her, but Parveen wonders if some souls just can’t be saved.

I’ve watched Maryam in meetings. The way she scoffs at others in the group and isolates herself made me think she just hates everybody else. I guess she hates herself . . . and maybe everyone else in the world, too.

“Do you want to end up like Maryam?” Parveen asks. “Bitter, depressed, and stuck?”

I know Parveen means well, but I have decided. “I know I’m not like you, and I’m sorry for pretending, but I can’t turn away from this now. I will always wonder if . . . if she could love me if the circumstances were in our favor.”

Parveen shakes her head and bites her lip. She thinks I’m incredibly stupid. I flush. She isn’t wrong, but I always used to think I was so intelligent. Everyone told me I was. My parents, my teachers, my classmates, the Mehdis . . . Maybe Nasrin has been the smart one all along. She’ll have a life of wealth, comfort, and privilege, and I will be left with nothing. Nasrin is all I care about—I don’t have anyone else. I’m afraid of what my life will be like without her.

Parveen takes a deep breath and tries again. “I think this is a mistake for you, Sahar. You are not going to benefit from this the way a transsexual would. But you’ve made up your mind.” I nod emphatically. It is what I want.

Isn’t it?

“Is this girl worth it? I can’t think much of a girl who would put you in this position, but is she really worth it? Have you discussed this with her? I can tell you, I have had people who don’t accept me any longer because of my change. Relatives, friends, boyfriends—this is not an easy life. Will she accept you? Have you thought about all this?” Parveen is crying now, and I have never seen her do that before. She’s always been so happy and confident. I embrace her and she folds into me, her tears dampening my shoulder. I don’t let go until she is ready and backs away. She wipes her eyes and chuckles in embarrassment. “This life is not easy, but it’s the one I wanted for myself. I just wish people would be more understanding. But you . . . You will be living a lie.”

“I already am living a lie. What’s another?”

Parveen takes in the statement and shakes her head. “Sahar, what you’re thinking of doing is not right. I don’t want you to regret this.”

I’m tired of everyone looking at me like I am a delusional fool. I know what I’m doing! Kind of. “I’m going to do it, whether you help me or not. Who knows what will happen to me if you don’t help me?”

And with that Parveen agrees to help. She says she will set up an appointment with her former surgeon, Dr. Hosseini, a few days from now. I will have to miss school, which I have never done before, but I am more than willing. I don’t even care if Baba finds out. He hasn’t noticed anything about me in the past few years, so I doubt he will know I have missed school. I doubt he would even notice if I came home as a boy. The appointment with the doctor is just a preliminary meeting, during which he will explain that there is no way I can have the surgery before the wedding. I don’t care. Divorce is legal in Iran, and maybe by the time I have a handle on being a man Nasrin will realize her marriage is a farce—and we can be together. Wouldn’t that be incredible?

The buzzer sounds again, and I get up to check the intercom. There’s only one person it could be. I stand up and push the button to speak.

“
Baleh?
” I ask.

“Sahar! Let me up! I’m dying to see you.” I look over at Parveen, who stares at the floor. I shouldn’t let her up, but I’ve never denied her anything before. I push the button, unlocking the door, and greet Nasrin when she enters.

“It’s so hot out! I thought I might faint.” Nasrin laughs, but her smile fades when she sees Parveen. “Sorry, I didn’t know you have company.” I take Nasrin’s hand and drag her into the living room. I introduce the two, and Parveen stands, gracious and polite as ever, and kisses Nasrin on both cheeks. Nasrin goes through the motions, but I can already tell she is assessing Parveen’s looks.

“Nasrin is getting married soon,” I tell Parveen, and she doesn’t blink an eye. She knew exactly who this was. Parveen congratulates Nasrin, who thanks her, but there’s an obvious tension in the room. I shouldn’t have let Nasrin up. Parveen quickly says she has an appointment to go to but adds that she wishes Nasrin all the best. I hug her, and thank her, and I can feel Nasrin’s eyes on the back of my neck. When Parveen leaves I close the door behind her and turn to Nasrin.

“How do you know her?” she asks.

“She’s a friend of mine. She’s helping me with something important.” I think about what Parveen has said, about how I should talk with Nasrin about what I plan to do.

“She’s pretty,” Nasrin says. She looks annoyed, but on her, jealousy is adorable. “What’s she helping you with?”

“A way to stop the wedding,” I say. She doesn’t comment on that. “I like when you’re jealous, Nasrin. It makes you know what it feels like to be me.”

I go to the kitchen to brew tea while Nasrin slumps on the living room couch. She tells me about the new drama at the Mehdi household: Sima, the daughter of Soraya, the maid, came to ask for Dariush’s hand in marriage! It’s unusual for a woman to ask for a man’s hand in marriage, but Sima was always one of a kind. Mrs. Mehdi laughed, though Mr. Mehdi actually heard her out and didn’t think it would be such a bad idea. Sima will eventually be a pharmacist, and she will make a good living. Nasrin laughs, explaining how Dariush just sat there like a limp piece of fish, his mouth flapping open and then shut and then open again.

“Will your family have another wedding on its hands?” I ask as I pour Nasrin’s tea in front of her, putting three sugar cubes on her plate to sweeten it, just the way she likes it. Nasrin has such a sweet tooth, I am shocked her teeth have not fallen out.

Nasrin laughs at me as though I am a fool. “Of course not! My mother was so outraged at the idea of her servant’s daughter having the gall to ask, she kicked her out. Now Sima is moving her mother out of the house to go live with her.” Nasrin takes a sip of tea. “It’s a pity. Soraya is an amazing cook,” she adds as an afterthought.

My stomach sinks when I think of Sima leaving the Mehdi house, dejected and broken at the hands of Mrs. Mehdi after being so brave and full of hope. “Sima is beautiful and smart. Why wouldn’t Dariush marry her?” I know why Mrs. Mehdi wouldn’t allow it, but Sima has a better station in life than Dariush could expect without his parents’ wealth. It’s likely she would work all day and come home to a lounging Dariush playing the same three chords on his out-of-tune guitar.

Nasrin lowers her teacup and gives me an incredulous look. “Can you imagine the bride’s side of the family? Arriving at the wedding with their toothless grins and shuffling feet, trying to dance? How embarrassing.” Now she’s laughing again. She enjoyed that scenario a little too much. I’m still silent, and she can tell I’m angry, because her smirk dissolves and she clears her throat. This isn’t the Nasrin I know.

“That was an awful thing to say.”

“Sahar,
shookhi mikonam
—I’m joking! I do have to give Sima credit for having courage. That was not an easy task, facing my mother and father. But it never would have worked between them. They come from different classes. If Dariush had wanted to marry her, he would have done something about it.”

My
maman
married my baba even though they were of different classes. Maman was brave that way. “Dariush is afraid of disappointing your parents and losing his inheritance,” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes at me. She looks a little ugly.