If You Could Be Mine (6 page)

“You’ve always been smart not to be interested in boys,” he says, and I try my best to continue breathing. Am I that transparent?

“Sorry?”

“I mean, it’s good that you studied. You won’t need to get married. So you can put on airs at parties? No, you’re on the right track, Sahar.” He is congratulating me on my one day being an old maid. What a charming fellow.

“I’m happy for Nasrin.” This time it sounds even more rehearsed than the first time, but Dariush doesn’t notice or let on as he plays another song. Soraya enters the room with a tray of tea, a cup for Dariush and one for me.

“Soraya, you don’t have to do that,” Dariush says. He stands up to grab the tray from his servant. Dariush was different when he was younger. He loved being waited on hand and foot, as though he was entitled. Since he’s been working as a mechanic—and after being rebuffed by his would-be fiancé—Dariush likes to play at being blue collar when it’s convenient. He has just traded in one version of pretension for another. He plops the tray on the table and waits for me to pour for the two of us. Soraya exits quietly. I look forward to the day when her daughter can get her out of here.

I hand Dariush his tea. He takes a sugar cube in his mouth and bites down on it, drinking his tea around the sugar cube, which intercepts the liquid before it goes down his throat. He used to mimic the Europeans and stir dissolved sugar into his teacup. Now, it seems, he prefers to drink tea like his own people. Dariush is such a lout. I shouldn’t think that. He’s not such a bad person; he just has some growing up to do. I hear the front door open and then slam, followed by the sounds of Nasrin and her mother arguing. It isn’t clear what they are arguing about, but I don’t care. I’m excited and nervous to see Nasrin again.

Mrs. Mehdi enters first, calling for Soraya to take the shopping bags out of her hands. Mrs. Mehdi sees me and Dariush and her eyes brighten immediately.

“Oh, look at you two! Having tea together!”

I immediately put my cup down before she gets any more ideas. If she thinks I am going to spend my life serving tea to her lazy son while he strums the same three songs over and over again, she is horribly mistaken. Soraya rushes to her mistress and takes the bags from her hands.

“Soraya, bring out some pastries for everyone,” Mrs. Mehdi commands, still eyeing her oblivious son and me. She walks to me and I stand up, hugging her. Over her shoulder comes a vision. It is Nasrin in a strapless red-velvet dress that hugs her in all the right places. Our eyes trap each other. Nasrin doesn’t look happy to see me. Or rather, she’s trying not to, but her eyes always betray her. I stiffen in Mrs. Mehdi’s grasp. She lets go of me, and I pull my eyes away from Nasrin, maybe a millisecond too late. Mrs. Mehdi smiles at me, but there’s something behind the smile I can’t place. I muster the biggest smile I can as my mind races.
I have no lustful, passionate, raging feelings for your daughter. Not a one. Can’t you tell by my overcompensating grin?

Mrs. Mehdi turns her head to address Nasrin, and I relax, a little.

“The bride to be and I went dress shopping. She insists on breaking them all in. It’s going to get wrinkled!” Nasrin rolls her eyes at her mother’s complains. I do my best not to drool.

“What do you need so many dresses for? Don’t you just get married in the one?” Dariush asks in an unkind tone.

“For parties, my son,” Mrs. Mehdi explains. “Stop slouching,” she adds as she walks over to him and sits down. “Sahar, we haven’t seen you in ages! I hope you haven’t been avoiding us.”

“No! No, of course not,” I stammer. Nasrin smirks. “I’ve been busy studying, and I assumed you would all be busy getting ready for the wedding.”

“They’re making this wedding such a big deal. What a waste.” Dariush is interrupted by his mother shushing him.

“Sahar’s just jealous.” It’s the first thing Nasrin has said, and I look at her with a bit of fear. “She’s jealous that I’m getting married and she’s not.”

“Nasrin! Be polite!” Mrs. Mehdi says. Everyone is just so assured of my future as an old maid. Do I reek of homeliness or lesbian? Nasrin exits the living room, and I don’t run after her right away.

“That girl! Forgive her, Sahar. She’s been under a lot of stress lately,” Mrs. Mehdi says.

“I can imagine.” I assumed Nasrin would go along with everything and be happy about all the attention she is getting. She’s getting what she wants, isn’t she? The kept life, a doctor husband who is good-looking. And her parents will finally love her the way she wants to be loved. She will have a wonderful life.

“Can you go talk to her, Sahar?” Mrs. Mehdi pleads. “She’s been in such a bad mood lately.” I nod and try my best to take slow steps to Nasrin’s room instead of sprinting like an Olympian. Loud music pours from her room; it’s one of our standard methods for masking our conversations—and other activities.

I knock on Nasrin’s door and she opens it. She grabs my arm and pulls me in, then slams the door shut and throws me against it, locking it from the inside. She crashes her lips urgently to mine. This is the most passionate I have ever seen her. My eyes open in shock as I take her in. Her teeth are bared and her tongue begs my mouth for entrance. I close my eyes and allow her in. Her hands are grabbing my neck, and I don’t know if she might choke me. I don’t care. If there’s a way to die, this should be it. When I hear her moan I push at her shoulders. She stops for breath, panting and looking at me with predatory eyes.

“Where the hell have you been?” She lunges forward, merging our mouths together in such a feral, animalistic way that I push her shoulders more forcefully.

“Stop! Stop it,” I whisper. She looks at me with confusion and annoyance, a wild tiger hunting the next meal, smelling blood in the air. “What about him?” I can’t say his name. I’m amazed I’m even thinking of
him
at all, but she is marrying him. We both breathe heavily, and she shrugs.

“What about him?” Nasrin says it with such indifference, I almost think she doesn’t know whom I am referring to. I gape at her and she grunts in frustration.

“You’re getting married! Or have you forgotten?”

“Oh, shut up, Sahar.” She backs away from me and slumps onto her bed. We stare at each other, each waiting for the other’s next move. She asks, “Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you.”

“It’s been over two weeks!” She says it with desperation I have never seen from her before. She’s been counting the days. I am thrilled.

“I thought it would be better . . . It might be easier for us, if I didn’t see you for a while,” I say.

“For someone who is supposed to be so clever, you are such an idiot,” Nasrin says and I can’t believe it, but she’s crying. Her mascara is about to run, her cheeks are flushed . . . and is that snot? I walk over to her bed and sit down next to her. She wipes at her eyes and curses herself under her breath. Throughout our friendship, Nasrin has always been the cool one, slightly aloof, even indifferent at times. That I followed her around like an idiot . . . Well, it was embarrassing sometimes, but that’s just the way it always has been. This is different.

“You’re getting married. What did you think was going to happen?” I ask.

“I didn’t think you’d leave! That’s not the plan!” There is a plan? The only plan ever mentioned was my scheme to run away to some remote village.

“But you’re going to be his wife.”

“So?”

“So, kissing me—that’s cheating, isn’t it?”

Nasrin looks at me like I am the biggest fool in the universe. She puts her hand over mine and grips it. “I don’t care about him. I need him, but I want you.”

I have to remind myself to breathe, because it isn’t often that Nasrin voices her feelings. Especially concerning me. Nasrin takes her other hand and wraps it in my hair, tugging me toward her lips, and I hungrily accept. It means so much just to hear her say what I never expected her to.

Only, she’s choosing him anyway.

I stop responding to her kiss and she looks at me in confusion.

“Nasrin, this isn’t normal.”

“I know it isn’t. Believe me, I wish I didn’t have these feelings for you.”

“No. I mean, doing this when you are engaged to someone else.”

“He doesn’t ever have to know! Why are you making this an ordeal?”

I always knew she was selfish. At birthday parties she always got the biggest icing flower on the cake. When we went to the movies, the popcorn was always in her lap. We always listened to the music she liked. We would spend only half an hour at the museum I wanted to go to before she complained about being tired.

“You want me to continue this?” I ask her, not sure what I want her answer to be.

“Yes. Don’t you?”

This has been the plan all along.
Her
plan. Have her perfect marriage and string me along for the ride. I rip my hand away from hers and touch my bruised lips.

“What about me? Did you ever think about me?” Of course she didn’t.

She folds her arms in front of her and quirks an eyebrow.

“Come on, Sahar. We can be just as we’ve always been.”

A secret. I’m supposed to wait for her in the shadows. When she’s done feeding him dinner and performed her marital duties in their bed, I’m supposed to come over and comfort her. Tell her how beautiful she is. Worship her in private when he gets her all the time. I’m a lap dog. How long has she seen me this way?

“You’re cruel, Nasrin.” I stand up and walk to the door, but she yells out my name.

“Sahar! What did you expect? I’m not going to be anything other than someone’s wife! It’s what my mother has been grooming me for. How was I supposed to be anything other than what she wants me to be?”

“We could have talked about it before you decided to go through with it!”

“This was always going to happen, Sahar. What could you have done to change it?”

What could I have done to change it? There’s nothing I can do. I have no resources, no plan of attack. I’m just a girl. A girl. If only I were a man. A man with a hairy face who could slouch his shoulders if he wanted to and walk around with short sleeves in the hot sun. If only . . .

“How many months until the wedding?” I ask her.

“Three. Why?” I kiss her with ferocity, and this time it is she who is struck dumb.

“I’m going to find a way.” I make sure she understands that I am serious. I can tell that I am scaring her a little bit, but she kisses me and it is all the confirmation I need.

6

I DON’T KNOW IF
Parveen will come to see me today. My text message to her was sincere, and she agreed to meet me, but there’s always the possibility she won’t come. I haven’t planned everything out, but if there’s any way I can be with Nasrin, I will do whatever it takes. I sip from my soda cup. I couldn’t think of a place to meet other than Max Burger. I’m sitting in the upstairs area with the kids’ playroom. Two small boys play in the ball pit, and I hope they don’t suffocate in red plastic.

At a nearby table two little girls are showing their mother the DVD that came with their kid’s meals. It’s usually a high-quality cartoon bootleg. Nasrin sometimes orders the kid’s meal just for the movie. Her favorite is
Toy Story
. The movies are in English, so I do my best to translate for Nasrin. She never wears her glasses to read the subtitles, but it hardly matters. My English isn’t the best, but Nasrin knows about as much English as she does Japanese.

“
Salam,
Sahar
joon,
” Parveen says just as a red ball flies from the pit to hit me in the head. One of the small boys looks apologetic while the other one laughs. Parveen smiles, but more at my expression than because the ball hit me. She takes a seat across from me. She looks gorgeous, but I still feel embarrassed and have trouble looking her in the eye.

“Thank you for meeting me,” I say. Parveen keeps her hands under the table, and for that I am grateful, though she doesn’t do it for my benefit.

“I’m glad to see you again, Sahar. We didn’t get much of a chance to talk at the party.” There’s a silence, and since I am the one who initiated our meeting, I really should speak. I rehearsed what I wanted to say, but now that I’m facing her, the words aren’t coming.

“Would you like a hamburger?” I ask, and she looks amused.

“I have to watch my girlish figure. And for some reason I don’t think you came here to eat,” she says. I avoid eye contact and look back to the two girls and their mother, eating their hamburgers.

“Well, Ali told me that, um . . . that you, uh, were at one time . . . What I mean to say is that it’s really cool about . . . you know, things that have taken place and that you are . . . um, that you—”

“That I’m transsexual.” I gape at her and how easily she says it. What if someone heard us? Isn’t she afraid?

“Yes. That.”

“I assumed you found out. You were distant toward me at the end of the party.”

I feel terrible.

“Ali told me.”

She nods and looks a little deflated. “He shouldn’t have done that. It’s private. I mean, I’m proud of who I am, but I don’t announce it to everyone I meet.” I sense that she is as disappointed it was Ali who thoughtlessly shared her secret as she is that I found out. I should ruin another one of his shirts just to teach him a lesson. Parveen adjusts her head scarf, even though it hasn’t shifted since she sat down. It’s as though she is reminding everyone around her that she is indeed supposed to be wearing one. She’s a woman, and so she is entitled to the same oppressive dress code as the rest of us.