The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes (17 page)

“Jawid,” I choked, my voice still shaking. “You’ve lived in this country for almost twenty years. You know polygamy is illegal here. One man, one wife – or at least one wife at a time. My God, what the fuck part of that minor detail don’t you understand?” My anger was mixed with overwhelming pain. “Or are you deliberately being an ignorant asshole?”

Jawid’s eyes flashed at my language. I was swearing on purpose, partly because the occasion damn well called for it, and partly because I knew how much he disliked it. He pressed my hands into the bed, irritated.

“I have not changed my paperwork because you had not yet said yes – at least, not until today. Now Nasrin and I will get a civil divorce, though not a religious one, of course. After the papers are ‘final’, you and I can get married.” He leaned down and gently kissed my forehead. I turned my head away. “Then Nasrin can move back in with us, and our family will be complete. She will stay with my sisters in the meantime. She wants us to have our honeymoon first, which is as it should be.” He rained a light trail of kisses over the bridge of my nose. “We will need some time alone, you and I. To settle in to each other.” He sucked softly on my lower lip. “ To wear the edge off this frenzy we have for each other, so the three of us may live in harmony.”

I bit him. Hard enough to draw blood. His eyes flashing, he pushed me into the bed and slapped the side of my butt – hard.

“Amanda, why are you doing this?”

I don’t know what hurt more, the anger or the surprise. His and mine. His stupidity at thinking such a thing could ever work. My own stupidity for still wanting him. I turned my face to the wall, willing my body not to shake any more, taking quick, shallow breaths, so the pain of drawing in air didn’t hurt so much. I tried to ignore the heat seeping into me through his strong hands and the thick smell of our sex, knowing I’d never have them again. When I could finally speak, I let all my anger and the cold despair wrapping my heart come out in my voice.

“Get out,” I whispered. “Go home to your wife, Jawid, and stay away from me.” I took a deep, shaking breath, trying not to feel the waves of pain crashing over me with each word. “I don’t want to see you again. Ever.” I said it quietly. I didn’t move, just stared for the longest time at the afternoon shadows falling across the stark white bedroom wall.

“I do not understand,” he whispered. “Amanda . . .”

As his voice broke, a warm, wet drop fell on my cheek, and my hot tears started again. This time, I didn’t try to stop them. “Get out,” I hissed. “Now!” When he finally released me, I curled into a ball, and stayed frozen in that position until I heard the front door close. Then I hugged my pillow and cried until I was too exhausted to do anything but sleep, for a long, long time.

I called in sick the rest of the week, then spent most of the weekend in bed. Eventually, I called my sister. I didn’t go into much detail. She’s never left the coal-mining town we grew up in, so I doubted she’d understand a cultural morass I couldn’t even begin to explain. I just told her I’d stupidly become involved with a married man. She listened, the way sisters do, and told me I was better off without him. “Remember what Mom always says, ‘Once a cheater, always a cheater.’ Just pay more attention with the next man, OK, hon?”

I told her yes, though the truth was I didn’t want to meet another man. I was still in love with Jawid. I was still working with him, though our co-workers kindly didn’t mention my now icy demeanour towards him. We hadn’t told anyone we were seeing each other. But we worked with bright people, whose ability to save lives often depended on their being able to read between the lines. Ours was not the first failed romance at work. It wouldn’t be the last. Our colleagues gave us both a wide berth, and tried not to schedule us in the same meetings.

The telephone call from Nasrin came a month later. I was packing for a long weekend out of town. I was still miserable, but I’d decided I’d wallowed in self-pity long enough. It was time to join some girlfriends for an impromptu camping weekend – to force myself to do something, anything, to get my mind off Jawid. Although I was trying not to take any more time off from work, I’d arranged to leave my office mid-morning on Friday. Nasrin’s insistence that she had something to discuss with me that could not possibly wait – or be said over the phone – had me wondering if it would all just go away if I hid my head in a basket long enough. But I felt so guilty I finally agreed to join her for lunch on my way out of town.

Her house in San Marino was far away from downtown. I’d assumed Jawid had lied about going to my place because it was closer to work – the same way he’d lied about everything else. As I started up the winding, tree-lined streets of the gated community they lived in, I wasn’t sure how I felt about realizing that, at least with the geography, he’d told the truth. When I gave my name, and Nasrin’s, the guard waved me through. Five minutes later, I was ringing her doorbell, admiring, against my better judgment, the profusion of exquisite flowers that lined the walkway.

I’d half expected Nasrin to punch me when she answered the door. I was stunned when she hugged me instead, taking my hands in hers and laughing as though we were continuing the conversation we’d started on that evening so long ago. I was still stumbling through my greeting when she linked her arm into mine and started showing me through the lower floor of the house.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” She smiled and led me into a music room bright with the noontime sun. Her hair was pulled up in a heavy gold clip that enhanced the open-faced beauty I’d only partially remembered. The flattering drape of her brown and yellow pantsuit made me glad I’d changed my jeans and sweatshirt for dark slacks and a light silk blouse.

Nasrin didn’t seem to notice my nervousness. “It’s such a beautiful day,” she said, leading me along. “I thought we’d eat in the garden. It’s this way.”

Although I tried hard not to, I could see Jawid, as well as her, in every room we passed through. The pristine white furniture in the immaculate living room emphasized formality, even as it invited me to sit down and rest my feet on an overstuffed hassock. The sofas and chairs were arranged in a large U-shape, to make for easy conversation and to accent an exquisite, thick Persian rug covering the hardwood floor. I recognized the stylized attack helicopters woven in with the ancient vine patterns in the upper corners of the rug, reminders, even in the opulence, of Jawid and Nasrin’s shared refugee past. Yet when I closed my eyes, it was Jawid’s presence I sensed. I could almost smell the spicy, musky tang of his skin. Even the baskets of ripe fruit resting on the polished tables in the kitchen and dining room reminded me of him. I imagined him biting into one of the oranges he so loved, the juice running sweet and sticky down his throat as he licked his fingers clean. The more I thought about him, the more the walls seemed to echo with the laughter I missed so much. I avoided Nasrin’s eyes, letting her running historical commentary blur into the background as I steeled myself against the onslaught of memories that soon hurt too much for me to see or care if she noticed.

If Nasrin picked up on my feelings, she didn’t say so. She led me through the house and out into the garden. Fortunately, that was all hers. The wind chimes tinkled in the afternoon breeze, soothing my ears as I inhaled the perfume of her thriving, vibrant roses. She’d set a small table in the shade of a vine-laden archway. I protested that I really shouldn’t join her. I wasn’t hungry, though I’d been living on coffee and frozen dinners for weeks. But when she uncovered dishes of fresh green salad and roast lamb with pitta bread, my stomach growled loudly. Despite my embarrassed flush, Nasrin laughed and steered me into a chair. The food was delicious, with a honeyed pastry for dessert, and glasses of hot, sugar-laced tea. I began to relax.

“I love how Americans name their roses after famous people.” She spoke between bites as I tried to place the elusive spices in the vinaigrette. While Jawid had no accent, Nasrin’s voice was thick with the music of her homeland. I vaguely recalled that she’d come to the States as a young adult. “That white one is called a Kennedy, after the President. The smell is so light and fresh. The pink is a Princess Diana. Such lovely blushes on the petals, as befits a beautiful princess, yes?”

“Yes,” I said.

Nasrin’s face glowed when she spoke about her flowers. “The deep red one with the white markings is a Dolly Parton. Very full-bodied.” I almost choked when Nasrin winked wickedly. “And this . . .” She leaned to the side of the table, cupped an exquisite, lavender bloom in her slender fingers, and inhaled deeply. “Mmmm. This is my new Barbara Streisand. She is beautiful enough to inspire song, I think.” Her laugh was contagious. “Please.” She smiled up at me and motioned for me to sniff. I bent forwards, inhaling the comforting scent, suddenly aware of the faint sandalwood perfume of Nasrin as well. “Ooh,” she laughed, turning her hand as a ladybug climbed on to her fingers. She lifted it carefully back on to the leaves. “I try to keep them happy. They’re so good for the garden.” She waved around her. “Do you tend flowers, also?”

“No,” I laughed, looking at the subtly organized riot of vibrant colours that surrounded me. “I just tend to other people’s problems.” At her raised eyebrow, I shrugged. “I work long hours. That’s how I met Jawid . . .” I closed my eyes, a wave of shame and guilt and pain washing over me. I quietly set my fork down.

“I apologize,” I said stiffly. “You’ve been very gracious, Nasrin, but I have no idea why you asked me here. I have no business sitting here talking to you as if we were friends, even though I like you. God knows why, because I’m still in love with your husband.” I took a deep breath, my voice trembling. “My behaviour has been inexcusable. I didn’t know he was still married, but if you want my apologies, I offer them. Truly. I’m so sorry.”

I’d been going to add that if I’d known, I wouldn’t have done it, but these days, I wasn’t at all sure about that any more. And I was crying again. I wasn’t sure I’d really ever stopped since I’d told Jawid to leave.

I was surprised to feel Nasrin’s hand on mine, pressing a tissue into my palm. I looked up to see her smiling sympathetically at me.

“Men do not always explain themselves well. But then, they are only men.” She patted my hand, and the sparkle in her lustrous brown eyes had me smiling tearily back at her.

“Since you’ve been working so much, I assume you have not been to the Arboretum lately.”

“No,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Not at all, actually. It’s rather far out.”

“Oh, then we will go now,” she said. “The gardens are wonderfully healing when one is upset.” Before I could say another word, Nasrin took my hand and reached down to collect our purses. The next thing I knew, we were in her Mercedes, heading north towards Arcadia. I gave up and called my friends to cancel. The sunshine felt good, and I decided one more weekend at home wouldn’t kill me. At least I was out of the house and away from work, if not away from all memories of Jawid.

Nasrin and I spent hours in the gardens. At first, her arm linking with mine felt awkward. My American sense of personal space was well developed, and I was still uncomfortable with my role as the Other Woman. But the unexpected comfort of Nasrin’s touch and her love of the flowers, and the incredible breadth of her knowledge, soon had me holding her hand in awe as we watched tiny lizards scurry beneath the open orchid blooms in the rainforest greenhouse. Through the thick glass walls we could hear the cry of the peacocks outside on the walkways.

“They are such sexual birds,” she said, as a domineering male scream echoed through the walls. “Just like human men.”

I smiled as a second shrill cry rose in unison with the first. I was beginning to understand that while Nasrin seemed quiet, she was more than willing to voice her surprisingly uninhibited opinions. And I was finally starting to understand a little bit of where Jawid had been coming from with his insane idea of marrying me as well as Nasrin.

“I have always expected that Jawid would take a second wife.” We rounded a corner, and Nasrin stooped to trail her long, carefully manicured fingers through a small waterfall between two towering ferns. “I assumed it would happen later.” She smiled up at me. “And that she would be much younger than me. Someone who would catch his eye and give him another lifetime’s worth of children when I had grown older and more matronly. But one can never tell when love will strike, can one?” She stood up and rubbed her hands together briskly, drying them in the air. “After all, I certainly did not expect to love him.”

I stared at her. “Why not?” I didn’t care that I was being rude. Despite the soothing moisture of the man-made mists and the perfume of the flowers, and the solace of Nasrin’s company, I was still raw inside. She had Jawid, and she hadn’t wanted him. It wasn’t fair!

She took my hand in both of hers, the warmth of one contrasting starkly with the water-cooled touch of the other. “Ours was an arranged marriage, Amanda. I thought you knew.”

“No,” I said bluntly. To my mind, arranged marriages only happened in faraway places where women were treated like chattels. Places where men had up to four wives, regardless of how the women felt, and divorced them with the throw of a stone. I sighed heavily. Faraway places like where Nasrin and Jawid were from. I was amazed at how little I’d known of someone I’d thought I’d come to understand so well.

Nasrin moved to my side and again linked her arm into mine, leading me back outside and on to the pathway. The sun was higher now, the call of the birds and the dryness of the afternoon heat stark in comparison to the comforting coolness of the greenhouse.

“My family was dispersed when we left the refugee camps. I went to Germany with my brothers and my eldest uncle.” She steered me on to a eucalyptus-lined path, pausing to run her hand over one huge, smooth-barked trunk. “My uncle had a friend whose cousin went to school with Jawid’s father. When Uncle got the address, he wrote to Jawid’s father, and sent my picture. Jawid approved. So his parents and my uncle and aunt made the arrangements.”