I roll out of bed groggy. My head hurts. After Farid, Imran and their entourage left last night, I had the “talk”. Everyone, of course, loved him and his family. I think my cousin-sister might be a little bit in love with Imran. But, I still am confused. So much is in my mind. And everyone wants an answer.
So do I, truth be told. But, I can’t seem to find the answers I need. I’m sure I’ll talk to him at some point, but in order for that conversation to happen, I need to know what questions to ask!
I need freedom. I gear up. I lace up my Asics. I leash Zari. And out we go. It feels good. It is slightly cold and it kind of hurts my lungs. But it feels good to feel the wind in my face. To have something to focus on other than the myriad of questions festering in my mind.
It’s hard, I’m tired but as I walk up the pathway towards the front of the house but my mind is at peace. When, if he comes by, I’ll sit and talk things out. What happens thereafter, that’s in Allah’s hands.
Decision made,my heart,my mind and my soul are at peace. I go and shower,change and pray. As I come down I hear voices.
‘Ya-Ali-Madad mummy.”
‘Mowla-Ali-Madad beta.’
I walk to dad’s study to wish him a good morning and talk about the markets. Pour chai and read the Wall Street Journal.
The study is closed. Weird, why’s it closed? And why locked? It’s NEVER locked!
“Mummi, what’s up with daddy’s study?’
‘Beta, he’s discussing some things on the phone. He said he needed some privacy.’
‘But why is the door locked?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t realize it was locked.’
‘Ok.’ I have breakfast with mum in the kitchen. I’m annoyed that my daily ritual is disturbed and that I’ll have to read the Journal on the train.
The door opens, dad comes out. He’s quiet. He’s deep in thought. He goes to get a cup. I watch, waiting for him to clue me into what is going on.
Nothing …absolute silence. He goes back into the study. The door closes, I hear the lock turn.
I turn and look at mom. She looks at me in silence. Never, in my 32 yrs on this Earth has my father, EVER locked the door.
Something is wrong and it’s big!
An hour later, I’m off cleaning the formal sitting room as mummi likes to keep it in pristine condition. Suddenly, dad is at the door. I sense him before I hear him.
“Beti, come into the study. I need to talk to you.’
‘Jee daddy.’ I put down my rag and I take off my gloves. I walk into dad’s study. I sit down. Dad is sitting behind his desk. I hear someone in the side, where the windows are.
‘As-Salaam-Alikum Gulzar.’
‘Walikum-as-Salaam Imran .’
‘Beti, Imran has come over to stand in as Farid’s representative.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand what that means.’
‘Gulzar, I’m a Barrister in London. Farid’s asked me to draft a formal pre-nuptial contract. I’ve discussed the particular points with your father and we’ve both finalized the contract.’
‘Beti, we need you to look it over and see if you’d like to add anything or change anything.’
‘A pre-nuptial…but why?’
‘Because, Farid would like to ask for you to join with him in England, to spend a month.’
My mouth drops open!
Dad continues, ‘He wants to ensure you can acclimate to life there. To meet his family and to spend a bit more time to get to know you and for you to get to know him better.
Imran adds, ‘to show good faith, Farid asked me to draft up an engagement offer.’
I look from one man, my father to the other; a lawyer whose standing as a stranger discussing the rest of my life. A life that essentially, if one discusses it as a contract is little more than a business arrangement.
My father gets up, ‘take a moment, look over the contract. Once you are done, come and get me. In the meantime, Imran and I will sit and have come coffee with mom in the living room.’
The door closes, I stare at the document.
My eyes glaze over.
Suddenly, tears flood my vision.
The door opens, I don’t look up because now the tears are flowing freely down my face.
I take a breath. He’s here. I don’t need to look over. I feel him immediately after I smell him. I take another deep breath.
I’m raw and yet I feel hollow.
He comes over, he sits in the chair next to me rather than behind the desk. I don’t move. I can’t,
I’m suddenly tired of this rollercoaster.
‘I was hoping this would show that I’m serious. I’m not looking to waste neither your time nor my own. I didn’t mean to upset you, however. I’m deeply sorry.’
‘I understand, however, this process leaves emotions at the door and has the feel of a business arrangement. That’s not how I want my life to play out.’
‘I understand, however, you’re a businessman’s daughter. I’m a businessman myself. Once you put things into a verbal and written contract, it solidifies the responsibility for both parties. I’m serious about this. About you. I need to know you are as well.’
‘I told you last evening, I need time to think.’
‘You’ve had long enough. I need a decision.’
‘I can’t. I won’t make a rush towards something that I’m not 100% confident in.’
‘So, you’re willing to walk away from something that has an energy that is uncommon to find?’
I’m upset. I’m angry. I want to lash out.
‘If I was, I’d have said no last evening. I don’t understand this insane rush. I just need time.’
‘Time, is the most precious commodity. It’s something I don’t have much of. You’ve my decision in front of you.’
He gets up and walks out. I watch the door to the study close.
I look at the contract. I can’t read it.
I won’t do this. My life will NOT be a contract. It is NOT a business deal!
I get up and I walk out of the study. I pass by the kitchen. It’s vacant. I stand, I remember last night. I’m less mad now. But, I’m still sure.
I walk to the formal sitting room. Everyone is sitting and talking. They’re in the midst of discussing things that I’ve not been a party to. As I stand in the doorway, conversation comes to a standstill.
My mother gets up and walks over to me. She looks at me and smiles. She’s attempting to reassure me. However, I don’t feel reassured. I look over at dad.
Farid walks over. He stands before me. ‘Have you taken a look at the paperwork?’
‘No.’ I feel better. I let out the breath I’ve been holding.
‘I leave tomorrow morning. I’d like to know your decision before I leave.’
‘I know my answer, I don’t need anymore time.’
‘What’s your decision?’
‘Yes.’
I’m in my mother’s arms. My father stands up and smiles. He hugs me. Imran congratulates me.
Farid asks me to give him my hand. I extend it out, not really paying attention. A cold, metallic feeling encompasses my third finger.
I feel as if I’m out of my body. I close my eyes. I open them. I look down. I have a ring on my hand.
I’m no longer a divorcee. I now belong to two families.
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