I stare down at the proferred hand. I'm frozen.
I KNOW I should shake his hand, however, I can't seem to get my arm to obey the command my brain is signaling it to.
I finally notice… the back of his hand is lightly brushed with blond hair.
oh God, not another ½ n' ½ !!!
Been there, done that, got the t-shirt!
So, instead of a handshake, I offer up, 'The hell you are!'
I slowly lift my head up at his deep laughter. I'm annoyed and its not a pleasant feeling.
'A fiery personality, you'll make a lovely wife. One, I bet won't ever allow her husband to grow bored. Good..good, I like that.'
'Did I mention how much I abhor modesty in men?"
Again, laughter…'No, I don't think you mentioned it before, however, I concur.'
Personally, I'm starting to think that manners are highly overrated! Did I mention that my hands very itchy!?
I feel the cold air before I hear the French doors open. I turn my attention to the suit walking through the door.
'Mate, good of you to join us, Gulzar here thought you may have permanently suctioned your bum to the seat of her mum's loo!'
Damn him! I didn't think anything of the sort…ok well maybe. I begrudgingly admit that was funny, albeit to myself.
I feel the smile creep up.
Great, now even my responses are controllable! Ooh how I'm so going to enjoy hating him.
Yes, I've got it, I'm going to hate him, utterly, completely, totally. There, I feel better.
'If that's what's going through your future begums mind, then you've got more problems than even I can help you with.'
WOW! Imran can not only contribute to a conversation, he's even funny! Who would have thought it possible!
I smile again. DOUBLE DAMN! OOH hold up…
'Pardon me gentleman, future begum?'
They both look over at me and smile from ear to ear. So, this must be what it felt like for the American Revolutionary soliders as they watched the British Redcoat armies advancing.
Sheer, utter terror. FRACK, I like him!
'Beti, idhar aho. Aapse baat kar ne hain.' (Sweetheart,come here, I'd like a word with you)
'Jee daddy' (Yes,dad)
I hear a male voice chidingly pass the comment, ' Did your future shehzadi (princess) just say daddy? Oh boy you've definitely got your hands full with that one!'
I look back into the room with a look that would fry the rawest of eggs to overdone.
His response? He's showing teeth and his smile rivals that of Alfred E Neuman from Mad Magazine!
Did I mention how much I abhor cockiness?!
'Beti, do you want to go to dinner with Farid?'
'Yes, daddy,' I respond.
'Good,' daddy responds.
Simple, to the point and baffling to me. Why am I such a sadist?
Dad walks into the formal sitting room and asks me to take a seat. I sit next to dad and I have his hand wrapping mine. I look down and then up at dad's face. His arm is cold and fluttering ever so lightly. I realize how selfish I've truly been.
Suddenly,within that split second, I've grown and matured. No matter how hard this is for me, I realize for a father to welcome a man into his home and to potentially allow his child to interact with that strange man is infinitely harder.
My eyes are moist and I feel as if I've swollen a rock. I look over at Rishta Candidate #2 and see that though he's listening to dad, his brow is furrowed and his vision encompasses both dad and I.
Suddenly, everyone is back in the room and plans are being made for us all to meet for dessert after Farid and I finish dinner.
I'm in the front foyer and as I feel myself propelled up the staircase, I can't seem to forget the coldness in dad's hand and I turn around searching for my Wali.
Ten minutes later, I'm in Western clothes and saying my 'khuda haffiz' to various family members. Dad hands me my phone and I spontaneously hug him. I blink rapidly because though I'm wanting this experience, I also want to assure myself that the man who taught me how to ride a bicycle is ok.
I smile, dad smiles back. I walk out the door.
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