That stopped Malik in his tracks. He turned to gawk at me. ‘Since when have you been interested in races or charity? First, a master’s, then marriage and now this? You need to tell me what’s going on and don’t feed me some Eat Pray Love BS, all right?’
With a sigh of resignation, I told Malik about Noah and the list, ignoring his chuckles and eye rolls.
‘It all makes sense now,’ he laughed. ‘I’ve been telling you to live a little for years and you’ve never listened. And then some good-looking guy comes along and suddenly you’re adventurous?’
‘Hey, it’s not because of him! I was inspired by his list, that’s all.’
Malik shrugged. ‘Whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re trying new things.’
As Malik jogged away, leaving my novice self far behind, I turned on the Couch to 5K app and listened to the narrator’s soothing voice coax me into a fast walk and then a slow jog for thirty seconds. At first, it wasn’t too bad. I completed the half-minute jog easily enough. OK, everything wobbled and I should have tied my hair back, but if this was what running was all about, it was relatively easy. The sun began to rise soon after I started running so I stopped and watched the sky turn from coal to flames. It was magnificent and I couldn’t help but smile, despite my parched throat and throbbing bones. Maybe this waking up at dawn business wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.
It got harder the second time though and as my boobs leapt around in my completely inappropriate balconette bra and my heels pounded against the concrete pavement in my flimsy Converse, I realised that I was totally ill-equipped for this. By the third time I started running, my knees were aching and I was certain that my right boob hit my chin at one point. If I was going to do this, I needed to invest in some proper running gear. By this stage, Malik had lapped me at least four times and then told me he was going to head home. As desperate as I was to give up and join him, I waved him goodbye and ploughed on.
Despite the discomfort and aches, I felt a steely sort of calm take over me, even when it began to rain. Out here, at this hour, there was no Noah, no list, no Sheila, no impending marriage. Just me, the breeze, the raindrops and the adrenaline urging me to go on. By the time I started hobbling back home with blistered feet, I was shattered but exhilarated.
‘Wow, you did it!’ Ma exclaimed in surprise when I stumbled through the front door like a wet, bedraggled cat. ‘I didn’t think you would.’
‘I’m so tired,’ I gasped as I filled a glass with cold water from the tap and gulped it down. ‘But I’m glad I did it.’
‘Well done, jaan,’ Ma gave me a little hug. ‘Go and have a shower and get ready for work, I’ll make you some breakfast.’
Malik had already left the house, thank God, so there was no one to fight over bathroom time with. I showered away all the sweat and grime and managed to change into one of my many outdated shirt and trouser combos reserved for work before heading downstairs. My legs were throbbing in exhaustion and they wobbled with every step I took. I found Ma waiting for me at the dining table, a plate of masala omelette and paratha at my usual place setting, as well as a cup of tea and a glass of juice. For the record, my mum never made me breakfast on a weekday. In fact, she rarely made me one on the weekend. For starters, she was too busy, always rushing out to the school she worked at before I came downstairs. And even if she wasn’t, I’m old enough to sort myself out. Having said that, different rules seemed to apply to my brother, who always managed to wangle a breakfast out of our poor Ma.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked warily, sitting down at the table and eyeing the plate of food like it might have been laced with arsenic.
‘Does something have to be going on for me to make my favourite daughter some breakfast?’
‘Why aren’t you at work?’ I tentatively tore off a piece of the buttery paratha and tried it with the spicy eggs. It tasted normal. Divine, in fact. My stomach rumbled in agreement and I pushed aside my reservations as I shovelled the rest of it into my mouth.
‘I’ve got an appointment this morning. I’ll go to school after. I thought I’d use the opportunity to have a quick chat.’
Ah ha. Here it was. The big reveal and reason behind the special treatment I was receiving.
And then it hit me.
Ma had an appointment.
She had cancer.
I knew it. I could feel it in my bones, as real as my heartbeat and the blood pounding in my ears.
That’s why she had taken the morning off; she had an oncology appointment. That’s why God had pushed me into signing up for Race for Life. She’d been looking a bit tired lately, but being the self-absorbed, horrid daughter that I was, I carried on with my life like I was the only thing that mattered. Water filled my eyes as the magnitude of what was unfolding began to take hold of me.
‘What stage is it?’ I choked out as the tears spilt over.
Ma looked at me, startled. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘Tell me what stage, Ma! I need to know how much time we have left.’
My mum rolled her eyes, her stoicism shocking me into silence. How could she be so calm? It must have been caught early for her to react like that. But then, Ma hardly ever cried. When my grandfather passed away, she went silent and withdrew into herself and if she cried, it was in private because I never saw her tears. I sat there, gulping and hiccupping as snot mixed with tears dripped down my face, while she watched me like I was a complete crazy person.
‘Calm down, Maya,’ she said, trying to be patient. ‘There’s no need to be so dramatic. It’s still at the early stages.’
I took a deep breath to steady myself, before reaching for some kitchen towel and blowing into it. It was just like my mum to play it down. ‘OK, that’s good news,’ I rasped. ‘What type is it? What’s the course of action?’
‘Why are you calling him “it”? That’s a bit rude. Like I said, it’s early days, so the next step would be to arrange a meeting, I suppose.’
‘What sort of meeting? Like treatment, you mean?’
Ma frowned at me. ‘You’re not making much sense, Maya. Why would you need treatment?’
‘I know I don’t need treatment; I’m talking about you!’ I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in exasperation. Why did my mum always have to be so evasive? Why couldn’t she answer my questions, instead of talking in riddles?
‘Me? Maya, I don’t understand what you’re saying. Why would I need treatment?’
‘Because you have cancer?’
Ma looked startled then. ‘Cancer? What on earth are you talking about? I don’t have cancer!’
‘You just said you did. You said it’s at the early stages!’
‘Honestly, Maya, sometimes I wonder if all this is because you used to fall out of the bed all the time as a child. I don’t know where you got cancer from. I wanted to talk about the boy, the one your chacha suggested for you.’
‘What about him?’ If I was confused before, by then I was feeling utterly bewildered. How had we gone from my mum being diagnosed with cancer to a potential marriage prospect?
‘We sent them your biodata and they want to arrange a meeting. That’s all. No one has cancer, Alhamdulillah. Jesus.’
That was a first. Allah and Jesus both used to convey exasperation.
