‘Hang on, I haven’t gotten engaged yet and you’ve already turned me into a mother?’
‘It wasn’t me who said it, it was your pelvic floor.’ For some reason, we all found this line utterly hilarious and we laughed and laughed until tears streamed down our faces, our sides ached and black mascara streaked our cheeks.
‘What on earth’s going on in here?’ Ma surveyed us from the doorway to her room, a horrified expression on her face.
‘Pretty wet herself on your bed, Chachi,’ Pinky said with a straight face and I started laughing again.
‘I love you guys,’ I said, my mood suddenly switching to the opposite end of the spectrum. ‘I really do. Preets, I’m so happy for you. I can’t wait to meet Yahya.’
We spent hours discussing what Pretty’s wedding should look like (understated, elegant, with traditional touches like a paan stall, masala tea and Bengali music as well as Bollywood music). We spoke about Yahya and all the things she liked about him (smart, great timekeeping, kind) and what she was worried about (navigating in-law dynamics, the wedding night).
‘Our whole lives we’re taught not to go near the opposite sex,’ Pretty complained as we sat on my bed with a box of chocolates that was growing lighter by the minute. ‘The fear of God, tales of destroyed reputations and the warnings about the gossip mill are drilled into us so deep that until recently, I could barely make eye contact with a guy I fancied.’
‘You’re so extra. I have no problem making eye contact, as long as that’s the only contact going on,’ Pinky butted in.
‘My point is,’ Pretty continued, ‘it’s all well and good until we have to get married and then we’re expected to jump into bed with him! How are we supposed to go from zero to one hundred in one moment?’
‘That’s why it’s better to get the nikah done earlier than the actual wedding and walima,’ I said. ‘That way you’re married Islamically and you can take your time getting to know each other the halal way, building up to your actual wedding night.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Pretty said. ‘That’s it. I’m going to tell my parents that I want the nikah at least three months before the wedding.’
It was nearly two in the morning when the twins left, yawning as they climbed into an Uber. It wasn’t until I was in bed that I took my phone out for the first time that evening. I had messages from Lucy and Dina and also one from Noah, asking if I was free to meet up on Sunday.
As I texted Noah back, a knot of guilt formed in my belly. Meeting him again after the connection I felt with Zakariya the night before felt wrong on so many levels. But Zakariya was leaving and more importantly, I reminded myself, he had met someone else. My heart constricted at the mere thought:
MAYA: Hey Noah, sorry for the late text, had a really busy night. Sure, I’m free to meet for a bit if we keep it local and it’s not too early or too late xx.
I fell asleep immediately after sending the text and despite everything plaguing my mind, I slept so deeply that I didn’t wake up until nearly noon the following day, completely missing the dawn prayers. As always, I checked my phone before I fully opened both eyes. Nestled among all the notifications about the picture of the meal I had posted the night before was a reply from Noah:
NOAH: How does coffee, cake and a walk in Southgate sound? 3pm?
When I went downstairs, I found Malik in the living room in his PJs, a half-eaten bowl of Frosties on his lap. I guess I wasn’t the only one who had woken up late. I scowled at him – a waste of time and facial muscle movements since he didn’t bother looking at me – and made my way to the kitchen to pour my own bowl of cereal. Reaching for the box on top of the fridge, it felt oddly light so I checked inside to find it empty bar one, lone flake. Trying to contain my annoyance, I had no choice but to go for the Shreddies instead. But when I went to get milk from the fridge, there was only a splash left in the bottle.
Now I was livid. I felt the rage bubble up inside me, threatening to boil over. I began to slam cupboard doors as I looked for bread to toast instead. I was so angry at my brother for spending his entire life as a pampered king and then having the nerve to call me a burden! I was furious with him for sneaking around with my friend and lying to my face about it. I was fuming at the way he was wasting her time and refusing to commit. Banging a plate onto the counter, I buttered my toast like I was flaying a prisoner, Ramsay Bolton-style, working myself up into a real rage. I never usually reacted like this. Pre-notebook, I had been the most passive, unconfrontational person. But something had shifted inside me and I could no longer bear the burden of his—
‘BULLSHIT!’ I shouted in the kitchen at the top of my lungs. Leaving my decimated toast on the countertop, I stormed into the living room, the almost-empty milk carton in one hand and the barren Frosties box in the other.
‘Is it SO hard to throw empty containers in the recycling bin, KING MALIK?’ I all but screamed his name at him and he stared at me, flabbergasted, like I had morphed into a dragon right before his eyes.
‘Calm down,’ he eventually drawled, taking a spoon of his cereal. ‘It’s not that deep.’
‘Oh, of course it’s not deep for the person who tramples over everyone like we’re insignificant bugs!’ I replied, feeling the veins in my neck bulging from built-up tension and fury. ‘Yet I’M the burden, right? Me, who scrubs every inch of this house until my hands are sore!’
‘Yeah, so what? I do other stuff, so stop bloody screaming at me! What are you, on your period or something?’
‘YOU BEHAYA! BESHOROM! BIADDOB!’ I shouted in Bengali, completely losing it. ‘You’re so shameless! Mannerless!’ With that, I threw the milk carton at him, hitting him square in the head.
‘Oi! Have you gone crazy?’ my brother shouted back at me, rubbing his head like the weasel that he was, as if an empty milk carton was really going to inflict proper pain. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Calm the hell down!’
‘You’re what’s wrong with me!’ This time I threw the cereal box at him, Frosties crumbs flying everywhere, but I was too angry to control myself, even though somewhere deep beneath the lava I knew that it would be me who would have to clean it all up. As usual. AS USUAL! These thoughts stoked the fire that was now burning rampant.
‘Your selfishness! Your entitlement! The way you get every little thing you want!’
‘Are you bloody kidding me?’ Now he was shouting at me. ‘How do I get everything I want? I’m the one in the shitty box room, not you, when I’m the one who pays for stuff. Yeah, you clean and help Ma, big deal! I’m the flipping family Uber driver! You swan into my room whenever you want, waking me up and making me drive you to places at dawn. And I’m the one who’s selfish? Book a bloody taxi, you lazy, cheap git!’
We were both screaming at each other so loud that my face was sweating and my throat hurt – my voice was on the brink of disappearing. Malik was no better off than me – at one point his eyes looked like they were going to fall out of his head.
And then I burst into tears, hating myself more as the tears streamed down my scarlet cheeks. ‘Do you know what it’s like, being the daughter no one wanted and the sister of the son that everyone reveres?’
‘It’s all in your psycho head,’ he shouted at me, unmoved by the huge droplets of water that were spilling down my face. ‘You’ve got issues, Affa. And it’s nothing to do with me!’
‘It’s not in my head!’ I sobbed. ‘Even Ma agreed that it was true and she apologised for it! Why can’t you see it? Do you have any idea what it’s like for everyone to comment on my “dirty” complexion, feeling sorry for me that it’s not as “clean” as my brother’s? Do you know how many times I’ve heard people say what a shame it is for the looks to go to the boy when he doesn’t need them?’
Malik stopped pacing the room and turned towards me. ‘Are you serious?’ he said quietly, as though hearing this had made the fight leave his body. ‘Who the hell said that? Are they stupid?’
‘It was the same at school! The only time someone wanted to be my mate was when they wanted to get closer to you. And then I finally made a friend at work and what do you do? You go and steal her from me!’
Malik looked uncomfortable and without him shouting back at me, fuelling my fire, I suddenly felt exhausted. Collapsing onto the sofa, I held my throbbing head in my hands, my throat so sore and dry that I couldn’t swallow.
And then my brother did the most unexpected thing. He sat down next to me, put his arm around me and said sorry.
