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“Why is it for some reason?” Dr. Khan questions. “Usually, that reason is because he loves you. Does Imtiaz not love you?”
“He...does,” I say, though I don’t know how true that statement is. He’s said it to me, but sometimes it feels like it’s more out of obligation than anything, or else it feels platonic. “Plus, love isn’t always necessary in brown marriages. My mom always told me she fell in love after she got married.” I set my jaw. “Not that it did her any favors when Dad left.”
“Your dad may have left, but from what you’ve told me, it seems like she managed just fine raising two daughters,” Dr. Khan points out.
A smile graces my face. “Oh, yeah, she did a great job. My mom worked two jobs to keep the lights on and keep us fed. And even despite working all the time, she still found time to come to school events and spend time with Hibba Baji and me. She had to put providing for us first, yes, but she also prioritized being present in our lives. It must’ve really worried her to think that I was going to end up alone as I got older and had no success in finding a husband.”
Dr. Khan tilts her head. “And what’s so wrong with being alone?”
I snort. “You’re kidding me, right?”
When she stares at me in an I’m-not-kidding way, I gnash my teeth. “Dr. Khan, in the desi community, if you don’t get married, there’s something wrong with you.”
“What could possibly be wrong with someone not wanting to be married?” she asks.
“It reflects badly on you and your parents. My mom already doesn’t have the greatest track record in our community thanks to the whole spousal-abandonment thing. Do you know the kind of rumors people spread about her?” Heat rushes to my face. “That my mom was a cheater, that she was so annoying she drove him away, that there was something wrong with her for a man to have left her alone with two young daughters.”
I clench my hands into fists, my nails biting into the soft skin of my palm. “All of that aside, I just don’t want to be alone.” I sink back into the cushiony couch. “As much as I hate when she’s right, Hibba Baji mentioned once that Ammi isn’t going to be around forever, and I can’t stick to my sister’s side. She has her own family, and I want one, too, someday. And I don’t want to do it alone.”
Dr. Khan clicks her pen. “I think before you start worrying about other people loving you, you should consider loving yourself.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “I love myself.”
She gives me a dubious look. “When was the last time you did something for yourself?”
“I gave my mom a head massage yesterday.”
“And how was that something for you?”
“It meant I had a couple hours of quiet while she napped on the couch.”
I expect Dr. Khan to be upset with me because I am very obviously dodging her question, so I’m surprised to see her curl her lips inward while her breath hitches, like she’s trying hard to keep a laugh in. After a beat, she’s back to being professional. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. Be serious, please.”
I set my jaw. “I’m doing absolutely fine. I’m going to Pakistan in a couple of days. I’m having a destination wedding. I’m getting married. I’m the happiest I could ever be.”
Dr. Khan leans back in her seat. “Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?”
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Just as a stutter bursts from my throat, the timer on Dr. Khan’s phone goes off, signaling the end of our session. Dr. Khan sighs, but she presses Stop on the alarm.
I get to my feet before she can speak. “I’ll book another appointment when I get back from Pakistan.” I don’t make eye contact as I gather my things. “But I’ll be so wrapped up in postmarital joy that I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again.”
“That’s fine,” she assures me. “I hope all goes well with the wedding.”
“Thanks,” I mumble in her direction. I grab my purse and head for the exit.
Dr. Khan’s voice stops me at the door. “But remember this, Maya,” she says. I steel myself, then look over at her.
She offers me a kind look, her fingers laced together. “No one is incapable of love, but we all have the ability to sabotage our own happiness, even if we don’t realize it.”
2
Maya’s Law # 2:
Always hide how you really feel.
There’s truly no sound worse than a six-year-old crying.
It’s like your neighbor’s lawnmower going off at 9 a.m. after you stayed up all night doing an assignment. It’s like closing your fridge door and hearing something fall inside. It’s like driving over something and hearing your tire pop.
