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Ammi pauses, her hand stilling on my arm. She flashes both Faryal and Amira Khala stern looks. “Leave my daughter alone,” she demands.
I’m about to thank her when she grins. “She already has enough on her plate to worry about.”
That causes another round of laughter, and I want to sink into the floor. They’d never say the word sex out loud, but it’s annoying enough that they’re heavily implying it. I rip my arm out of Ammi’s grasp, ignoring her confused pout. I grab the bottle of coconut oil, then look for Hibba Baji. She’s standing in front of the vanity on the other side of the room, sifting through pieces of jewelry. “Hibba Baji!” I say, and she looks up at the sound of her name. I hold the bottle out to her. “Will you?”
She looks at me and our mother, but she ultimately puts the earrings down and comes over, taking the bottle from me and sitting down. She squeezes some into her palm, rubs her palms together, and then begins to massage my other arm, the one with Sarfaraz’s name. She moves the bangles out of the way and slathers my skin as quick as she can before letting the bangles cover the scripture up again. “The coconut oil’s going to make your skin super smooth,” Hibba Baji says, an encouraging smile on her face. I know she still thinks what I’m doing is wrong, but at least she’s being supportive. She looks from me to Ammi. “I remember when Ammi did this for me right before my wedding.”
“That was a special night.” Ammi sighs dreamily, her eyes glazing over like she’s returning to that time in her life. “But you cried so much.”
Kinza Khala laughs. “Can you blame her? Your mother-in-law’s house is very different from your mother’s house.”
Ammi snickers, as well. “It’s a good thing Maya is moving into her own apartment with Imtiaz after the wedding,” she says, rubbing my arm. I don’t look at her, but I don’t shrug her off, either. Ammi takes that as a good sign, giving me a gentle squeeze. “She’s much smarter than I was.”
My back stiffens, my breath hitching. I stay silent, hunching forward slightly as Hibba Baji moves from my arms to my legs. She pulls up my black shalwar to expose my skin. Hibba Baji, noticing my lack of response, quickly fills in, “I think what Maya is doing is great. You know, it’s not required in Islam for a woman to move in with her husband’s family. It is the woman’s right to ask for a home.”
Amira Khala clicks her tongue. “Yes, yes, that is all fair. But we mustn’t forget that in our culture, people would call Maya chalaak.”
Chalaak—the word means “too smart for your own good,” and it’s mainly used toward women who are trying to be themselves or voice their own opinions. “Canada isn’t Pakistan, Amira Khala. The mentality is different for people who grew up over there, like Imtiaz and I did.”
“Oh, yes, you kids growing up in the West, forgetting our culture,” she sneers, and I force myself to bite back the insult rising in my throat. Amira Khala has always thought that Ammi moving to Canada after her marriage and raising her children there would make us lose our culture. She always finds some way to dig at the country where I was born and raised, and it irritates me to no end.
“I’m not forgetting our culture,” I say through clenched teeth, trying to keep my voice as polite as possible. Hibba Baji flashes me a warning look, but I ignore it as I continue. “Just because I didn’t grow up with the air from this land in my lungs doesn’t mean that I don’t feel it in every breath I take. I live my life differently and as true to myself as I can.” I stress my tone as I add, “But that doesn’t mean I forget my values or look down on the people from here.”
Amira Khala sniffs at me. “I’m just saying, if you lived here, things would be different for you.” She shifts in place. “For example, are you quitting your job after you marry?”
My mouth puckers like I’ve eaten something sour. “Why would I do that?”
Kinza Khala stares at me. “But you’re going to quit after you have kids, right?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, hard. “No, Kinza Khala,” I tell her. “Again, why would I do that?”
“Because you love your children!”
I stare blankly at her. She’s talking about children who don’t even exist yet. “I’m sure whenever I do end up having children, they’re going to know how much I love them regardless of whether I’m working or not,” I say slowly. “Besides, why would I have to give up my work? You’d never ask Imtiaz to drop out of his residency to raise his kids.”
“Of course not, silly girl,” Amira Khala cuts in. “He’s the man.”
If I grit my teeth any harder, they’d break. “But because I’m the woman, I have to do it?”
“Exactly,” Amira Khala says, a pleased look on her face like she’s glad she got through to me.
Keeping my expression neutral, I carefully lock eyes with Ammi. My face may be calm, but she’s my mother; she can tell when I’m ready to explode. Ammi clears her throat. “Maya is not going to give up her work. She can find a balance.” She gestures to my sister. “Hibba found her balance perfectly.”
“Yes,” Hibba Baji says eagerly. “I still work, and my daughter knows how much I love her. Huzaifa works, as well. We found a good balance for the two of us.”
“But let’s not forget Maya is marrying a doctor,” Amira Khala argues. I can’t believe she’s still on this. “The workload is different. The expectations will be different. Maya’s life is going to be different.”
Maya’s life is going to be different. My khala’s words are true, but I’ve never wanted something to be false so badly.
My chest tightens, the walls of the room feel like they’re closing in. I can’t be in here anymore. I shoot to my feet, ignoring the looks of the people around me. “I need some air,” I explain.
“Maya, wait—” Ammi starts getting to her feet, as well.
I don’t wait for her to stand. I dash over to the door, grabbing a shawl off the hook next to it. “I won’t be gone long,” I promise. I twist the knob and pull it open. I pause, glancing over my shoulder. Thankfully, Ammi remains rooted in place, but her confused expression is going to be one that’ll haunt my nightmares. “I’ll be back soon. I need a second.”
With that, I close the door firmly and wrap the shawl around me, speed-walking down the dark hall. The last thing I want is for someone in the room to catch up with me when I’m not in the mood to speak to anyone. I need to calm my anger before I can face any of them.
I’m about to round the corner when the door I pass by opens. I flinch at the glaring white light, lifting a hand in front of my face. It takes a second for it to register that the figure stepping out of the room is Sarfaraz.
