Playing Dirty

Eleven

The shrill ringtone of Sam's phone pulled her from the depths of sleep. Disoriented, she rolled over, one hand groping in the dark for the offending phone, cursing when she accidently knocked over the paperback she'd been reading from the nightstand.

Finally, her fingers closed over the phone and she lifted her head to squint at the LED, groaning at the caller ID display, flopping back against the pillows as she brought the phone to her ear.

"Hello, Mummy." She croaked and cleared her throat. From the sounds of traffic coming from the speaker, Sam guessed her mother was in the car, probably on her way home from her shop.

"Why haven't you responded to my email yet?" As usual, her mother wasted no time in getting to the point. "And is it so hard to pick up a phone and call your mother once in a while, leh?

"But, I called you last week!" Sam protested, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She stole a glance at the illuminated digital clock on the nightstand and suppressed another groan.

Barely four in the morning and she had to deal with this. Not fair!

"So, I have been relegated to once a week calls? Is that what you Americans do now?"

Sam rolled her eyes at her mother's choice of words. It was always 'you Americans' when she wanted to guilt trip her offspring. Plus, it wasn't even up to a week since the last call. They'd talked on Saturday and today was Friday, so...technically, less than a week.

She kept that little tidbit to herself though, no need adding logs to an already burning fire.

"I'm sorry, I'll try to call more often."

That seemed to mollify her mother - for the moment.

"How is your brother? I hope he's not overworking himself at the hospital? I called him yesterday, but of course, the boy was too busy to talk to his mother..." Parvati heaved a sigh. "If I had known sending my children to America would make them forget simple family values, I would never have encouraged your father. Amir is no better, and that wife of his...I pray everyday for patience to tolerate..."

Sam pinched the bridge of her nose and prayed for patience herself as she listened to a litany of her sister-in-law's shortcomings - chief among those the fact that Chizzy Bhaat was not her choice of a wife for her first born son.

"Mummy, Chizzy is a wonderful girl," Sam replied and meant it. From the moment Amir had introduced the bubbly artist to Sam, the two got along really well.

"A wonderful girl whom your brother didn't even bring home first before marrying her? If she's so wonderful, why did he hide her from his family?"

Because you would have disapproved and found a way to discourage the marriage.

Again she refrained from pointing out the obvious. Seriously, was it too much to ask that she get a few extra moments of sleep before another loaded workday?

"Don't even think of pulling that stunt, you hear? My poor heart cannot bear another heartbreak. Find a nice, Indian man and bring him home, get married the proper way." Parvati ordered sternly. "I wish dear Zahir was still alive, but alas, we cannot question Fate."

"No, we can't." The mention of Zahir's name caused a tightening in her chest and her words came out shaky. She shut her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath which helped relieve some of the old ache.

As though sensing her change of mood, Parvati's tone softened. "How are you coping, Dearest?"

"I'm fine." Sam wiped at her damp eyes, forcing a cheerful lilt to her voice. "Been busy with work, but things are great."