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Ten months later, we had a major argument. My mom had found out about us again, that we were still "together". And she told me that she was so sick and tired of my antics that if this was what I wanted, she would walk right up to this guy's house and "give us her blessing" for marriage. She said there was no hope for me anymore.
She was livid, of course. But I was swelling with happiness. Maybe my attitude had actually wound up benefiting me for once.
But when I called him and told him what my mom was thinking, he was quiet on the other end of the line. Finally, he said, "You can't let your mom come here."
My expression turned quizzical although he couldn't see me, and there it was again. The telltale thump thump of my heart ready to take flight.
"What do you mean? Why?"
There was a sigh of frustration on the other side. "Because . . . damn it, Sarah. I haven't told my mom about you yet and—"
"Yeah, I met your cousin a while ago." My tone was accusatory. "Apparently she doesn't know much about me, either."
"Sarah, come on. I need some more time. You can't do this to me."
"Do what?" My heart had taken off, and it was flying through dangerous territory. "Marry you?"
"I need time. I need to figure out how to tell my parents, okay? Just give me some time."
I had ended the call without responding, and immediately the pacing and the lip biting started. Maybe I shouldn't have cut the call. I should have listened. Given him another chance to explain, maybe.
I picked up the phone again, ready to dial his number, but then I remembered the anguished tone of his voice and put the phone back. My knee bounced up and down. My palms began to sweat.
During this time, Imama called me. She did that sometimes—call at random moments to check up on me.
I furrowed my brows at the screen, too worked up to answer a call from someone I didn't even consider a close friend.
A few minutes later, Zunair's name flashed on the screen. I rushed to answer.
"Sarah? Look, I—I can't."
My heart stopped midair, halting in its descent. "Can't what?"
