I could feel everything changing in my blood.
The day that I knew we were going in the completely wrong direction started off so normal that, when it did happen, I felt every single moment like a punch in the gut.
Brow sweating, I turned a whisk in the questionable contents of the saucepan. The gluttonous liquid inside, my attempts at a soup, bubbled and spluttered, doing an uncanny imitation of some dangerous marsh in the depths of uncharted Amazon.
Growing more worried by the second, I debated for only a moment before upturning two glasses of water over the mess, feeling like a witch over her large, black cauldron. The water formed a separate layer on top, unwilling to mix with the thick cement underneath. Alarmed, I whisked away with full concentrating. Unfortunately, when the contents did mix, the soup watered down so much that now, taking a moment to come to boil again, it splattered at the sides of the pan angrily.
“Damn and blast!” I cursed, throwing the whisk down and turning the heat off.
Dropping down on a stool, I reflected on my situation. Once again, the Gods of Holy Kitchen were showing me that I had nothing up my sleeve to appease them. They were still adamant the only edibles I ever made were going to be out of a box or can.
Granny had tried long and hard for me to get my shit together, spending several concentrated hours over our old gas stove to teach me that it was not okay to put salt by the spoonful, and that leaving something on the fire for too long generally resulted in unappetising, charred layers of burned previously-edible ingredients at the bottom of the pan.
I was hopeless.
Wiping hands on a dishcloth, I pushed clumps of sweaty hair off my forehead, wondering why I even attempted at something so wholly out of my league that even Tasha had the gall to wince at my expense.
“…and you have to promise to listen to me at all times,” Alexander was saying as he limped into the room, balancing on crutches. Just yesterday he had deemed himself well enough to get out of the wheelchair, barely a week after getting into it. The doctors did not share his enthusiasm; apparently, he did not share their pessimism either.
There I sat, watching him hobble forward as he looked over his shoulder to address whoever followed, sinking in deep morose thoughts of my repeated failures, when a thought struck.
Springing off the stool, I took only a second to dip a spoon in the soup. Balancing the dollop of orange liquid to prevent spilling any, I advanced toward him. Alexander, now having noticed my general direction, was watching with a wry look on his face.
“Here,” I said, thrusting the spoon forward. “Try this.”
He looked at the strange offering. “What is that?” Ella and Hannah bounded into the room after him, looking up at us with interest.
“Soup,” I answered. “Go on, try it.” I pushed the spoon forward some more.
He looked at me curiously. “What are you trying to do?”
I gritted my teeth. “Why do you have to act like such a baby? For the sake of heaven, eat it.” The spoon was dangerously close to his lips.
My irritation seemed to amuse him. He turned his head, asking, “Is it poisoned?”
“Don’t be such a douche,” I said. “It’s perfectly alright.”
“Then you eat it.”
I huffed. “I already have,” I said. “I want a second opinion.”
“On taste? Isn’t that the same for everybody?”
“You know nothing, Rodwell. Now don’t get on my nerves.” I was rapidly losing patience, pretending not to notice the girls inching away from us, identical looks of horror on their faces.
He looked like he would argue a bit more but then, on noticing my expression, opened his mouth and let me put the spoon in.
He closed his lips and swallowed. Then gagged.
“What in hell’s name is that?” he asked, opening his mouth and shaking his head as if to loosen the taste from his tongue.
I lowered the spoon and stepped back. Damn.
Twirling around with as much dignity as I could muster, I walked back to the kitchen, feeling my face blaze up. “Nothing. One of my meaner attempts, apparently.”
“Meaner?” he asked, incredulous. “You could bottle that thing as a biochemical weapon! How did you even manage to make something that foul?” Pause. Then, “Wait, what have you guys been eating all this time?”
Since we had been in his house, Clara had made sure to send something, or Granny had manned the kitchen, thus making it unnecessary for me to step into that hellhole of every house and embarrass myself.
Guess I should have continued staying away, I thought. Now he knew this about me too. I almost groaned.
It was on reaching the kitchen and placing the spoon in the sink that I became aware of the conversation happening in fiery whispers between Ella and Hannah.
“You ask.”
“No, you ask.”
“I ask all the time. I do everything. You ask. She’ll listen to you.”
“No, she won’t. She will listen to you. You ask.”
I turned around to find them both plastered against the back wall, Ella with her finger on Hannah’s chest as she said once again: “I told you, you ask.”
Sparing a curious glance for Alex—who smiled, to my surprise—I cleared my throat to get their attention. Their heads snapped around. “Alright. What is going on?”
Both of them descended into silence, looking at the other. Ella shook her head and lowered her head, adamant on not being the one to say it. Hannah was at a loss. She twisted a finger in the hem of her shirt, looking at every face in the room in turn.
“Hannah,” I said, growing impatient. “Speak up. What is it?”
Feeling my attention fixed on her—for I knew she was the softer target here—the girl bit her lip. Ella, judging the situation dire but still ready to sacrifice Hannah, pushed the other girl’s shoulder in encouragement. Hannah took a deep breath and forced herself to meet my eyes. “We—“ she cleared her throat, “—that is, Alex—he is taking us to the carnival tomorrow,” she finished in a rush, her eyes wide. “We went with Tasha, but that was ages ago! Can we go again?”
I stared at them. A dull throbbing started in my head.
“Alex, what is this?” I asked.
There must have been something curious in my voice for his previously smug smile dulled. He adjusted his grip on the crutches, letting his body lean back against a side table. “You heard the girl. They want to go to the carnival. And,” he risked a smile, eyes still doubtful, “since I am the most free here right now, I agreed to take them.”
I swallowed. For a long moment it seemed enough air would not fill my lungs.
I made myself look at Ella and Hannah’s expectant faces, their eyes too-bright and too-big, their heads leaning forward as if to urge me on. “Girls, will you please get Granny from her room and go down for a moment? I need to have a word with Alex.”
Both of their smiles fell. They looked at each other, unsure, before Ella stepped forward. “But can we go?”
“I need to think, Ella, please,” I said. “Just take Granny with you to the park. She has money. You can get ice-creams.”
“Mom—“
“Ella,” I said, turning around and grabbing the edge of the counter. My fingers felt numb. It’s not what I think. Everything is going to be alright.
There was silence behind, then the patter of feet. I twisted my head to watch the girls run out of the room.
We waited in silence for a minute, me refusing to turn around and look at him, him not saying anything for whatever reason he had.
Granny finally came out, rubbing her eyes, hair on the right squashed down. “What is this now, huh?” she asked, sleepy and annoyed.
“Take the girls down with you, please,” I said. I hoped my voice didn’t sound as odd to them as it did to me. I forced a smile. “Have some ice-creams or something, play on the swings.”
“Why the hell?” Granny wanted to know, now rubbing a hand over her face. “You take them.”
I sighed. Fixing her with an unmoving stare, I tried to imbue as much meaning as I could in my gaze. “Please.”
It seemed this was the moment she noticed the other, so far silent, person in the room. She stopped trying to drive sleep from her eyes and really looked, first at him and then at me. His incredulity and general lack of understanding of the situation was clear, but so was my fixed expression, eyes pleading with her to listen for once and not carry on.
After a long while, she sighed. “Come along, girls,” she said, patting Ella and Hannah, both standing on either side of her, on the back. “Go grab you things. Let’s go have some fun.”
It took five minutes for them to leave, five minutes for my thoughts to writhe in painful twists and turns, for my insides to die and be reborn, only to die again.
I could feel heat rising behind my eyes.
Granny and the girls made not a sound when they left. The ding of the elevator was what alerted me to the now relatively empty status of the apartment—but it need not have. The moment we were alone, I could feel the intensity of the blue-green eyes on me shoot up ten-fold.
“Are you okay?” His tone was still soft, neutral. I would have liked it better if he had demanded answers right away.
Clenching my jaw, I turned to face him. “What are you doing?” I asked. My voice came out in a hiss.
His brows dipped. Narrowing his eyes, he watched me closely, as if wondering what the hell was going on. As he should. As I would have if it had been me on the other side. “Standing?” he offered.
I took a shaky breath. “Why are you taking the girls outside?”
He looked bewildered. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting that. “What? I told you why. I was free—”
“You mustn’t make them get closer to you,” I said in a rush. My nails were digging into my palms as if seeking to hold my exploding brain together.
Darkness descended over his face. His lips thinned. “I don’t understand. I cannot do what?”
I let out a breath, feeling boneless—meaningless, a nothing. Lowering myself on the kitchen stool, I buried my face in my hands. “You can’t let them closer to you. They will miss you very much, and then they won’t want to go. Chris and Tasha are different. You are…” I stopped. The thickness in my throat was threatening to spill over.
Pause. “Go,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, “Go? Go where?”
I lifted my head. He was still by the table, but now his crutches were in his hands and thunder on his brow. If I didn’t feel as I did, I would have been affected. “We will be leaving, Alex. You know we will be leaving.”
He glared at me. Then the harshness around his mouth softened ever so slightly, in realisation. I swallowed. “You mean change houses,” he said. It was not a question. He was so sure he let out a rough laugh. “Of course you will. When you find one you like. That is not happening right away.”
I ran shaking fingers through my hair. “I don’t just mean the house, Alex. Will you please just listen? I mean,” I looked into his eyes, into his bright wonderful eyes now filled with something indescribable, “going home. Leaving this country. Going back.”
He blinked. There was a long pause. His knuckles around the crutches were white.
“Alex?” I said. Getting off the stool, I took a step forward, hand outstretched, as if I might touch him, comfort him.
His eyes flashed, letting me know he didn’t want anything from me. “There is nothing there for you,” he said.
I stopped. “Everything for me is there.”
“You can stay here. Make a new life. You have made a new life.” A vein popped on his temple. “Why throw it all away?”
My jaw clenched. “I want to go home. Every night I think about going back, about being where I am meant to be. This is not my home.”
His upper lip curled. “You won’t let it be your home. You won’t—”
“I am stuck in limbo here, Alex!” I shouted. Tears threatened to pool out of my eyes. “Ever since Frank has gone, I keep thinking about my family. My parents, my siblings. I have to go back. I have to know where they are, how they are. I have to.” I took a trembling breath, feeling everything collapse.
His expression was as hard as that of a marble statue—unsympathetic, unyielding. “What of the girls? They are happy here. This is their home. How can you do this to them?”
I lifted a finger. “Don’t you dare,” I hissed. “You think I don’t think about them? You think I don’t know what it will do to them?” I threw up my hands. “I do know! But do you think I can be of any use to them if I can’t pull myself together? If I don’t get closure? I am worse than useless right now. I can’t help them grow up, be anything, if I don’t have my shit in order. I am getting my shit in order.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. There the two of us stood, staring at the other as if the whole world did not exist. I wished I could tell him what this would do to me, what I would go through. But I couldn’t, for that would only make it worse. I had to let it go. I had to let everything go if I was to leave.
And I would leave. I had to. I had to go home.
Suddenly, he unwound. Where before he had stood by the table with his spine as stiff as an iron rod, his face expressionless and cold, now he slumped a little and shook his head. I watched with mounting surprise as he let out a short laugh. Then he adjusted his grip on the crutches and came toward me.
I didn’t do anything, helpless and uncertain, as he sat on a stool and gathered my hands in his. Looking into my eyes, a small smile on his face, he said, “Okay.” He rubbed a thumb across the back of my fingers. “I understand. You must go. You must do this. And something tells me you wouldn’t accept my help.” He cocked his head. “Isn’t that true?”
I didn’t say anything. He judged my silence as affirmation.
“Thought so. So there’s going to be a long while before anything happens. You don’t need to worry about it now. And maybe, by that time, we might…” He didn’t finish, just trailed off and watched me.
The breath in my throat was cold.
“You don’t have to think about it now. It will all be okay. It will be fi—”
“Asim proposed.”
And just like that, everything shattered. His fingers, gently massaging mine, froze over my chilled skin. The light in his eyes dimmed, then flared up with such vengeance that I pulled back. He didn’t let go of me; instead, his grip tightened.
“When?” he asked. His tone was flat, without feeling.
“Two days ago.” I took a short breath. “I am going to accept.”
His nails dug into my palms. “Why?” he asked, eyes flickering between mine.
My heart felt like a stone in my chest. “Because…” Because he offers marriage. Because he offers reassurance. Because he offers me a chance to be something, a part of a family.
Because he offers me a chance to go home.
It hadn’t taken Asim long to ask me. Of course it hadn’t. Where we came from, marriage was the first step in dating, if that even made any sense. But that’s just how it was, and it worked for most people. It was just how we were wired.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t continue.
His lips were so thin they were nothing more than a line. Suddenly, he leered. “Why can’t the girls get closer to me, Zara?” he asked.
I searched his face. “What?” We were still so close. Too close. I could feel the heat off his body, his breath on my face. I wanted to lean in, to cut the little distance between us and throw all caution, all planning, to the air. I bit the inside of my cheek.
“You said it was because you were going to leave. You said you didn’t want them to miss me. Tasha and Chris are close to them. Why only me? Why am I so special?” The mockery in his tone could have cut glass.
His amusement made my jaw harden. “Because they are just friends,” I said, voice stiff, wanting to get it out. I tried to pull my hands out of his. “You are—”
“What am I? Why am I different?”
“Because Ella sees you as—as—” I couldn’t finish. My shoulders were so tense they were starting to hurt.
“As what?” When I didn’t respond, he inclined his head. His lips curled further. “You are so scared. You will just not accept it. You will forever stay blind. I thought that was me, but you,” he laughed, “you are so very blind.”
I refused to speak.
He pulled my right hand up, softly, tentatively. Pressing his lips against my skin, he said, “You will continue to be blind.”
A shock ran up my spine. I wretched my hand away, this time feeling inhumanly powerful, and stumbled away from him. “I am not blind. I see everything.”
He straightened his head, his smile still in place. “Then why do this? Why do this to everybody? If you see it, and I see it, then why?”
My face was stone. His smile made something inside me stumble. Stumble and crash and trip over three flights of stairs before finally dying at the bottom.
“That’s just how it is,” I said, fighting to sound flippant. “That’s just how everything is.”
He stood up. The stool behind dragged against the floor. “That’s how you have made everything.”
And then he turned away.