53 Letters For My Lover (41 page)

It’s an old coat and a used umbrella, but I am giving her little pieces of my journey, two things that brought me the same kind of joy that I wish for her.

“I hate to interrupt, but everyone’s waiting.” Jayne walks in with her four year old in tow. “Look Sophia, doesn’t Natasha look beautiful?”

“She’s a mini-you,” I say, admiring her daughter. Red hair, an elfin nose spattered with freckles, and arresting green eyes.

“She might look like me, but inside? She’s a little devil. Nothing like her older brother.”

“Like I said, she’s a mini-you.” I laugh. “Why didn’t you bring her and Brady yesterday?”

“And risk them ruining that elaborate set-up you had?”

“The sofreh aghd?”

“Whatever you call the traditional Persian wedding spread. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“It was beautiful. And so was the ceremony. And it was all mum,” says Natasha, “But I’m glad it’s done. I just want to start my life with Nathan.”

“Awww.” Jayne and I move in to give her a hug.

“Careful, careful. We don’t want to smudge anything,” she says.

We laugh at what’s become her trademark line. From fashion shows to TV sets, to weddings to photo shoots, Natasha is renowned for her meticulous make-up and special effects skills.

“Where’s your maid of honor?” asks Jayne.

“Terri went to get my bouquet. She’ll be right back.”

Jayne looks around the room and sighs. “I’m so glad you chose to get married here. I remember this room like it was yesterday.”

I remember it too. Staring through the half-open door as Troy and Jayne kissed in front of this very window; dancing with him in the great hall after wards; the tipsy, barely-there kiss he left on my neck. All these years and I can still feel the ghost of its imprint.

“Wait till you see the sunken garden. It looks magical,” says Jayne. “Let’s get you seated, Shayda. Everyone’s waiting.” She picks up her daughter. “I’ll signal for your entrance, Natasha.”

Jayne and I walk through the meandering pathways to a cobblestoned area, shaded by a giant oak canopy. Green and yellow paper lanterns hang from the branches like bubbles full of bright, suspended wishes. Directly underneath the magnificent setting is the head table, with a punchy centerpiece of lemon & lime colored pinwheels, and mason jars glowing with candles.

“It couldn’t be more perfect,” I say to Jayne. “You’ve made her dream come true.”

“Just keep your fingers crossed that it doesn’t rain,” she replies, looking up at the gathering clouds.

I feel pacific blues on me as we enter, and can’t help but smile. The weather doesn’t stand a chance when Troy is around. He’s a gloom-dispersing dynamo, and he keeps getting sexier with the passage of time. The years have chiseled away the planes of his face so that the only points of softness are his lips, lips so sensual, no man should have them. The thick, rough tangle of his hair shows a liberal smattering of grey, and the years have etched crinkles in the corners of his eyes, but it only grips at my heart.

He clasps my hand as I take my place next to him, with Hafez and Zain standing on my other side.

“About time, Mrs. Heathgate,” he drawls.

My heart still takes a little leap everytime he calls me that.

We had a quiet ceremony at the cottage, a sunrise wedding by the ‘x’ on the beach, in our matching Beatles t-shirts. There was no exchange of rings—we had barbed wire tattooed around our fingers instead.

Maamaan sat in the front with Baba, Hossein and his family. She hmph’ed because it was too early and not traditional enough, but she wore a brand new hat with tall feathers that Bob had to part through to see what was going on. Elizabeth sat next to him, with Jayne, Matt and little Brady.

“Disgusting,” Jayne had said when I told her the truth.

Her best friend and her first crush.

“I’m sorry, Jayne.” I said.

“You should be. How could you waste all that time? I would have cavorted off with him that very first night. I mean, that body, those eyes.” She fanned herself dramatically. “So is he as good in bed as he’s reputed to be?”

“Jayne!”

“Come on! You
owe
me. Big time.”

Grace and Henry had welcomed me graciously into their family.

“We always knew it was going to take a very special gal to win his heart,” they said.

Hafez had attended with Marjaneh.

I smile at her across the family table. Hafez’s steady affection has done wonders for her self-esteem, and the kids have filled the void she felt about not having any children. She lavishes Hafez with all the nurturing she had locked up inside, and he, in turn, has been transformed. His limp from the accident is barely noticeable, and he walks taller now, as if a great burden has been lifted off his shoulders. Opening up to Natasha, Zain and the rest of the world about his past has been a liberating experience.

Troy and I set up the Haft Seen table with the kids every year, and invite Hafez and Marjaneh over. I added a figurine of them. It sits besides three others: the original one of our family, Ma’s broken one, and a new one of Troy and me. Next Nowruz, I will add Natasha’s and Nathan’s, and hopefully some grandkids soon. Each new addition, is like a new world, full of hopes and dreams. I finally understand Ma and her sparkling glass cabinet.

My heart swells as Natasha and Nathan make their way to the front. I never thought I’d live to see this day. Ten years is a damn long time in the cancer world. I remember passing the five year mark. 1,825 cancer free days. My doctor called it remission. I called it my bonus, my ‘more’, an extension to witness both my kids grow up, to see Hafez heal, to fall asleep in the arms of the beautiful man by my side—every freaking, unbelievable night. He’s my secret weapon, the love that fuels my ‘more’.

“No rock band t-shirt today,” he whispers. “They one-upped us.”

I laugh. Nathan has ditched his usual gear for a dashing grey suit, white shirt and a bright fuchsia tie that matches the sash on Natasha’s dress.

“Pink,” they said, while planning the big day. “For you, mum.”

“Can I get you
anything?” I ask Maamaan when lunch is served.

“You’re just checking in to make sure Baba and I aren’t at each other’s throats, aren’t you?”

“Not at all.” I smile. “I’m counting on Hossein to do that.”

“So far so good,” he reports. “We’ve put away all the sharp objects.”

Maamaan doesn’t look amused. “I still say Natasha should have married a nice Persian boy.”

“Oh please,” replies Baba. “Look what happened when you tried to marry Shayda to a nice Persian boy. And then you married Hossein to a nice Persian girl. No disrespect, Adele.”

“None taken,” she replies. “Did you see your ex, Hossein?” She points to Marjaneh. “Let’s go say hello.”

“You see? Now there’s a woman who is completely secure,” says Baba after they leave.

“Are you saying I wasn’t?” counters Maamaan.

“If I thought you were, I would have brought a date.”

“A date.” She rolls her eyes. “You mean an escort.”

“Um...here come the children.” I intervene. “Kayla, you watch grandma. Ethan, you watch grandpa. And Summer, see that pitcher of water? Don’t be afraid to use it if these two get out of control.”

They laugh. Even Hossein’s kids know that this is the best it’s going to get with Maamaan and Baba.

“Shayda.” Someone taps my shoulder.

“Farnaz! I’m so glad you made it. It’s been ages. Where’s Behram?”

“He’s talking to Hafez. How have you been?”

“Good. And you?”

“Busy. We just sold the first restaurant. You remember, the one on Pape?”

I laugh. “How could I forget? If it wasn’t for you guys and that place, I don’t know where we’d have gone.”

“It was nothing.” She shakes her head. “You have to come see the new place.”

“Still souvlaki and baklava?”

“It’s what we do best.” She laughs.

“Ladies and Gentlemen...” The announcement interrupts our conversation. “If you could all please take your seats. It’s time for the bride and groom’s first dance. We’d like to call Troy and Zain to the stage, please.”

Troy winks at me and accepts the microphone. I swear no man fills out a suit better than him. Today he’s wearing a bright yellow and green tie that matches my yellow dress and his larger than life personality.

“It’s the first color I saw you in,” he said, when we went shopping for a dress.

Zain sets himself up on a chair next to Troy, and starts strumming his guitar.

Natasha and Nathan take the floor, dancing to a fun, playful melody that Troy and Zain have written, especially for them. Between my husband’s sexy vocals, and my son’s stirring notes, I feel the seams of my soul start to come undone.

Hafez reaches for my hand across the table, as we watch Natasha dance with Nathan. Our little girl. His other hand clasps Marjaneh’s.

I like that we can sit like this—simply and honestly. Without static. In a strange way, the affair mended us. I fell off the pedestal Hafez had put me on. I became relatable. Real and human.

We have an infinite capacity to love, but when you wrap up your love and give it to someone, they expect all of it. And that’s what you think too—that you’re giving them everything you’ve got. You really do. Until you realize that love is end-less, bottom-less, boundary-less. The more you give, the more gushes out. It spills over, refusing to be contained in neat little parcels, swelling like a river after a flash flood. And in the end, it doesn’t matter which part was whose, because in the end it’s all one, like streams merging into the ocean. My love for Troy, my love for Hafez.

We clap as the song ends. Then Nathan gets his mother and Natasha grabs Hafez. The DJ takes over and Zain pulls me to the floor.

“That was beautiful,” I tell him. “I hope you’re taking notes, because you’re next.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” He laughs. He has those soulful puppy eyes that girls find irresistible. Goofy, but endearing at the same time.

“Mind if I cut in?” asks Troy, dancing up to us with Terri.

“Um...yeah. Sure,” Zain mumbles, but gives Troy a thumbs up when Terri isn’t looking.

Troy has always been his hero. Since the time he jumped into the lake after him.

“I want to do what Troy does,” he said when it was time to choose his college courses.

“Geek.” I can still hear Natasha’s reply. “He runs a multi-million dollar corporation. You should be so lucky!”

I watch her dance and smile.

“Are you happy, Shayda?” asks Troy.

“Don’t ask me...what you know is true...” I say as we glide through the dance floor.

“Is that your answer or are you just singing along?”

“I thought you like karaoke,” I tease. INXS’s ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ is playing in the background. “You asked me the same question at Jayne’s wedding.”

“And you didn’t give me an answer then either.”

I laugh. As if there is any doubting it now.

“You know your ears lift up when you laugh? The teeniest bit,” says Troy. “And if I watch real close, I can catch the hidden groove on your left cheek. But you have to be smiling really wide, cheshire-cat wide. like you are now, for that elusive sucker. It always hits me right in the chest—boom—when I score that one dimple.”

“I don’t have a dimple.”

“Natasha.” Troy turns to her as she’s gliding by with Nathan. “Tell your mum she has a dimple when she smiles.”

“Where?” She looks at me. “I’ve never seen a dimple.”

“Maybe it’s just for me then,” says Troy. “Like the roses.”

He nuzzles his face in my neck and takes a deep breath.

“You two are nuts, you know that?” says Natasha. “I hope we’re just as happy when we’re old.”

“Who’re you calling old? Forty-eight is prime time, right Beetroot?”

My breath still catches when he looks at me. I think maybe that was it. He always looked at me like he really saw me. Me, the empty woman with half eaten dreams and flaws and desires. And he filled me up.

He looks at me and I blossom, like a flower in the sun.

“Any age is prime time when I’m with you,” I reply.

He laughs and hands me over to Nathan. Then he sweeps Natasha off in a mad whirl.

“You think it worked?
” asks Troy, when we’re seated at the table.

“They’re still dancing,” says Ryan.

We watch Zain with Terri, Ryan’s and Ellen’s eldest. They’ve spent many summers together, but it’s just starting to turn into something more.

“They’re so shy, they need a little prodding,” says Ellen. Then she laughs. “I can’t believe we’ve turned into those matchmaking parents we swore not to become.”

“Well, I for one am glad that our efforts at matchmaking didn’t get too far.” Grace laughs. “I’ve never seen Troy so happy.”

“To think it all started by the sidewalk outside our home,” says Elizabeth.

“Hmph.” Maamaan butts in. “They crossed lines they shouldn’t have, and we all know it.”

There’s an awkward silence before Troy gets up and holds his hand out. “Dance with me, Mona.”

“How many time have I told you not to call me that? It’s disrespectful. I prefer Maamaan.”

“But it’s so sexy. Moan-ahh. Just like you. And if you weren’t so sour, you could have any man here on his knees with a wiggle of your hips.”

Maamaan’s jaw drops. I brace myself for what’s about to follow.

“Come on, baby,” Troy prompts her. “Let’s cha-cha.”

She doesn’t respond for a long, strained minute. Then she smiles, a big, flaky, completely un-Maamaan like smile and takes his hand.

“Well, I never...” Bob stares after them, completely gob-smacked.

The rest of the table erupts into laughter.

The photographer arranges us
before a cascading fountain: Natasha, Nathan, Zain, Hafez, Marjaneh, Troy and me. Now both sets of parents and step-parents with the bride and groom; then some mother and daughter portraits.

My favorite shot is the one of Natasha with all three of my men. Zain is standing behind her, on the ledge of the fountain, with his hands on her shoulders. Troy is on one side of her, and Hafez is on the other. It’s one of those moments that sears itself in your heart, where you realize that somehow, miraculously, through all the mistakes you make, through all the hurt and pain, happiness can still find its way through all the cracks in your heart.