53 Letters For My Lover (5 page)

He pulled a camera out of his backpack, looking for someone to take their photo. I started getting up, but an elderly gentleman intercepted. The roller skating duo removed their helmets and leaned in. I saw the backs of their heads as they held still for the camera. Suddenly, the guy scooped the girl off her feet. She squealed and threw her arms around him, half delighted, half terrified. I hoped that was the moment the camera captured. They thanked the man for taking their picture and took off, hand in hand.

That’s what I wanted. Him. Them. Someone I could walk with, and laugh with, and hold hands with the rest of my life. I had my sign. I smiled and got up.

Maamaan had called while
I was away, and
Khaleh
Zarrin was happy to regale Hafez’s parents with the latest gossip from home. Kamal Hijazi looked disinterested. He was a small man who picked at the motor grease under his nails and spoke only when he had to. His wife, Nasrin, had a round face and a thick neck. She breathed heavily as she regarded me over her cup.

Hafez sat across from me. His face was reserved and so perfectly symmetrical that I found myself staring. He reminded me of the imported bars of chocolate that sat behind locked shelves in Tehran, the kind that Baba would get for Hossein and me if we’d been very, very good. His hair was the color of cacao beans, roasted and husked, and he wore it slicked back from his face, leaving his eyes in stark focus. They were sweet and intoxicating, but with a bitter aftertaste, like two round drops of dark liqueur. He knew he was being paraded and cool resentment rolled off his caramel skin like the layers of shiny packaging we ripped off our chocolate bars when we finally got our hands on them.

When I caught him checking his watch for the third time though, he looked suitably contrite. I shrugged. It wasn’t exactly a picnic for me either. After that he stole small sips of glances. When
Khaleh
Zarrin’s neighbour stopped by, he said hello, but his eyes came right back to me, as if he hadn’t noticed her starlet red lips or juicy cleavage. At dinner, we sat side by side, painfully aware of being scrutinized—him by my aunt, me by his mother, us as a couple.

“Why don’t we let the kids clear up?” said
Khaleh
Zarrin after we were done.

“This is so awkward,” I mumbled when we were alone.

“Your first time?”

I nodded.

“My third,” he said. “It gets easier.”

Our fingers touched as we reached for the same bowl. We jumped back simultaneously. I liked his laugh and the way he looked when he let his guard down. It was as if a little boy had been frozen under lock and key, and he was finally free to come out and fly kites and build sandcastles. I was so taken with the transformation that I didn’t notice the rice dish by my side, and elbowed it right off the table. It shattered on the floor with a loud crash.

“Shayda? What was that?”
Khaleh
Zarrin asked from the living room.

It was one of her favorite dishes, part of a set she had shipped from Iran. I stared at the pieces, horrified.

“Sorry,” replied Hafez, after a tense silence. “I broke one of your dishes.”

There was a pause.

“It’s okay, dear,” said
Khaleh
Zarrin. “I guess Shayda will just have to keep you out of the kitchen.”

We heard laughter from the living room.

‘Thank you,’ I mouthed.

The teasing went on. I turned a bright shade of red as Hafez helped me clean up the mess.

When he proposed two weeks later, I said yes. It wasn’t until much later that he told me he’d never intended to get married. We both had our reasons—mine was my family, waiting in the wings for a new life, and his were the ghosts he was trying to keep at bay.

August 3rd, 1982

A week after we
set the date,
Khaleh
Zarrin took me to see Dr. Gorman. He gave me three discs.

“These are samples. Use one pill every day for twenty eight days. When one pak finishes, start the next. Understand?”

I nodded. “Do I insert them in the morning or at night?”

Dr. Gorman looked at me as if I had just landed from another planet.

“My dear.” He smiled. “You don’t insert anything. These are to be taken orally. Swallowed, like this...” He opened his mouth and pretended to drink a glass of water.

I turned scarlet. How naïve of me to assume that everything to do with babies had to do with down there.

“Here’s a prescription. Get it filled before you run out.”

“Thank you.”

I found
Khaleh
Zarrin waiting for me outside. She gave me a sly wink and slapped my bum.

“Now buy me some mint tea and I will tell you how to drive your
jaan
wild.”

How different she was from Maamaan.

October 9th, 1982

My first night with
Hafez, I didn’t use any of the advice
Khaleh
Zarrin had given me.

I had moved into his parents’ place, a crowded one bedroom apartment. Hafez usually slept on a mattress, but they had bought a pull-out couch for the living room, and made a great fuss presenting it as our wedding gift.

“We won’t be disturbed,” said Hafez.

“Can we...” I fumbled. “Can we wait until tomorrow?”

I was exhausted. It had been a long day.
Khaleh
Zarrin had been the only familiar face. I felt like I was being swallowed in a sea of strangers.

“Of course.” He looked almost relieved. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I replied.

I wished he would put his arm around me, but he slept facing the other way. I missed my cozy pajamas. It felt strange lying on the lumpy couch in the silk nightgown that Maamaan had sent. I held my hand out in front of me and surveyed the gold band around my ring finger. My skin glowed orange from the street lights.

I’m a Mrs., I thought.

October 10th, 1982

Hafez woke me around
dawn.

“I have to leave.” He was already dressed for work. “I’ll call you. Around noon?”

I nodded self-consciously. It was the first time he had seen my morning face.

“Just one thing...”

I thought he was going to kiss me, but he held up a box cutter and sliced his finger.

“What—?”

“Shhh.” He squeezed until a stream of liquid red pooled to the surface. “It’s not deep. Make sure Ma sees this, okay?” He rubbed the blood on the sheet. “I’ll see you in the evening.”

I reached for him, this man who had cut himself to prove my honor, no questions asked. I took his bleeding finger into my mouth and sucked it.

He drew a sharp breath. “That’s not...necessary.” But he let it stay, regarding me with soft, thoughtful eyes.

“We don’t have all day,” Kamal Hijazi snapped from the door.

Hafez flinched. It was an odd relationship. Father and son barely spoke to each other, but they went to work together every day.

Ma woke up a few hours later. She told me to call her ‘Ma’ and Hafez’s father ‘Pedar’, just like he did.

“We your parents now,” she said.

I debated about making her breakfast, but didn’t know what she liked or where to find it, so I pretended I was still sleeping.

“Today, I will show you,” she said. “After, you make the breakfast every day for us.”

She insisted on speaking English with me.

“It good for my learn,” she explained over lavash with feta cheese and fig preserves.

I washed the dishes as she made up the couch. After a while, she came and kissed me on both cheeks.

“Good girl. We must do laundry.” She laughed and held up the blood stained bed sheet.

By noon, we were ready to receive Hafez’s cousins and aunts. They were immaculately dressed in shoulder-padded blouses, with big hair and bright lipstick.

“Nasrin!” They hugged Ma.

The younger ones pulled me aside.

“So?” They teased. “How was it? Your first night?”

“I’ll go get the tea.” I excused myself.

“She’s shy!” They laughed.

I poured sweet tea in glass teacups and served it with a tray of cookies.

“We know Hafez and Kamal have to work, but it’s Thanksgiving weekend and we were hoping you’d join us for lunch.” The aunts informed me.

I glanced at Ma. Lunch meant money, and I had none.

“Farnaz and Behram own a restaurant. You must go,” she said.

“What about you?” I asked.

“
Khaleh
Nasrin doesn’t like to go out,” said Farnaz, one of Hafez’s cousins. “The doctors say it’s her heart.”

“I don’t like go out because I don’t want put feet in shoes,” said Ma, pointing to her swollen ankles. “You go.”

We squeezed into Farnaz's
car after saying goodbye to Ma. Farnaz insisted that I sit in front with her.

She slid me a sly glance. “I can’t imagine getting much privacy in that place. When are you off for your honeymoon?”

“We haven’t planned anything. Pedar says the shop is too busy.”

“It will always be too busy. Hafez is his best mechanic. You don’t think he’s just going to let him go, do you? You’ll have to fight for him, my dear.”

She pulled into a parking lot behind a Greek restaurant.

“You’ve met my husband, Behram.” She waved to him as she led us to a table.

“
Salaam
.” He greeted us, looking a little flustered. “
Jaan
,” he said to his wife, “I could really use your help. We’re short staffed.”

“What happened to the girl we hired?” asked Farnaz. “She was supposed to start today.”

“She never showed.”

Farnaz rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with plates full of souvlaki sticks, pita bread and salad.

“Eat up, ladies. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

“You need help?” I asked.

“Sit down,” hissed one of the girls. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

“Oh.” I took my seat and lowered my head.

Uncomfortable seconds ticked by. When I looked up, they were all rolled over, trying to keep themselves from laughing.

“Welcome to the family,” said the one on my left, ribbing me with her elbow. “We’re the not-so-serious side.”

“Let the poor girl eat,” said Farnaz’s mum. She filled my glass with water. “I thought I would see Mona at the wedding. How is she?”

“Maamaan is fine. They couldn’t get their papers on time.”

“Tell her Farideh sends her regards. I visited your summer home many times when I was there.”

“You did?”

“Yes. And what a grand place it was. Your mother threw the most lavish garden parties. And you father...” She laughed. “A handsome devil with a silver tongue. You must have been very young. I don’t recall seeing you or your brother.”

“We used to fill our plates and sneak off to the lemon groves,” I replied. It had been my favorite place in the whole world.

“I was sorry to hear about what happened,” said Farideh.

I nodded and picked at my food, trying not to think about the smell of burning lemon trees.

When I got back
, Ma was dusting the glass cabinet that stood gleaming like an exclamation point in the drab apartment. Hafez had told me that it was her pride and joy.

“They’re beautiful,” I said, peering into the collection of porcelain figurines on the shelves.

“You like?” Ma beamed. “Many years it take.”

There were different shapes and sizes, some hand painted with gold accents, others the kind you’d find at a garage sale, but each was grouped into a family—mother, father, a kid, maybe three or four, a pet, sometimes a house.

“This us.” She handed me a set of three, painted in soft colors. “I get when I have baby. Me, Kamal and little boy Hafez.”

“Very nice,” I said. “Now you need to fit me in there.”

“No.” She returned her miniature family to the top tier. “This mine. You need make own.” Ma laughed and patted my belly.

August 4th, 1995

“Perfect,” says Troy
. “I’ll take it.”

“But you haven’t seen the rest of it.” I’m standing before the wide glass doors, ready to lead him to the private rooftop pool.

“No need.” He stops behind me and catches my eyes in the reflection. “I like it.” His voice drops. “A lot.”

My breath fogs up the pane. A lifetime ago, I had turned to him as we stood like this.

I think perhaps that had been the beginning.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

He picks up a curl and plays with it. “I’m dying to kiss you.”

But he doesn’t kiss me. I lie outside the circle of free, single girls. He wants me, but he wants me to open that door, fully empowered, fully aware.

Let me in.

I turn away. “Should I draw up an offer?”

“Please.” But he says it in his bedroom voice.

I picture him under me, waiting for the brush of my lips, my fingers, my tongue.

Please.

My hands are unsteady as I pick up the papers and skim over them. This is the sixth property we’ve seen since Bob left for his cruise.

‘Carved from a century-old warehouse, with twenty foot exposed wood beam ceilings, sandblasted brick walls, motorized window coverings, heated floors and an elevator to a private garage, this two bedroom penthouse loft, with a custom built gym and library, is one of the largest and most spectacular units in the city.’