If You Could Be Mine (12 page)

“Congratulations,” I say, taking my eyes off Nasrin, and reminding myself to stop staring at her.

“Sahar, I know this is a difficult time for you,” Reza says, and I panic. I look at Ali, who wears a
This-should-be-interesting
face. Does Reza know . . . Did Nasrin tell him? I glance over at Nasrin, but she still has a saccharine smile on her face.

“What do you mean, sir?” I add the
sir
not out of respect but because he is so much older than I am.

“I know Nasrin is like a sister to you. You two have done everything together, and I am taking her away from you. But I want you to know that we aren’t moving far, and you are always welcome in our home. If anything, I hope you and I can be friends, too.” He actually looks sympathetic and sincere.

“I, um . . . I appreciate that. I’m going to miss her. So very much.” I make direct eye contact with Nasrin. She looks away. She can’t keep up the charade otherwise. Reza and Nasrin don’t touch each other, but they stand close, and they look like they fit together. Even when I change, I will never be as tall as Reza.

“So you’re a doctor?” Ali asks Reza, drawing me out of my own head for a moment.

“I’m just an intern. I’m just starting, but I enjoy it, helping patients. It’s very rewarding.”

“What a coincidence! Did you know that all Sahar dreams about is being a surgeon?” I could kill Ali. Reza looks at me with great enthusiasm, and again he seems so sincere. It makes me feel wretched.

“That’s wonderful! Have you decided what kind of surgery interests you?” I shake my head. The more I talk with him the worse I feel. How can Nasrin be with him but think of me? I shudder to think about the rest of their life together.

“You two have so much in common,” Ali says. My eyes bug out of my face, but Nasrin coughs and I relax my expression. I want to wipe that roguish grin off Ali’s face. Particularly when Ali looks in Nasrin’s direction. “You two must be so excited for the big day!” Nasrin’s nostrils flare despite the exaggerated smile she still manages to wear. I don’t think she realizes how long she will have to play the part of adoring wife. “How did you two meet, anyway?”

Ali is unbelievable. People never ask these questions, because it’s no one’s business. We all know he came to the Mehdis’ house and asked for their daughter’s hand in marriage. He probably figured he needed someone to cook and clean for him, maybe pop out some heirs. This is usually how these things go. It’s an arrangement.

“Well, Dariush and I are friends. When I came over to visit, Nasrin would be home sometimes. She always managed to put a smile on my face, but at first I didn’t think anything of it.” I want to slam my head against a wall. He actually has feelings for her? This wasn’t supposed to happen! He was supposed to be a creepy older man who couldn’t find anyone his own age. He was supposed to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “But then as I went about my rounds, all I could think about was something funny Nasrin had said or how well she imitated her brother. I hadn’t laughed so much in a very long time. I knew I had to have her as my wife. I came back to visit with Nasrin and her family over a period of a few weeks, and eventually they graciously accepted my proposal. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.” Reza looks at Nasrin the same way I do.

“That’s a lovely story,” I say, and Nasrin stares at me in fear. She thinks I’m going to expose her. Expose
us.
I should. Reza just beams at me, and I want to smash his teeth in with a crowbar.

“Will you excuse me?” Nasrin asks. “I have to use the ladies’ room.” She bolts for the back of the house. Reza looks shocked, and Ali just grins. He notices Nasser from earlier and excuses himself. This leaves Reza and me alone in a room full of people.

“Is she all right?” Reza asks me. His eyes are full of worry and regret, as though he may have said something wrong.

“No, she gets easily embarrassed sometimes. You wouldn’t think it, because she loves attention so much.” He takes a deep breath, and I can’t decide whether to wish he were dead or to sympathize. It’s not easy being in love with Nasrin.

“We’re still learning things about one another. I’m actually jealous of you. You know practically everything about her.” Yes, Reza, I do know everything about her. I know she cries when she sees stray dogs, while most other Iranians couldn’t care less. All we have in Iran is stray dogs. Hardly anyone has a dog as a pet. If it were up to Nasrin, she would adopt all of them and have them ruin the Mehdis’ house. I know Nasrin hates cooking, and all she can make is eggs, though she hates the smell. I know Nasrin moans when I bite at her earlobe. She almost always whispers my name afterward.

“Sometimes I feel like she is keeping something from me,” Reza continues. “I know, it’s foolish to expect to know someone so quickly, but I want her to trust me.” I don’t know where this sensitive male thing is coming from, but it’s making me steadily more uncomfortable.

“You actually love her, don’t you?” It surprises me that I ask it. He grins and I don’t do the same back. If anything, his love just makes me angry.

“She’s the one for me.” No. She’s mine. She’s been mine and always will be, you son of a bitch. My face feels hot, and I hope I haven’t broken out in a sweat. “Are you all right, Sahar? You look flushed.” Oh, you want to be the doctor now?

“It’s just so hot in here.” Before I know it, he’s gone and grabbed a chair for me. While I’m seated, trying to calm down, he has come back from the kitchen with a cool washcloth. He offers it to me, and I want to swat it out of his hand and then bite him like a crazed lioness. Instead I accept his gesture and pat my forehead with the offending cloth. “Thank you.”

“
Khahesh mikonam
—you’re welcome. Would you like some water?” I shake my head and try to give him some friendly facial gesture. All I manage is a grimace. Now he’s just standing in front of me, looking worried. Like I’m some silly girl to be pitied. I shouldn’t be angry with him. He isn’t the problem. I am.

“Is everything all right?” Mrs. Mehdi asks us as she walks over to me. She instinctively rubs my back in circles like my
maman
did.

“I’m fine. Reza was kind enough to look after me,” I say politely.

“Do you need some water?” Mrs. Mehdi asks.

“No. I’m fine, thank you.” Keep it together. Steady your breathing. Smile.

“He’s a sweet man, isn’t he? Definitely good enough for our Nasrin,” Mrs. Mehdi says, and Reza blushes like he’s a damn woman. I breathe steadily to cool down. “Where is Nasrin?” Mrs. Mehdi asks, searching the expansive room for her prized jewel.

“She ran off to the bathroom. She seems a bit . . . Well it’s been a lot of parties lately. She might be overwhelmed,” Prince Charming says.

“I was just in the bathroom. I didn’t see her anywhere near there,” Mrs. Mehdi says, looking at me.

“I’ll find her,” I volunteer, and I stand and then walk through the crowd. Ali is chatting up Cyrus Mehdi, and the poor fool doesn’t realize that Ali is hitting on him in the suave, masculine way he has learned over the years. Dariush Mehdi and Sima are talking, close to each other but far enough apart that they won’t create a scandal. Dariush ducks his head in embarrassment while Sima laughs over some joke I am sure they are sharing. I don’t know if Mrs. Mehdi would approve of either of her sons’ company for the evening.

I exit through the kitchen and into the backyard. Nasrin sits by the swimming pool, her face illuminated like she is some divine creature from the ocean. There is a giant fence surrounding the yard, so no prying eyes can see Nasrin tan in her bikini during the summer. I take off my high heels and sit down next to her, dipping my feet into the pool.

“I don’t know how you wear high heels so often. My feet are in agony.” It isn’t a funny statement, but it’s all I can do to make her feel a little better. “He’s . . . well, he’s nice. He loves you, too, which is interesting.” I don’t know why I am comforting her. Someone should be comforting me.

“He’s very nice. I am a lucky woman.”

“You don’t sound lucky.”

“There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s a little boring, but he’s handsome. He has a good job, he helps people, and he even gets along with my mother. He listens to her stories like they are fascinating.”

“Your mother should divorce your father and marry your fiancé instead.” If only. Nasrin finally looks at me and puts her hand over mine. It’s never felt so heavy before.

“He’s a wonderful man. But I don’t feel anything for him the way I do for you. And that terrifies me.” I gulp at her admission. I will replay her saying it over and over in my head tonight.

“Don’t marry him.” I whisper it, just in case anyone finds us in the darkness.

“And what would you have me do? Marry you?”

“Yes.”

She squeezes my hand.

“Stop living in a fantasy. You might make me start believing, and I can’t afford to do that.” I don’t say anything else after that. But I do believe we could work. Does this make me delusional? We sit together for a few moments. Then she stands up and walks back inside. I don’t follow her.

12

“I CAUGHT THE YOUNG
man at the grocery store looking at me. It was discreet, but I could tell he liked me. And it felt so good, for him to look at me that way. Like he really wanted me. Like he knew I was a woman.” Katayoun is telling her story. She looks so hopeful, but I can’t stop looking at the clock. Time is running out. I’m politely waiting for Katayoun to finish. I don’t need emotional support—I need to figure out how to do this. How it’s going to work. How I’m going to change.

“Is it wrong for me to feel like . . . I mean, I’m not a loose person,” Katayoun continues, and I feel selfish for wanting her to stop, but I need to get on with it already.

“No,
azizam,
it’s not wrong. A woman likes to feel beautiful every so often.” Goli
khanum
is kind with her surrogate children. They listen to her advice because she was one of the first, a pioneer. She’s lived longer as her true self than they have. She’s lived longer as her true self than I ever will, if I ever make this change. After hearing their stories at the last meeting, I know none of their struggles have been easy. Jamshid even talks about how hard it was between him and his sister once he transitioned. His sister felt like she had lost her best friend and gained a stranger as a brother. He says she’s getting better about calling him Jamshid instead of Niloufar.

Katayoun has unshed tears in her eyes, too embarrassed to let them spill. “I’m just tired of feeling sorry for myself. I sit in my room all day and wonder if it would have been better if I just died.”

“Probably.”

Everyone hisses and gasps at Maryam’s retort. It’s the only thing she’s said all meeting. Maryam is angry. I envy her sometimes. How easy it is for her anger to proudly be on display. I always feel guilty when I get angry. Baba has been working on a custom-made dining room set, but I can tell his heart isn’t in it. I shouldn’t scold him, but I do. Well, I won’t be around much longer, anyway. I doubt he will accept me once I change. I can stay with Ali. Meanwhile, I feel the wedding getting closer. I have a recurring dream about Reza and his stupid smile. He’s holding Nasrin’s hand as she stands next to him, grinning beneath fearful eyes. Nasrin keeps calling out for me, but I never come. When I get there, they vanish right before my eyes. I always wake up after that.

“I just don’t know why Allah would do this. Why would the Merciful One create me one way when I’m supposed to be another way? Why do I always feel like I switched one prison for another? My body for my country.” Katayoun is sobbing. Parveen puts an arm around her shoulder. Emotions take up too much time. We need to hurry.

“But isn’t it wonderful that you live in Iran?” Parveen consoles her. “Where the government recognizes your struggle? Do you know that there are places in the West that the government would never help pay for the gift of an operation?” Goli
khanum
told us in the last meeting that Iran has the second-highest number of sexual reassignment surgeries, after Thailand.

“Oh yes,” Maryam says. “So wonderful to be given the ultimatum of changing your gender or dying as a sinner.” She usually offers her disdain for Goli
khanum
and her platitudes by way of a loud harrumph or an exaggerated eye roll. Tonight she is more verbal than usual, and part of me wants to tell her to shut up so I can have my turn to speak. They must let me speak.

“It was just nice feeling like I could pass,” Katayoun says. “You always ruin everything, Maryam.” Maryam has no rebuttal.

“Don’t worry, Katayoun. Maryam is just jealous because you are much prettier than she is.” Jamshid is always kind, but I’ve noticed that he’s especially kind to Katayoun. They would make a nice pair. They fit. Man and Woman. Woman and Man.

Katayoun smiles as she wipes her eyes with her fingers. “I’m sorry. It’s probably just all the hormones I’ve been taking,” Katayoun murmurs.
Hormones.
I need those.

Everyone has a story, but as I hear more I find it hard to relate. I lied when I said I was born in the wrong body. I don’t always like my body or that I have love handles. I don’t always like that as a woman I have fewer options than men, even men that aren’t as smart as I am.