Page 10 of The Love Match

“I’m sorry, Afa,” Arif mumbles as he takes her from me. “Amma told us this would make you happy, but I should’ve given you a heads-up.”

Happy.

I flip the word over and over in my mind. How could she possibly think that? She doesn’t understand me at all. I know that it’s my fault because I don’t tell her much, but it’s because I’m afraid my dreams won’t be enough for her. ThatIwon’t be enough for her.

But shedoesknow I’d like to go to college someday. That I’ve been busting my ass at work and school for years for the chance to be something other than some guy’s future wife. That I’m only eighteen, for God’s sake.

That and you didn’t want your first-ever date to end up like this,a pitiful voice in some dusty corner of my mind bemoans. How long had I fantasized of the day it would happen, only for my first date to be with a boy who can’t stand my guts?

But none of that is my brother’s fault. Forcing my fingers to unclench from the material of my skirt, I scuffle his scruffy hair. “It’s okay. Go tuck Resu in.”

Aiming one last troubled glance at me, he disappears into Amma’s bedroom and doesn’t return, wanting to give the two of us time to hash everything out. I round on our mother the minute she locks the door.

“Amma, what the hell?!”

“Don’t curse,” she says with a frown, as ifthat’sthe problem here.

“How could you lure me into a blind date like that?” When she opens her mouth to retort, I hold up a hand to stop her. “And please don’t insult my intelligence by claiming it was all some random meet-cute.”

If anything, it was a meet-ugly.

Her mouth snaps shut. “Accha, accha. It wasn’t random. But your Pushpita Khala truly did extend the invite today. I didn’t want you to say no without giving it a chance.”

It’s far from an apology. Brown parents don’t have the capacity for those wired into their DNA. Normally,anyadmittance of wrongdoing on her part would satisfy me knowing that, but I narrow my eyes, cross my arms, and tap my foot.Hersignature disappointed look.

She cringes, then changes course. “Wasn’t it a lovely evening, though?”

“What?” I suck in a sharp, disbelieving breath at her chipper expression. “Lovely?Amma, that was a train wreck.”

Now it’s her turn to gasp. “How can you say that? You and Harun hit it off so well. Why, he couldn’t take his eyes off you!”

“No,” I counter, throwing my hands into the air. “You were acting like such a drama queen that he couldn’t take his eyes offyou. No one could.” Amma sputters as if I’ve slapped her. Taking advantage of her rare bout of speechlessness, I add, “I can’t believe you would do this to me. Even village girls in Bangladesh are graduating college before marrying these days. Kids don’tdothis anymore.”

“Oh, Zahra…” She reaches for my cheek, and I resist the urge to recoil. “I know you think I’m some kind of evil mastermind, but I didn’t plan this. I wanted to show you off at the wedding, so people in the community would know you’ll be marriageable in a few years.” As if I need preview trailers. “Sitting next to Pushpita Emon was a complete coincidence. I had my doubts when she first proposed introducing you two. Their family isn’t what I would have envisioned for you before… But though you’re both young, Harun is polite, good-looking, and clearly going places. Proper Bangladeshi boys like that don’t come along often. Would getting to know him be so bad? You’re so quick to be pessimistic, shuna. I only wanted you to give him a chance.”

Some of the anger dims in me, leaving weary defeat.

She’s not wrong: pessimismismy default, but she’s had a hand in that herself. Over the years, all my hopes have become hobbies to her, my dream to be an author someday equally assilly as when I was eight and begged her for a pet chicken like the ones we had in Bangladesh. Even if I make it to college, will I ever get to study writing? I’m afraid she won’t be proud of me, the way Harun’s parents are of him, and then I won’t be brave enough to keep trying.

“Well,” I say, “I sat through dinner and so did he, despite wanting to be anywhere but there. We gave it a fair shot, okay? Time to move on.”

Amma fidgets with her urna. A sinking feeling anchors in my gut. “What is it?”

“The Emons have invited us to another dinner this Friday,” she replies, looking anywhere but at me. “I already accepted.”

“What?!” I shout. “Without asking me?Again?I’m not going.”

“Don’t be that way,” she pleads, mouth set in a moue. “If we don’t go, I’ll never be able to show my face in Paterson. I don’t know if they’d be willing to give us another chance.”

I press my fingertips into my throbbing temples, stamping down the ridiculous urge to protect her from the monster of her own making. Are the Emons so much better than us because they’re rich? Is their irritatingly perfect, future doctor-engineer son better than me?

“You should have thought about that earlier,” I say.

We stare one another down for the longest time.

Amma’s expression has transformed from cajoling to unreadable, the dark eyes we share like flat shards of glass, her plum-colored lips pressed so tightly together, all the blooddrains from her face. She’s not used to me talking back to her. I’m not used to it either. But I lift my chin, a mulish set to my own jaw. She won’t make me back down.

Not this time, because IknowI’m right.

---