Page 79 of The Love Match

I’m grateful.

I desperately want to tell her everything.

Instead I return to my room to find a set of gold-plated suris on top of the library books on my desk. I rub my thumb over the floral embossment on each, more troubles in my head than there are jewels in the bangles.

It’s not an apology, but it’s close enough.

THE AUNTIE NETWORK

*Champa Azad has added you and twelve others to the Bangla Mela Chat*

Champa:

Can you believe that Sonia girl? Speaking to Zaynab Afa like that.

Lubna:

Such a rude young lady! Poor Zaynab. And what’s going on with her daughter?

Champa:

Oh, yes, she and the Emon boy seemed awfully close, didn’t they? I thought their parents had called off the arrangement?

Khatun:

Now that you mention it, they did seem rather friendly. Giggling together right in front of us all… Lojja nai ni itha bachainthor?

Champa:

Do you think that’s that why the dishwasher left?

Meera:

Allahr duai, please tell me Zaynab isn’t part of this group? ??

Chapter28

Unable to get Dalia’s ashenface out of my head, I end up at Chai Ho an hour before my shift Monday morning, hoping to strong-arm her into confessing whatever’s the matter.

Even the Mom Friend needs a mom friend sometimes.

As soon as I cross the street over to the tea shop, I become aware that something is wrong. Faint yelling echoes through the glass door, though there’s no one behind the counter. When I try the doorknob, I find that the door has been left unlocked, and I let myself in. Something crashes in the kitchen, jolting me into action.

Grabbing the first potential weapon within reach—a stainless-steel teapot—I charge through the kitchen door and shouting a war cry, only to find a puffy-eyed Dalia crouching on the floor, picking up shards of a broken teacup.

“Z-Zahra, what are you doing here?” she rasps.

But the source of the argument summons my attention: Dani and her father, shouting at each other in a combinationof Urdu and English. Urdu and Bengali have only some terms and pronunciations in common, but because Dani has always spoken it more crisply than her sister, it takes me no more than a moment to decipher that they’re arguing about Ximena.

“Daniya, meri jaan—”

Dani cuts her father off with a screech. “No! Don’t call me that if your love for me isconditional, Abbu. If you and Ammu only love me when I’m being a dutiful little girl who does everything you say, I want no part of it.”

Mr. Tahir throws his hands in the air. “That’s not true. It’s because we love you that we don’t want you to throw your life away for some girl.”

“Some girl?” Dani barks. “Mena and I have been together since middle school. If you still can’t accept her or who I am—”

“You’re eighteen! What do you know about who you are?” her father fumes.

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