Page 89 of The Love Match

“Oh.”

Despite my best efforts, I can’t keep my face from falling. Amma swallows at the sight of my disappointment, casting a glance toward the kitchen, where Nanu is teaching Arif how to roll out and make rutis by hand.

“It’s because I have a surprise for you, too,” she continues.

Before familiar apprehension can flood through me, she sets down her needlework to pick up her phone, scrolling through the Auntie Network WhatsApp group until she finds a picture of a poster bordered in flowers. She holds it up for me to read.

I squint at the text, then remind her, “I can’t read Bengali.”

Her laugh is staccato and unusually nervous. “It’s a free concert tomorrow night at the falls. With Nasrin Shah.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Nanu’s favorite natok actress,” Amma explains. “Shah is her married name.”

My eyebrows disappear into my hairline. “I thought she’d Meghan Markle’d her way out of that song and dance. Literally.”

“Er, yes.” Bemusement clouds Amma’s features, but she doesn’t let that stop her. “That’s why this concert is so special. I promised your nanu I would take her and hoped we could make a family night out of it.”

Hmm. While walking around the fair together after our balloon ride, Harun and I originally planned toParent Trapour families at Gitanjali, but there’s no reason it can’t be at the falls. Although half the city will be there, there’s a certain anonymity in a teeming crowd where everyone’s attention is on a stage.

Besides, our folks will have to be on their best behavior in public, which will make it more likely that they accept the terms of Harun and me continuing to date.

“Okay,” I say.

Her eyes widen. “Okay? You’ll be there?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

I flash her that Good Bangladeshi Daughter smile she loves so much. Amma drops a kiss on my temple, the last of her caginess draining out of her. I wait until my back is to her to grin.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

The second I’ve shut the door behind me in my blessedly empty bedroom, I shoot Harun a text.Operation Zahrun Part Two is a go.

This is the one where we don’t break up, right?he responds.

I laugh.We’d better not, robot boy, or I’ll sic the twins on you.

Not even those two could scare me away from you,he answers, and my breath hitches.

Leave it to Harun to turn our playful banter into heartfelt, romantic declarations. He’s quick to agree when I inform him about the change in destination for our plans, having already heard about the concert from his own mother.

We can have dinner at the restaurant after,he suggests.

Perfect!

Once we say good night, I crawl into bed. Part of me feels bad for tricking Amma. I’m more than prepared for us to start being honest with each other… but all’s fair in love and war, so honesty can wait till tomorrow night.

Besides, once she learns the truth, I suspect she’ll be in a forgiving mood. For once, both our ideas of a happily-ever-after are aligned.

Either Nasrin Shah is the Bengali Beyoncé, rolling in dough, orboth, because it’s astonishing how quickly a Grammy-level comeback concert has been arranged for her.

Even from a block away, I can hear the gathering audience at the falls, their excited voices swelling louder than the ever-presentshhhhhof the waterfalls and the Passaic River. The chaotic chorus is accompanied by the deep bass of drums and the sweet whistle of flutes.

Repurposed bedsheets dot every inch of green lawn in front of a newly built stage. A dedicated crew tinkers with the sound system and a spotlight, which offsets the golden glow of the string lights hung from the safety barriers and trees in the vicinity. Instrumentalists surround the stage and audience, dressed in elaborate costumes. A camera crew records the entire production from the fringes of the park.

Everyoneis here.

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