Page 70 of Three Holidays and a Wedding
“Nothing a good long-distance phone plan can’t help,” she said lightly.
“I was thinking of getting one of those for Eid,” he said, and caught her eye. The moment stretched between them.
This is it, she thought, heart pounding.Time to tell him how you feel. Do it, Maryam! Take a chance!
Instead, she abruptly turned her head away and blurted, “Jerry, would you like to play Santa in the pageant? I’m in charge of the script, and I think you’d be perfect.”
“Glad to,” Jerry said. “I’ll ask the missus to dust off the costumes.”
Beside her, she heard Saif sigh and shift in his seat so his arm lay between them now, creating distance. She instantly missed his warmth.
They pulled up to Topkapi Café, and Saif jumped down before turning to help her out.
“Give us a ring if you need a ride back,” Deb called from the window. Maryam turned to face Saif reluctantly; he wouldn’t meet her eye.
“Yusuf must have really hurt you,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
Maryam’s hands trembled as she adjusted her mittens. “I think a part of me has been broken ever since.”
“We’re all broken,” Saif said. “We just make beautiful new things with our broken pieces. I hope you can do that, too, one day.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Take your time talking to Saima,” he said, still not meeting her gaze. “It’s time for the truth now.”
Sarah rushed up to Maryam when she entered the café, Saif following slowly. “Your sister is downstairs in themusallah,” she said, indicating the prayer room.
Maryam took the stairs at the back, which opened to a large room with a low ceiling. The space was immaculately clean, with bright lighting despite the deeply recessed windows. The floor was ceramic tile, walls painted a sage green. A makeshift woodenmimbarhad been constructed at the back, the pulpit where the Imam would give sermons during Friday prayers. Neatly folded prayer rugs were stacked next to a bookcase crammed with religious texts. Saima sat cross-legged on a bright red prayer rug, her dark hair covered with a cotton scarf she must have borrowed from Sarah. Her sister’s head was bent low over palms cupped indua, prayer. Maryam removed her shoes, and Saima looked up at the approaching footsteps. Her sister scrambled to her feet, and for a moment the two women stared at each other. Then, with a cry, Saima launched herself into Maryam’s arms and started to sob. Holding her sister close, Maryam allowed herself to let go, too.
—
They ended up sitting on themimbar, the small wooden staircase with three steps and an elevated platform, their arms around each other, Saima’s head on Maryam’s shoulder.
“I thought about heading to the airport, but it was too cold; plus, I knew there was no way Anna’s ex-boyfriend would let me on his stupid plane,” Saima sniffed. “I wandered around Main Street instead, feeling sorry for myself. Sarah saw me and brought me here. I sort of broke down again when I came down to the mosque.” Tears filled Saima’s eyes as Maryamrubbed soothing circles on her sister’s back. “I’m sorry I’ve been so terrible to you lately,” Saima said, her voice trembling. “I blamed you for everything, but I know it’s not your fault. This is all my fault.”
“It’s okay, honestly,” Maryam said, hugging her sister. “I’m relieved you’re safe and warm. I kept having visions of finding you half frozen on the way to the airport. Thank God you didn’t throw yourself on the kindness of Nicholas Vandergrey!”
They both chuckled at that before settling into silence. Finally, Saima pushed away from Maryam and, wiping her eyes, sat up straight. “This really is all my fault,” she repeated.
“Are you responsible for the weather now?” Maryam teased. “I know doctors have god complexes, but this is too much, even for you.”
Saima threw her sister an annoyed glance. “Not the weather. For insisting on getting married in Ramadan, during the winter. For throwing all the organizing into your lap.” She took a deep breath. “The truth is, I did it on purpose.”
“You fell in love with Miraj and decided you wanted to get married, all on purpose? Wow, I’m shocked.”
Saima huffed out a chuckle. “I meant, about the wedding, about insisting it take place so quickly. I did it foryou.”
Maryam blinked, confused. Whatever she had been expecting from Saima—recriminations, passionate arguments, tear-soaked pleas that they rent a jet immediately—it had not been this. “You do realize I’m not the one getting married, right? How is this all for me?” she asked, bewildered.
Saima shook her head impatiently. “I did it because... because... you were in a rut! I wanted to snap you out of it!”
Maryam stared at her sister. “What?”
Saima fiddled with the borrowed hijab, her movements restless and jerky. “You haven’t been yourself in so long. Ever since you and Yusuf broke up, it’s like you forgot how to be happy.”
“And you thought foisting your last-minute wedding in my lap would bring me back to life?” Maryam asked, slowly starting to piece together what her sister was saying. “How would that work exactly?”
Saima shook her head. “Miraj and I really did want to get married, but I might have made up the part about needing it to happen during the holidays. Mom and Dad and Dadu, they were always telling me how worried they were about you. How quiet and withdrawn you’d become, that you never went out anymore, even when they encouraged you. I thought, maybe if I forced you out of your funk by giving you a big project, it would remind you of everything you were missing out on. It was a stupid plan,” Saima finished, looking anywhere but at her sister’s face.
Maryam was stunned, too shocked, for a moment, to feel anything. Her sister didn’t have to get married in Ramadan, after all. It had always seemed fishy to her, but then Saima’s impulsiveness was legendary. Maryam thought about the stressful weeks of planning and harried organizing, the last-minute stress of packing for a wedding that didn’t need to occur during the tri-holidays after all, and felt a wave of rage bubble up her throat.
“Do you know how manyhoursI spent on the phone, calling long distance toCanada, talking to yourinsufferableCanadian in-laws about food and decor?” Maryam asked, her tone deadly calm.
