Page 71 of Three Holidays and a Wedding
Beside her, Saima paled. Maryam rarely lost her cool, but when it did happen, it was best to take cover. She started looking around the room for places to hide.
Maryam continued. “We spent two hours debating the merits of Hyderabadi biryani versus Pakistani biryani.Two hours!” Maryam scrambled off themimbarand stood on the cold tile floor, glaring at her sister, fists clenched at her sides.
“Who could possibly debate that?” Saima said weakly. “Obviously, Hyderabadi biryani is the best.”
“Are you kidding me right now!” Maryam yelled.
“I mean, the wedding has been postponed, so I guess none of us got what we wanted,” Saima said, some of the sulkiness returning to her voice. “I really was looking out for you, though. Why do you think I invited Saif? He hasn’t stopped staring at you since we landed.”
Maryam closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing by slowly counting to ten. It was Ramadan, and murdering your sister during the holy month was generally frowned upon. Luckily, Ramadan was almost over.
As if catching the drift of her older sibling’s thoughts, Saima hurriedly made to gather her things. “We should get back to the inn. I’m sure everyone is wondering where we are,” she started, but Maryam held out her hand, slowly shaking her head. They needed to talk. Now.
“Did you really make me plan your wedding to shake me out of a rut? Or did you do it because you’re used to having your big sister clean up the messes you make?” she asked Saima.
Saima sat back down on themimbarbut said nothing.
“You were furious with me for leaving the airport, for participating in the Holiday Hoopla, but did you ever stop toconsider whether I wanted to spend my Ramadan planning your wedding? Whether I enjoy being responsible for picking up the slack and solving everyone’s problems all the time? Or would I rather be doing something—anything—else? You claim you’re worried about me, that Mom and Dad and Dadu worry about me, but when you found out about the Holiday Hoopla, you freaked out. Don’t you realize that the only reason you can run after your dreams is because of the sacrifices I’ve made? I stayed in Denver so you could do what you wanted with your life.”
Saima veered back, blindsided by Maryam’s words. “I had no idea you felt that way. You said you wanted to be a pharmacist. I thought you were unhappy because of what Yusuf did.”
Maryam sank to the cold tile. “I was. I am. But I had dreams for myself, too, Saima. I always wanted to be a writer.”
“Saif knew that about you,” Saima said as if working through something. “That’s why he took you to the playhouse in the first place.” Her face filled with remorse. “I’ve been selfish every step of the way, haven’t I?”
Maryam shrugged, but then nodded. She needed Saima to acknowledge her actions. It was the first step toward repentance, and maybe even reconciliation. She missed her sister, and she didn’t want to feel secretly resentful of her anymore. “I think I’ve just gone along with what I thought everyone else expected from me,” she started carefully. “I did it in my marriage; I do it with you, and with Mom and Dad. I’m not sure where I got the idea that in order to be a gooddesidaughter, I had to put myself last, but I’m done with that way of thinking. I’m going to do better from now on, and I want you to do better, too.”
Saima stepped off themimbarand joined her sister on the floor, putting her arms around her. “I love you, Maryam,” she said. “I’m sorry I’ve been a terrible sister.”
Maryam laughed and hugged Saima back. “That’s all right. I’ve already asked Santa for a better model for Christmas.”
Saima smacked her on the arm. They put on their shoes, and Maryam looked around the prayer space, noting the homey details—built-in shelving for shoes, pretty hand-painted Islamic calligraphy adorning the walls, even a corner at the back with low benches, presumably for children to gather for classes. It all felt well-kept and loved.
“I was worried you were rushing into things with Miraj,” Maryam said abruptly. Might as well get it all out now. “I don’t want you to make the same mistake I did.”
Saima squeezed her hand. “It’s never a mistake to love someone, or to try to build a life with them. I knew the moment I met Miraj that he was the one for me.” She bumped her sister on the shoulder. “Just like you knew with Saif, even at age twelve.”
Maryam looked at her feet. “I don’t know anything.”
Saima raised her eyebrow. “You’re the smartest person I know, and you always know everything. That boy is so gone over you. When are you going to put him out of his misery and admit you still have feelings for him?”
Maryam shook her head. “It’s too soon. We barely know each other. He lives in California.”
“It’s not too soon, you’ve known him all your life, and people can move,” Saima countered. “You’re afraid. But you can’t be anymore, because the new and improved Maryam is better than that. Right?”
Maryam looked away. “What if it doesn’t work out?” she said, finally giving voice to her fear.
“Then at least you tried,” Saima said. “That’s all any of us can do, in the end. Saybismillah, and try. You deserve to be happy.” Saima started to climb the stairs but turned around. “What time is the Holiday Hoopla tomorrow?” she asked. “I’d like to watch my big sister’s script-writing debut.”
“What about the wedding?” Maryam asked, following Saima upstairs, where Sarah and Saif waited inside the café.
“Mynikahshould have happened tomorrow. But today is over, and I need to accept reality. The wedding is postponed, and there’s nothing we can do about it,” Saima said matter-of-factly. “Luckily the snow has finally stopped. We’ll leave Snow Falls after the Hoopla tomorrow and head back to Denver. Miraj and I can have a smallnikahwhenever we both have time off. Come on, we should head back. It’s already so late.”
Her sister’s attempt to stay positive and be mature made Maryam’s heart drop. Saima had always wanted a big wedding. Anything else would seem wrong, somehow, for her loud, outgoing sister.
But there was nothing Maryam could do about it. Saif had already called for a ride, and the three of them climbed into Jerry’s truck for the short drive back. In the truck, Saima dozed, her head on Maryam’s shoulder. Beside her, Saif was quiet in the dark of the cab, and the silence between them grew.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Maryam said, needing to fill the void. She floundered, searching for the words that would bridge the gulf between them.
