Don't Remind Me

Chapter 5: The Mother

Now:
"Ma'am, our meeting with Engro has been moved up to 3:30." My personal assistant, Fahad pops in to inform me. "And, your mother wants you to head over to Hayat HQ, by tonight."

I yank myself away from the excel sheet, to nod at him. Huge corporations like Engro, are heartlessly cavalier about moving meetings to suit their convenience. Unfortunately for me, I can't afford Not to dance to their tunes. I can, however, rail privately to Shay, and refuse my mother's invitation.

I hate going to Hayat HQ, and she knows it. It's like a collection of everything I hated about my childhood. The polished marble floors, lined with expensive oak, and the cavernous depths of my Mama's office. I remember all the hours I spent there, left at the mercy of pandering PAs, and other employees, while Mom flitted around, sniffing at Chiffon sleeves, and yanking on rayon cuffs.

Her PA forwards my call immediately, and I hear her soft voice, "What?"

"Assalamualikum Mama. I'm doing great, thanks for asking. You?" I say sarcastically.

"Don't patronize me Layla. I have a Multi-national fashion giant to run." Her soft tone never wavers in pitch, but her words imply exactly what they meant to: Her time is more valuable than mine.

"I can't come to HQ tonight, kind of busy with meetings all day. I'll come home late, and we can talk them." I say brusquely.

"When I told your PA that I wanted to see you at HQ tonight, I wasn't asking Layla. I was informing you." Her tone sharpens a bit, "Make your presence available by 8:30 tonight. I'll be waiting." She hangs up before I can protest some more.

I grind my teeth in annoyance. My relationship with Mama hasn't improved over the years. She objects to basically everything I believe in, and everything I value. She thinks NGOs like mine are a "Hobby". It's something people from our social class do when they're bored. It's "Not a career, darling."

She thinks that being my mother gives her the right to meddle in my life, and make choices on my behalf. Choices that will eventually turn me into someone like her.

My office phone beeps; Shay is calling me.

"Can I come in now? Three days are too long a punishment." She pleads.

"Fine. You can come in." I sighed. I was still pissed off at the Azaan Malik stunt she pulled at the Annual Charity Gala.

My door swings open, revealing a smartly dressed Pareeshae. Her makeup is minimal, hair braided in a loose french knot, and her dress isn't ostentatious. We have dress codes here, at Hiraeth. None of the social workers, or office employees are allowed to wear overly expensive clothing, out of respect to our residents. I myself, am wearing a simple white Kurta Shalwar, paired with a bright, traditional dupatta, one of my girls embroidered for my birthday.

"If I'm forgiven, may I present a new possible project to you? O great Miss President?" Shay taps a file temptingly close to my hands.

"You're forgiven, Miss Vice President" , I reluctantly grin back. It really wasn't her fault that he had shown up, and had bid outrageously on our carpet. I now had more than Ten Million Rupees for our project, which would go a long way in financing better facilities, and entrepreneurial ventures for the girls. I tried not to let my emotions ruin something positive for our home.

"This is incredible. The revenue alone would propel us from a charitable venture to a self-sufficient corporation." She pushes the file towards me, dragging a bean bag from the sitting area, to crash next to me.

I scan the file's contents for a second before slamming my head repeatedly against the oak desk. "A fashion line, Pareeshae? are you high? If so, can I have some of whatever you snorted?"