What Not To Do When You're In Love

10 | Handed

10 | Handed

My first thought as soon as everyone entered the dining room was that I needed Hasan's support. My second thought was, it is impossible, because he hates me.

And then I decided that I didn't really need it. I was sufficient for myself.

Aunty Husna wasn't speaking. She hadn't even acknowledged my catastrophic attempt at the rotis, just silently given me a dirty look first, then Hafsa, (her a little longer), me once again, and then left.

I'd have asked Hasan to bring rotis from a restaurant or something, but I couldn't, because he was being a douche and I didn't want to talk to him. So there was just rice and curry for dinner tonight; a big risk, a Bismillaah with fingers crossed.

There was nothing that went wrong during dinner, except now I was getting cold-shouldered by both mother and son.

Well. I never promised anyone I would cook very well. If they assume, this is what they get, I thought as a reflex each time that my brain produced perturbing thoughts about the looks Aunty Husna had given me.

After dinner I gathered my stuff and went to Hafsa's room, because I did not want to confront Hasan yet, and the kitchen could possibly, probably have waiting for me a mom-in-law I had shamed myself in front of.

Hafsa was napping, and therefore I went instead to that guest room downstairs with that huge desk. After noticing that it hadn't been cleaned properly and making a mental note to send the cleaning lady there, I sat to study.

Halfway into the chapter I was studying, I got a call. From mamma.

"Assalaam Alaikum," I said.

"Walekum Assalaam, Adinah."

"How are you, mamma?"

I wanted to ask her how she felt with me away, but I didn't have to; she began on her own.

"My days and nights go in your thoughts, my child. Me, Jebrail, Amaan, no one has peace here anymore, it's as if we are all anticipating your emergence from your room shouting a declaration of hunger, like you did almost every weekend evening. Now that you are gone, the house feels even emptier," she sighed, "I feel more strongly the absence of your father now, Addi."

"Oh mamma," I cried, "Now you make me want to go back. I mean, it's not like this place is all that cool. Who even told you to kick me out this early? I'm still a child!"

"Ya Khuda! Why do you say such things, Adinah? I'm sure sister Husna is keeping you very nicely. Don't be dramatic! You're older than I was when I was sent away."

"Mamma," I whined. "I hate cooking. And the cooking lady has been fired, so guess who's stuck in the kitchen all day!"

"You will love it since the day that you successfully cook a meal that everyone will praise, so work for it."

"Oh they did. Did I tell you your mutton curry was a hit?" I asked. I decidedly skipped the biryani ordeal because while it only angered me momentarily, it would probably become a chronic heartache for her.

"Oh, Allah u Akbar! I taught my daughter well!" She cried. "Continue to gratify me with news like this, my girl!"

I shook my head. "But Aunty Husna hates me."

"Ya Allah, why so?"

I cried again. "Mamma? Do you know I burned the gravy and a roti to crisp like, a few hours ago? She seemed so aggravated, like she never wanted to see me again! I feel like I'm hopeless with rotis. You ought to have told them before they purchased me that I am incapable of determining when a roti is ready to be turned over."