Her parents were preparing for bed when she knocked. She briefly explained the situation.
“I don’t understand. Is the wedding postponed, or has Miraj called the whole thing off?” Ghulam asked.
“I’m pretty sure the wedding is on, but it won’t be happening over the holidays like Saima wanted.”
Azizah let out a breath. “I didn’t want her to get married during Ramadan, but she must be so upset.”
“Very,” Maryam agreed, before asking if she could bunk with her parents. Their room had two double beds, and while Ghulam cleared the second bed—they had been using it to store their many suitcases after Dadu snagged a room to himself after their first night at the inn—Maryam updated her parents on what else was going on, namely that she had been put in charge of the Snow Falls Christmas play.
“But you have never celebrated Christmas in your life,” Azizah said.
“The town is putting together a tri-holiday celebration, to honor Eid, Christmas, and Hanukkah,” Maryam explained. “Saif talked me into volunteering, and the committee put me incharge of writing the play.” She waited for their reaction to hearing that Saif had encouraged her.
“Maryambeta, I told you to be careful around that boy,” Ghulam said, immediately protective. “The stories we have heard—”
“I’m sure lots of people have said things about me, too, things that aren’t true,” Maryam responded, surprising herself. Was she actually sticking up for Saif? But her parents had the grace to look abashed at her gentle reminder of the gossip that still continued to swirl around their family, even years after her divorce.
“We don’t want you to be hurt again,” Azizah said. “It was hard to watch, the first time.” Maryam nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and her mother went on. “But about this holiday play. They want you to write something? Did you tell them you are a pharmacist?”
Maryam wanted to laugh. Her parents knew she enjoyed writing and had always loved to read. They had indulged this interest when she was younger. Yet despite Dadu’s encouragement, their goals for their own children had been clear: to enter a professional field.
“I’m a pharmacist, but lately I’ve been feeling like I’m missing something. I want to write, to work on something creative.”
Her parents looked at each other. She could see they were trying to understand. “I’ve been thinking about putting together a newsletter for the pharmacy,” Ghulam said. “Perhaps you could write that?”
Maryam smothered her smile. “I mean, write for myself.Maybe a book, or essays, or short stories. I’m not sure yet. In the meantime, I want to work on this play. We’re stranded here, probably for another few days. The people in Snow Falls have been so kind. I’d like to repay their generosity.”
Maryam could feel her parents thawing. “The residents have been very hospitable,” Azizah agreed. “I still do not understand why you must work on a Christmas...tri-holiday,” she amended, “play, but I suppose it will not hurt. Except what are we going to do about Saima? A delayed wedding might turn into a canceled one.”
“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” Maryam said. The abrupt silence in the room had the feel of a record scratch.
“Beta, do you think your sister is making a mistake?” Ghulam asked gently.
Her sister’s wedding plans had been so sudden, her parents so thrilled their younger daughter, with her nomadic tendencies, was marrying a doctor, that Maryam had put aside all fears and worries. But they were still there; they had simply been lying in wait.
She didn’t approve of her sister’s mad dash into matrimony, she realized. She had never approved, and the few times she had tried to bring it up with Saima, or with her parents or even with Dadu, they had waved aside her objections. And she had shut up, fearful they would think her jealous. Maybe she was, but she was also concerned about the marriage for all sorts of normal big-sister reasons: it was too rushed; they barely knew Miraj; his family seemed stuck-up and not welcoming of Saima.
Maybe the Storm of the Century had actually been divine intervention.
Maryam felt guilty at the thought, and made adua:DearGod, she thought,if this wedding is the right path for my sister, then make it easy for her and Miraj. Let the wedding take place, and help them build a happy life together. But if it is not good for Saima, then... let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!
Now Maryam fiddled with the tiny side table. It was rickety and wobbled. “Don’t you think Saima is making a mistake?” she asked, getting up, restless now. She needed a piece of cardboard or napkin to level the table.
“No,” Azizah said firmly.
“Because Miraj is a doctor? Because his family is wealthy? Saima has known this guy for five minutes and she thinks she should marry him?” Maryam found a small notepad on the console table and ripped off a piece of paper, leaving behind a jagged tear. She started to fold the paper into a tiny square, fingers clumsy in her sudden fury.
Azizah reached out and took the paper from her daughter’s hand. “Sometimes, no matter how long you have known someone or how prepared you think you are, it will not work out. We must simply accept Allah’sqadr.”
Fate. Had it been her fate to meet and marry a liar? She had known her ex-husband, Yusuf, for four years before they married. Maryam still remembered when they met, on the first day of pharmacy school. She had been sitting outside the building after a stultifying two-hour seminar when she pulled out a bag ofbhel puri, puffed rice mixed with spicy, salted peanuts.
“I remember eating that when I was on a beach in Mumbai,” a voice said behind her. She turned to meet the amused gaze of a cute guy—dark eyes, brown skin, curly hair.
“My dadi-ma makes it at home using Rice Krispies. Sheroasts the peanuts herself,” Maryam offered. “You can’t buy this stuff in Denver.” He was the only other brown guy she had seen so far in the program, and she wondered who he was.
“I’m Yusuf,” he said, holding out his hand. Misinterpreting, she offered him her bag of snacks instead. Laughing, he helped himself.
“Now we have to be friends, if you’re already feeding me,” he had joked. “Who are you, beautiful, mysterious woman?”
