“It’s … not … a big deal,” she says through choking sobs. Of course it’s a big deal though. How did I miss this, when I’m her older sister? When I’m supposed to always protect her? I’ve been so caught up with my own drama …
“It’s just because it’s her first boyfriend.” I try to reassure her even though I have no experience in this department. “She’ll come around.You’reher best friend. That’s way more important than some boy.”
She finally pulls away from me and begins to rub at her eyes.
“It’s fine. Really. I’m just … getting used to it.” I feel like there’s more to it, something she’s not telling me. But she gives me a watery smile and says, “So why did you leave? I mean, I know you’re a lesbian so boys aren’t exactly your cup of tea, but I’m pretty sure you don’t flee at the sight of one.”
I sigh. Even though most of my anger has subsided now that Priti is here, I still feel it simmering inside me.
“I spoke to Flávia.”
“Uh-oh.”
“She was just … I just … I tried to explain to her, you know? About the whole henna thing? But she just didn’t get it. And she was so … condescending about it as well.”
“What did she say?”
“Something about how art doesn’t have any arbitrary boundaries, so, because henna is art, she can do whatever she wants. She said that I’m just afraid of competing with her and—hey! She was there when they were saying all of that stuff about me, right? Sheknewwhy I left.”
But Priti shakes her head. “I think she left around the same time you did. Chyna was kind of mad about it.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t go to parties anymore,” I suggest. “We’re not the best at them.”
Priti scoffs. “We’re great at parties. Other people are bad at them.They’rethe problem.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true. We’re pretty great.”
“We’re fantastic.” Priti agrees with a smile.
The rest of Saturday passes by without incident. Priti spends a lot of time holed up in her room, studying for an upcoming math test. I want to talk to her more about what happened with Ali, but I’m afraid of making her upset again. Priti is definitely not someone who is prone to crying, so seeing her like that this morning has me shaken.
I spend a lot of time taking test photos of henna designs to put up on my Instagram page. I wonder if it’ll get the same pull as Flávia’s if I do a henna design on Jess and putthatup on my page. Jess and Chaewon haven’t said much about the Instagram page, but I’m sure I can convince Jess to hand model for pictures.
Ms. Montgomery wants to see our business plans on Monday to help us get started as soon as possible so I’m feeling extra nervous. I need everything to be perfect.
On Sunday morning Priti knocks on my door, which is a surprise in and of itself. Priti and I are not the type of sisters who knock on each other’s doors and respect each other’s privacy. We barge into each other’s rooms (and lives) without a second thought.
“Ammu wants to talk to you,” she says, cracking the door open and peeking through.
“She wants to talk … to me?”
“To you. That’s what I said.”
“To me? Are you sure?”
“She said, ‘Can you tell Nishat to come over?’” Priti’s trying to be all light-hearted and charming, but I can see from the way her eyes roam around the room, never landing on me, that she’s just as nervous as I am. Ammu and I have barely spoken since I came out to her. She hasn’t even looked me in the eye since that fateful day. What could she want with me now?
“Did she say what she wanted to talk about?” My mind is running through a million worst-case scenarios. My palms are sweaty, my heart is as fast as a hummingbird’s, and I’m pretty sure I’m shaking. What if this is it? The end? What if they’re done skirting around the topic and now they want to do something drastic? I can’t stop thinking about all of the gay people thrown out of their homes.
Priti shakes her head, her eyes finally landing on me. She gulps and it makes me gulp.
“She just said to call you. She’s in her room. Do you … do you want me to come?”
I mumble, “no,” even though I want to say yes, yes, a thousand times yes. But if Ammudoeswant to do something drastic, I don’t want Priti to sit there and take it all in.
“I’ll be okay.” I try to make my voice as reassuring as I can, but it still wavers. Pushing past Priti, I walk toward Ammu and Abbu’s room. It feels like the longest walk ever, even though the corridor takes only a few steps to cross. I actually begin toprayduring the walk. Which is probably hypocritical, but I don’t care. I keep thinking,Ya Allah, if you are there please please please pleasepleaselet my parents still love me.
“Ummm …” I poke my head through the door. Ammu is sitting on her bed and there’s a half-knitted scarf in front of her that she’s slowly stitching together. She looks up at me for only a moment before bowing her head again. Like she can’t look at me for too long.
