Deen looks to me, worry visible in his eyes. Nothing about Ma’s expression or her words are giving away whether she hates the place or likes it. Maybe she was so offended by what Deen has done with the restaurant that she had to leave and come back with all of the old decor, which Deen had stuffed away in the attic. Maybe she’s going to demand that Deen put it all back. From the look on Deen’s face, he definitely fears something like that.
Ma doesn’t say any more, she just opens up the cardboard box and takes something out, brandishing it towards Deen.It looks like a piece of paper – no, a poster. I lean forward, trying to catch a glance at it, and when I do, I don’t know what to think.
It’s an old poster – a little worn around the edges – but I know what it is immediately. It’s a poster of a Bengali movie. From the looks of it, a fairly old one too. There are bold red Bangla words brandished on the front, with a girl with her black hair in a floral bun standing back to back with a guy wearing a biker jacket.
‘What is this?’ Deen asks.
Ma’s face seems to soften at the question, and she sighs. ‘I used to collect these movie posters, back when I had dreams of becoming an actress. All of these Bangladeshi movies that I went to watch, or even the Indian ones. I would squirrel away the posters. It was my prized collection because I imagined one day adding my own movie poster to it.’ Ma has a faraway look in her eyes, like she’s imagining that scenario, like she can see it even if it’s not real. ‘But … it never happened, and so I put them away in this box, and never looked at them again. Your baba always wanted me to go after my dream. Even when we were struggling, and I was working night shifts all the time. Even when we were barely able to make ends meet – your baba never gave up on his dreams, and he didn’t want me to give up on mine either.’
Ma pauses, looking around at the restaurant, her face softening even more. I can almost see the younger version of her; the one who still had bright dreams and hope in her eyes.
‘He had so many dreams for this place and he did so much to make those dreams come true. But he couldn’t. Yet when I walked in here, I thought, this was it. This washis dream. For this place to be full of people and love and laughter. He may not be here to see it, but I know he would be proud. And you made it happen, Deen.’ She pauses to look between me and Deen, wearing a smile that I don’t think I’ve ever seen on her before. ‘You both went after your dreams, went after what makes you happy. Your baba would have been so happy.’
She looks from Deen to me, pride sparkling in her eyes.
She reaches forward, cupping Deen’s cheeks in her hands. ‘When I came in here, and saw this place, I thought about these posters, and my dreams. I want you to have them, for the restaurant. I know you asked all of your aunties and uncles for things, I know you went around the charity shops—’
‘How did you—’ Deen begins to ask.
‘I see a lot more than you think I do,’ Ma says, and it’s true. It does sometimes feel like she has some kind of sixth sense about everything and anything going on with the two of us. ‘But you never asked me, and if you had, I would never have offered these or anything at all. But seeing this place so lively and full of people made me realise that they deserve to do more than collect dust under my bed. They should be here, on the walls.’
Deen nods, looking at the poster again. I can see it in his eyes – he can already envision these posters lining the walls. I can too.
‘I think this is what’s been missing,’ he says. ‘Because this place has Baba, me, Dina.’ Deen looks to me with a smile. ‘And now it’ll have you.’
Chapter 36
Maya
I hold up my old football shirt in front of me. In the bright light of the sun flooding in from the window, the blue of it looks a little washed out. Or maybe it’s just been through so many wash cycles over the years that itiswashed out.
With the summer almost over, I’ve finally decided to close the chapter on my professional football career. Especially now that I’ve realised that being back home is actually making me happier than I have been in a long time. Even after retiring from the team, it felt like a part of me was back there. Longing for everything that came with my career. But I know that it’s time to officially say goodbye. To make my peace with it.
I turn the shirt around, to the back with my name printed on it.Alamin stark white letters, which stand out against the blue. All around it, my teammates have signed their names. Before, this would have led me down a spiral, but today, looking at their names, I only feel a warm sense of nostalgia. Like the past is a fond memory that I’m happy to remember but don’t quite want to relive.
Amma suggested that we frame my jersey, and hang it up in the sitting room, so that everybody who comes to the house can see it. I know her heart is in the right place – she wants to show off the fact that her daughter was aprofessional footballer. But the idea of looking at it every day doesn’t feel right. It would be holding on to the past, glorifying and whitewashing it. Pretending that it didn’t hurt me. So, I decide to put it away instead. Not throw it away, but keep it somewhere in my wardrobe, as a reminder of my time playing with the Vikings.
As I’m about to put it into my wardrobe, the bell rings. A sharp, loud trill reverberates through the house.
I put the shirt on my bed and walk down the stairs. Amma and Abba are out for the day so there’s nobody else to answer the door.
The doorbell rings a second time, and I frown, wondering if it’s a door-to-door salesman that I’ll have to find some polite way of turning away quickly. I’m already trying to come up with an excuse for why I’m extremely busy and can’t entertain whatever they’re trying to sell, when I swing the door open and realise that it’s not a door-to-door salesman on the other side at all. It’s Dina.
‘Dina … you’re here.’
‘Hi.’ she smiles at me hesitantly.
‘Hi,’ I say, not sure of what else to say. ‘Um … do you … did you want to come inside?’
‘Yeah, OK.’
I hold the door open wider, and Dina steps in, past me. I lead her through the hallway to the sitting room, where Dina perches on the couch, looking around with curious eyes. I sit down next to her, and for a few minutes silence washes over us. I’m running through a list of questions that I could ask her to break the silence: ‘How are you?’ and ‘How was the launch of the restaurant?’ all the way to ‘Do you hate me?’
But then Dina takes a deep breath and says, ‘I’m sorry.’
I blink at her. Of all the things I thought she was about to say, it wasn’t this. ‘You’re sorry? For … what?’
She looks at me, holding my gaze, and I can see so much emotion wading in there that I can’t even decipher. ‘For … everything. I’m sorry for how I reacted when you got an opportunity at your dream career. I’m sorry for how I broke up with you. I’m sorry for never, ever trying to make things better between us. I’m sorry for how things have been between us since you got back. I’m sorry about all of it.’
