Page 34 of Writing Mr. Right

Guilt floods my stomach, but I still can’t bring him. In Pakistani culture, you don’t really bring partners around to meet your family unless you’re engaged to them or planning to become engaged to them. I’m sure not all Pakistani families are like that, but mine is. I didn’t even meet Tasneem Baji’s husband for the first time until their Baat Pakki, which was their formal engagement. I guess I could lie and say Aashiq and I have been dating for a while, but I told my parents on my birthday that I wasn’t seeing anybody. Not only that, but I can’t exactly marry Aashiq, so I can’t even introduce him as “This is my serious boyfriend who I’m expecting a proposal from any day now. No, I don’t know why he doesn’t have an ID.”

But how do you explain to the physical manifestation of your writing muse that you can’t bring him to your birthday party because your parents aren’t used to being introduced to boyfriends?

Still, the woe lining Aashiq’s face is enough to wear me down. “Fine,” I grumble. “I’ll ask, but don’t be disappointed if my mom says you can’t come.”

Aashiq nods eagerly. I grit my teeth, but I pick up my phone and click Ammi’s name. I raise the phone to my ear as it rings.

“Assalam-o-alaikum,” she greets.

“Walaykum salam,” I reply. “How are the party preparations coming along?”

“Very well,” she says. “Food’s almost all ready, and Abbu has even decorated the place.”

I frown. “All this work for a party of a few people?”

“Well, itisyour thirtieth birthday, after all,” she answers. “We thought it’d be fun. Are you sure Emily and Daniel can’t make it?”

“They both have to work,” I say. “But Emily promised to visit with me some weekend soon to spend time with you guys.” My parents love having Emily around. They were very grateful to her for taking care of me when I moved out, and becauseEmily’s own parents live in Malaysia and she rarely has time to visit them, my parents took her in as one of their own.

I peek up at Aashiq, who stares back at me expectantly. I inhale deeply through my nose. “Actually, Ammi, I’m calling because I was wondering if I could bring someone else.”

She immediately perks up. “Hein? Who?” A tiny gasp huffs into the receiver. “Are you bringing aman?”

I grit my teeth but glance at Aashiq again. “I guess…technically,” I allow. I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “I started seeing someone recently, and well, he wants to come. I told him I’d ask, but I figured you wouldn’t want me bringing a man home to meet the family, right? After all, we haven’t been dating long—”

“Of course you can bring him!” Ammi cuts me off. The enthusiasm radiating off her voice is almost embarrassing, at least for me. “It’d be very nice!”

“But…” I try weakly. “Girls don’t bring home boyfriends in our culture.”

“They do when they’re already thirty years old. You’re not getting any younger, and if you’ve finally snatched up a man, we need to seal the deal,” she says sternly. It’s kind of scary how calm and even her voice is. It quickly switches up, though, when she adds, “You need to be here by one, so you should start getting ready now. See you soon, beta!” And then she hangs up.

I can only stare blankly at the phone for a hot second before slowly lifting my gaze to Aashiq, who has just heard how desperate my mother is to see her last child married. His shoulders are tense, like he’s trying to hold in laughter. I narrow my eyes at him. “Have something to say? Because I can disinvite you very quickly.”

“No, no.” He quickly schools his features. A wide grin stretches on his cheeks. “Let’s get ready for this party!”

16

Aashiq makes pleasant conversation with one of the other train-goers as we take the subway to Queens. He strikes up an easy rapport with anyone he meets, and to my shock, the people he picks rarely seem bothered, which is a wonder for New York, because if you evenlookin someone’s direction here, they’ll chew you out.

But nope, he makes the old Chinese woman cradling a Chihuahua in her lap laugh effortlessly. I’ve stopped telling him to leave people alone, because it’s worked out quite well for him despite the odds. Plus, I don’t like talking much while I’m on the subway, and as much as I enjoy Aashiq’s company, sometimes I need a break from his constant stream of conversation. As long as he’s being distracted and happy, it’s fine with me.

It also gives me a chance to people watch. I know I was adamant in giving it up, but ever since Aashiq showed up, I’ve been letting myself take periodic peeks at the tiny details around me. There’s a woman wearing six-inch red stilettos at 12:30 p.m. on a Saturday, and a group of teenagers clearly dressed for an all-day excursion, balancing wicker picnic baskets in their laps. A huge family lingers near the door; they must be tourists, judgingby the dazed yet apprehensive expressions on their faces, and the way their eyes keep darting to the automated map above the doors to make sure they don’t miss their stop.

I tuck each detail safely away in the back of my head. I’m not actually writing anything right now, but maybe I will be in the future. Of course, I don’t know how soon that future will be, but I bet it’ll be soon if Aashiq has anything to say about it.

We finally reach our stop, and Aashiq gives the old lady a heartfelt goodbye, which includes gifting her one of the flowers from the bouquet he got for my mom. He also makes her promise to live each day well, and then we get off the subway.

“Why do you do that?” I ask as we emerge onto the street.

“Do what?”

“Talk to strangers,” I say. “You don’t know them, and they don’t know you.”

“That’s why I do it!” he explains. “Because I don’t know them. It’s so easy to be rude or dismissive of a stranger, but it’s so much better to be kind, don’t you think?” He glances over his shoulder back at the subway exit. “And now that old woman is going to go home with a wonderful story to tell her family. Or if she lives alone, she’ll have a wonderful memory to bolster her mood. And she’ll have a flower to remind her of it.” He turns his attention back to me. “I haven’t been out here for very long, but even I can tell sometimes we all need someone unexpected to brighten our day.”

I suppose his words have some merit. I’m so used to just getting through the day, and part of that is acting like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s one of the things that happens when you live in such a populated place; you get used to ignoring people. But that’s difficult, considering humans are social creatures.

I don’t have a chance to tell Aashiq what I’m thinking, though, because we’ve already arrived at my parents’ front door. I forgot my key at my apartment, so we have to ring the doorbell, but just as Aashiq moves to press the button, I grab hishand and pull it back. He turns his head and stares at me, his brows knotted together.

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