Page 35 of Writing Mr. Right

“You have to promise to be calm in front of my family,” I say. “I don’t want them asking any questions that might poke a hole in your existence.”

Aashiq frowns. “You didn’t tell me this when I met Emily and your coworkers.”

“To be fair, in Emily’s case, you met her by chance. I wasn’t able to coach you,” I start. “And I didn’t know enough about what you were like when we had lunch with my coworkers. Plus, my friends and my coworkers are different—they won’t ask me any deeply personal questions because they recognize there are boundaries. But boundaries are an unfamiliar concept to brown families, so they absolutelywillbombard us with a bunch of questions, and it’ll be harder to lie to them. I don’t want any of them figuring out you’re not real.”

“But Iam—”

“I know, I know you’re real,” I say. “I only meant you’re not a real person who can talk about his own family members or his life up until now, okay?” I finally let go of his hand. “Just follow my lead and try to be…relaxed.”

Aashiq still seems unsure, but he nods. “Relaxed. Right. I can do that.” He squares his shoulders, then pushes the bell.

A pair of running feet echoes on the other side, and when the door opens, my six-year-old nephew Zeeshan, Tasneem Baji’s son, gasps when he sees me. “Ziya Khala!” He launches himself at my legs, then stares up at Aashiq. “And some guy!”

I giggle and lift Zeeshan into my arms. “Shan, you know you’re not supposed to answer the front door,” I scold lightly.

“But I saw it was you,” he says. “So I knew it was safe.”

“Still, it’s better to wait for an adult,” Aashiq tells him.

Zeeshan gives him a once-over, then wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Who is that?”

I give Aashiq a weary side-glance before stepping throughthe doorway. “Let’s go inside, okay? Khala will introduce everyone to him then.”

I set Zeeshan back on the floor in the hallway, and he zips off, probably to find his cousins. Aashiq shuts the door behind us just as Ammi steps into the hall. “Ahh, Ziya!” she greets. “Assalam-o-alaikum, beta.”

She wraps her arms around me, and I hug her back. “Walaykum salam,” I reply.

After a few seconds, Ammi pulls back, and her attention immediately shifts to Aashiq. “And who is this?”

For some reason, my face heats up. When I say I’ve never introduced a boyfriend to my family before, I mean it. I’ve never had a boyfriend at all, let alone someone serious enough to meet my family. And Aashiq isn’t even my boyfriend; I just felt guilty for leaving him at home when he wanted to come to the party.

I shake off the thoughts and turn to Aashiq. “Ammi, this is Aashiq. Aashiq, this is my mom, Sajidah Khan.”

Aashiq fixes my mother with a warm grin. “Assalam-o-alaikum, Sajidah Auntie,” he bubbles. He steps forward with the flowers. “These are for you. I hope you like them.”

“Oh, wow!” Ammi accepts them, her own grin matching Aashiq’s. “That’s so sweet of you. They’re beautiful.” She brings them to her nose to take a deep whiff, then sighs. “How wonderful.” She nods her head in the direction of the living room. “Please, come in! Make yourself comfortable.”

We take off our shoes first. Aashiq does so eagerly, but I do it with more caution. Ammi’s acting way nicer and way more open than she should be. I mean, for the most part my mother is very open-minded, but I still remember her lectures about focusing on nothing but my studies when I was in high school, and if I so much as looked in a boy’s direction, she’d throw a slipper at me. I guess she’s realized how detrimental those orders were once I turned thirty with no husband or children in sight.

Ammi heads back to the kitchen, presumably to put the flowersinto a vase, so I lead Aashiq to the living room. If Zeeshan is here, that means Tasneem Baji is, too, and when we walk through the threshold of the living room, I see her sitting on the couch. Beside her is Amna Bhabhi, my brother Imran’s wife. They both turn when they hear us come in, and they’re instantly on their feet to greet me.

We exchange a course of salams, and once those are done, they direct their attention to Aashiq. “And who might this be?” Amna Bhabhi asks.

I awkwardly pat Aashiq’s arm. “This is Aashiq,” I say. “Aashiq, this is my sister, Tasneem Baji, and my brother’s wife, Amna Bhabhi.”

He nods at each of them in turn. “It’s lovely to meet you both,” he says, and in Aashiq’s earnest tone, you can tell he genuinely means it.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Tasneem Baji says. Her gaze darts over to mine, but I can’t quite tell what she’s trying to nonverbally say. Due to our distance, I never quite mastered the body language so many siblings have with each other.

Tasneem Baji must grow tired of trying, because she just offers Aashiq a polite grin and gestures to the couch. “Would you care to have a seat?”

Aashiq sits, and Tasneem Baji and Amna Bhabi plop down on either side of him. I roll my eyes but take a seat in the chair across from the couch. I’d sit in the chair next to the couch, but Bubbles already occupies it, and she kicks up a hissy fit whenever someone tries to move her from her favorite spot. Aashiq fixes me with a wide-eyed, panicked stare, but I assure him it’s okay with a gentle nod. “Where are Imran Bhai and Sohail Bhai?” I ask.

“Imran’s helping Abbu with the barbecuing, and Sohail had a golf meeting with some of his coworkers this morning, but he should be coming soon,” Tasneem Baji answers, not taking her eyes off Aashiq. Her deep interest in the first “boyfriend”I’ve ever brought home is a little annoying. She’s acting like it’s something she never could have fathomed. Before I can ask where the other kids are, she claps her hands. “So, Aashiq! Tell us about yourself.”

“Oh. Well…” Aashiq bites his lip. “I enjoy going on walks, but I don’t think I like the cold very much. Being cold is a strange feeling.”

“I’m right there with you,” Tasneem Baji says. “The winter can be the worst. If I could, I’d move to Florida. I’m too much of a New York girl for that, though.”

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