Page 14 of If I Loved You Less
While most of the autumn flutters away like the falling leaves, without too much overwhelming pain, when Thanksgiving rolls around at the end of November, I find I cannot get out of bed.
I miss her terribly. It is a physical pain, weighing down on me.
I think perhaps I seek out love so ardently because I saw how it nourished her, even in the end, when she was sick. Her and Papa weren’t a perfect couple, but they loved each other, even when they bickered and quarreled. Perhaps they are why I have such high expectations of love, and why I believe in it so fervently.
One sweet anecdote I will share is that Papa used to exclusively call Mama “begham”, and for a long while, we actually thought it was “begum” he was saying, which was the Urdu word for someone’s Mrs., their wife.
“How come you call Mama begum?” I asked Papa once, probably when I was eight and Naadia was ten. He shook his head, misunderstood and heartbroken by my question. He poured more chocolate syrup over his ice-cream, our post-dinner treat that warm summer night.
“I am not saying be-gum,” he replied with a scoff, as if he could not imagine being found saying something so simple when regarding his wife. “I am saying be-gham.”
It was a slight difference but held a world of meaning. Naadia and I exchanged a glance, drawing out long oooooh’s over our bowls of ice-cream, even though we didn’t fully understand the Urdu word.
“So what does beghammean?” Naadia asked.
“Be– without,” he replied, breaking down the word. “Gham– grief. The one who keeps me without grief.”
“Aww!” I exclaimed. “That’s so sweet!”
Clearly proud of himself, Papa cast a glance at Mama, who had been listening silently while she ate her peanut, chocolate-chip ice-cream. In response, she shook her head at the inappropriate nature of such intimate words in front of the children. It was why Mama exclusively called Papa “suno”, which meant “listen”. There was something too intimate about calling someone directly by their name, particularly in front of the others.
But the face of disgust she made never lasted: I saw her lips pulling into a smile at the last moment.
Some days, like today, I miss her so much I think I won’t ever be okay again.
“Can I borrow your black sweater?” Naadia asks, entering my room through the open bathroom door. It’s nearly noon, and I am still in bed. Asif dropped her off a little while ago, while he went to the Sheikhs’s down the street.
“Which one?” I ask.
“You know, the black one,” she says, vaguely waving a hand as she opens my closet and walks in, searching for the sweater in mention. I have about six black sweaters, but I know my sister well enough to know which one she is referring to.
“Don’t ruin my closet,” I call. “It’s on your left, under the Burberry checked one.”
“Oh, cute!” she calls back, something catching her eye. “When did you get this? I’m gonna borrow it.”
I sink back into my cushions, letting her do her worst. By the time she leaves my closet, her arms are full. I give her a look, and she waves a hand. Or tries to. Her hands are otherwise occupied.
“I’m just gonna try some of this stuff on,” she says. “Just to check.”
She exits as soon as she came, then returns with empty arms. She approaches my bed, and I squirm away, clutching my blanket close before she can snatch it off.
“Get up,” she says, shaking my legs. I groan, trying to kick her from under the blanket. “You have to get ready. Don’t you need to bake your pies? And Phuppo said to get there early.”
“I don’t want to get up,” I whine, pulling my covers over my nose. She cocks her head to the side.
“You don’t?”
I shake my head.
“Fine.” She plops right on top of me, pressing her weight down.
“Ow!” I scream. “How am I supposed to get up now?”
“Oh, you want to get up now?”
“Get off of me!” I free an arm and grab a pillow to smack her with, but she only spreads out on top of me. “God, did you gain weight? You’re so heavy! Get off!”
“What did you just say!” she screams, taking the pillow to smother my face as I shriek. “I’ve been doing Pilates thank you very much so that is allmuscleweight!”
