Page 25 of If I Loved You Less
Papa and I are the last guests to leave, Papa sitting in front of the fire, Zeeshan Uncle awkwardly trying (and failing) to make conversation with him while Phuppo and I put all the food away.
“Come, now, we should get going,” Papa finally says to me and Phuppo. “Fizzu, Humaira, get your coats.”
“Papa,” I say gently. “This is Phuppo’s house, now.”
He startles, as if forgetting that Phuppo is in fact married. He frowns once the realization strikes him. “Well, then, you get your coat. It is getting late.”
“Mahmud Bhai, let Humaira stay the night,” Phuppo says, putting an arm around me. I lean into her, mirroring the act. “You can pick her up in the morning.”
I nod. I want to stay. I don’t want to go home. Naadia will be at the Sheikhs’s with Asif, since she dislikes leaving him for even one night. (Yes, they are one ofthosecouples.)
“I suppose. Alright,” Papa says, drawing out the word, hoping I will change my mind. I do feel bad leaving Papa alone, but perhaps the change in scenery for one night will help settle this ache in me.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I say, putting his cashmere scarf around his neck. I kiss his cheek. “Goodnight, Papa.”
“Goodnight, jaani.”
After he’s gone, Phuppo and I make qahwa and sit sipping and talking for a while in the living room while Zeeshan Uncle retires upstairs. The house is quiet without all the guests but still warm and cozy.
“I am so happy,” Phuppo tells me, smiling into her hand. “I could have never imagined it. He is such a great man.”
“That makes me so glad for you,” I say, heart warming from her happiness.
“I was so nervous because even though we were compatible and got along well before the wedding, I wasn’t sure about the ... chemistry,” she says. We both giggle. “It is an important thing and cannot be manufactured.”
“You guys have excellent chemistry,” I inform her. “I saw you two earlier.”
“Yes, we rather do, don't we?” Her eyes have a dreamy quality to them. “I know you don't believe it, but sometimes these things do develop after marriage.”
“It isn’t that I don’t believe it, for I am sure they do,” I say, “it’s just that I don't believe it will work that way for me.”
“Yes, perhaps,” Phuppo says. We continue chatting, but a little while later I see Zeeshan Uncle peek his head in, then duck out the moment I notice him. I laugh.
“I think your husband is looking for you,” I whisper.
Phuppo giggles. “He can wait.”
But I can tell she is keen to go to him, too, so I tell her to go.
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “I’m sleepy, too.”
As she exits and meets Zeeshan Uncle in the hall, he reaches out for her hand. She hesitates, glancing at me, all shy, and it makes me smile. I look away, heart pinching.
It reminds me of this one time we were in the city walking around after a fancy dinner out, Naadia and I in the front, Mama and Papa behind us. I turned back to make sure Mama and Papa were still close behind and found them holding hands.
But the instant I registered the sight, Papa quickly retracted his hand from Mama’s, not wanting me to see. Mama made an elaborate show of rolling her eyes, and I laughed, knowing she wanted to yell, “Kya hai! We’remarried!”
They were always alternating between who was the affectionate one and who was the abashed one. But there was never any doubt that they both loved each other very dearly.
Releasing a long breath, I head up to the guest room, where I change into a new set of pajamas Phuppo has kept in the closet for me for impromptu sleepovers such as this. The guest bathroom has my usual La Mer skincare stuff and my favorite papaya hand lotion, too. Oh, how Phuppo spoils me.
I get into bed, but after some time, find that I cannot sleep.
Rain begins to fall outside as I toss and turn, thinking I should have had Papa go back with Naadia and leave the car for me so I could have gone home, but Papa wouldn’t have agreed. He does not like me driving so late at night.
Sensing that sleep will not come so easily, I get out of bed and head downstairs to make some chamomile tea. The sound of raindrops against the windows mingles with the sound of the kettle.
