Page 30 of If I Loved You Less
It must have been something Naadia said or the way she said it. Or both. I’ll have to interrogate her once my bagel is done.
It used to be easier when Mama was alive because it appeared as though I was Mama’s favorite, and Naadia was Papa’s, so things were very neat and even.
Of course, you cannot say as such to Naadia for she will vehemently deny it. She claims I was MamaandPapa’s favorite, but it’s just not true. Sure, they adored me, but I could never get away with even half of what she does. I was loved because I made myself lovable, it was as simple as that. I was adored because I did not screw up.
I don’t mean to be cocky, and obviously I screwed up sometimes, such as little mistakes, but nothing major enough for Mama to do her dramatic sigh for three days straight while muttering to herself.
But no matter what Naadia did, no matter how upset Mama was, Mama would always make amends, pulling Naadia out of her sullen mood and relenting until Naadia was smiling and happy again.
Papa was easier because he didn’t – and still doesn’t – have any favorites. I mean, truly. Yes, all parents say that, but he is always honest, so I know he is not lying when he says we both have a special place. Naadia because she was the first, and me because I was the last.
“Naadia is coming for lunch, is she not?” I ask gently, as we both eat our bagels in the kitchen. She was to stay over at the Sheikhs’s house last night with Asif, then meet us for lunch today.
“No, she is not.” Papa scowls. “Something about her and Asif getting a reservation at some fancy restaurant. Now, who would choose a restaurant over her own dear old father? Very strange, if you ask me. I’ll be dead soon, dead! And then she’ll be sorry.”
“Tch, Papa, don’t say that,” I scold, squeezing his arm. I know he is only being dramatic, as Pakistani parents love to be cavalier about their deaths, but the prospect is something I don't even want to consider, let alone grapple with.
And on the topic of Naadia:She’s going with her husband,I want to say, but I know it’s still a sensitive topic for Papa that Naadia is no longer only his. It does not help that Naadia does not handle Papa with the delicacy required, which is quite a bit, for he is a very sensitive man.
Too sensitive at times, if you ask me, but he ismyPapa, after all.
Even when Asif’s rishta for Naadia came, Papa was in quite a state. After the Sheikh family had left from a lovely dinner, Naadia, Phuppo, and I sat discussing the events of the night with Papa, asking what our next move should be regarding the proposal.
“Proposal?” Papa repeated, confused. “This was merely a social call.”
We laughed, thinking he was joking, for the dinner could not in any sense be mistaken for a simple social call. Then we dispersed to pray. Afterwards, Papa was found staring at the wall, a worried expression on his face.
“I feel lightheaded,” he said. “Fizzu, get me some water.”
Naadia and I exchanged an amused glance.
“Papa, don’t be so dramatic,” Naadia said, laughing and thinking him silly.
“You think this is a joke?” he snapped. “This could be serious! What if they truly did come with ulterior motives?”
He was upset. He would need to be handled delicately. I turned to Phuppo, but before either of us could interject in a gentle manner, Naadia made an impatient sound.
“Asif explicitly said he wants to court me, Papa!” she said.
“I do not recall him saying such a thing,” Papa cried, shocked.
“Well, he did, and I am going to let him,” Naadia replied. “I have to get married sometime, so you’ll just have to deal with it.”
This, of course, only made him more upset. So I had to do damage control then just as I do today.
“Papa, Naadia doesn’t mean to be harsh,” I say to him. “I remember her telling me about that restaurant, and I think it’s really difficult to get a reservation.”
He huffs and puffs, upset that I’m taking Naadia’s side. Of course, I’m not pleased she’s missing lunch, either, but I wouldn’t be very helpful if I exacerbated the situation by saying so.
“She can come over afterwards,” I suggest. “Maybe for chai?”
“No, no,” Papa says. “It doesn't matter to me. She is a grown woman, of course, and will do as she pleases. Why she would take the feelings of an old man into consideration is beyond me!”
Uffo!Papa is so melodramatic.
“Why don’t you and I watch a movie later?” I offer. He softens at this idea. Then shakes his head.
“No, no, I am sure you, too, are busy,” he says, self-pitying.
