Page 7 of The Mismatch

Despite smiling, she did not find it particularly funny.

‘Since when were you two friends?’ he asked.

‘We’re not.’

‘Maybe helikesyou,’ Oliver said, amusement on his face, as though such a thought had to be humorous. She tried not to be offended.

‘I mean …’ she mock-shuddered.

She wouldn’t tell Oliver what she’d overheard; some things were not gossip-worthy.

‘Well, be careful, you know he’s a player,’ Oliver said. ‘Damn, though, his ass looks good even with that robe on.’

Soraya narrowed her eyes at him, opened her mouth to say something, then shook her head. ‘I have nothing to say to that.’

When the families were let in, Oliver was swept away as his five siblings, parents, grandparents and two cousins clustered around him. They had arrived even later than Soraya’s family, despite him giving them directions all morning.

‘I knew you should have worn your father’s suit,’ Soraya heard his mother say.

‘And why do you have your hair like that? Couldn’t you have trimmed it for graduation?’ his father added. ‘You could at least have made an effort, Oliver.’

His family put exceptional pressure on him to be perfect. He said he thought it was because his parents were unhappy with their own lives, with what they hadn’t achieved, that they were now attempting to live through their children. The plan they put in place for him, before he was even born, did not include him studying English at an arts university, nor him being gay. Therefore, of course, they did not accept either.

Soraya did not have long to dwell on Oliver’s family because her own were walking towards her. Despite their distinctly different styles, they all had dark well-defined eyebrows, large hazel eyes and light olive skin.

Her mum was petite with strong cheekbones, tattooed black eyebrows, thin lips and a cluster of freckles across her nose. Her hijab was moderately tight on her head, and she had a gold pin under her chin to fasten the silk fabric in place. She wore a thin trace of eyeliner – something she only did on special occasions. Parvin no doubt had drawn it on her. Her mum was hopeless at doing her own make-up.

As Parvin walked she swished her hips, keeping her head low as she typed on her phone. Soraya had spent all of the night before prepping her hair and skin for graduation, and two hours on her hair and make-up in the morning, but looking at her sister now she still didn’t feel like it was enough. She resisted the urge to check whether Magnus was looking at Parvin.

Amir towered over them, somehow dodging the Nazari family’s small gene. He was grinning at Soraya, dimples prominent in his cheeks, which seemed impossible considering he had a beard. Perhaps she was only imagining his dimples from when he was younger. Despite his constant criticism of his sisters it was clear Amir was proud of them, which made it difficult, but not impossible, for them to resent his frequent sexist comments.

‘Congratulations,’ they all said, in semi-unison.

‘Thanks,’ Soraya said, before she saw her mum’s gaze. She followed it to the waiter, who was holding a tray of canapés. The Nazari family’s greatest pleasure in life was food. They didn’t all, bar Parvin, have rounded bellies for no reason. As a result the family often attempted various diets to lose their stomach fat. Soraya herself had gained and lost the same five pounds for the last six years – yo-yo dieting was nothing if not normal in their household.

‘Where’s Dad?’ Soraya asked her mum.

‘He was tired so he stayed at home.’ Her mum looked to Amir for help but it was Parvin who spoke next.

‘You have us here. Anyway you’d only moan if he came.’ Soraya felt a twitch of irritation. Nothing was ever a big deal unless it affected Parvin.

She wasn’t even sure why she had got it into her head that he would show up. Like she had wanted to say to Magnus before: she knew all too well what it was like to have a disappointing parent.

CHAPTER 3

Neda

Tehran, 1973

Ever since she was a child, Neda was sure of one thing: she wanted to do more. More than her school friends were doing, what her mother did, and what was expected of her. She didn’t want to stop learning, or stop working, once she married. She couldn’t fathom the idea of no longer expanding her brain academically – because, after all, weren’t human beings meant to challenge themselves?

She soaked up information, would become obsessed with subjects at school until she mastered them. And yet, secretly, she was intrigued by romance, but didn’t dare approach it. That was something she knew she needed real-life experience of in order to begin to truly understand it. Whilst her dad was liberal enough to drink red wine in the evening, this liberalism did not extend to approving of his daughters talking to the opposite sex. And even if he did let her, she wasn’t sure she would want to talk to boys. Learning from books was safe, risk-free. Talking to boys, men, was not.

Her academic success was not something her mother applauded. Maman wanted her to ‘act more like a girl’, beginning by encouraging her to wear make-up. This was reinforced by Reza Shah calling for women to wear shorterskirts, be liberated, be his version of free. But Neda thought the whole point of freedom was to have choice. What was the point of freedom if it meant you were uncomfortable and not allowed to be quite yourself? How was that freedom?

It was clear to Neda that she was a disappointment to Maman; their relationship had always been strained. Nonetheless, Neda had tried to gain her mother’s affection as every non-favourite child does, but she had nine siblings to compete with. Maman disagreed with birth control and had babies right until her menopause hit. People in the neighbourhood often made fun of her, saying she had a ‘large appetite’. And in being one of her eldest, Neda was forced into maturity – or at least nanny duties – at a very early age, which meant Maman often saw her more as the help than as her daughter.

Days after Neda’s seventeenth birthday, she shakily lined her eyes with black kohl, put her hair in rollers the night before, and made her cheeks a rosy pink. She resembled a doll. It was a stark contrast to her normally plain look. But Maman was too busy to notice this change, focusing on her younger children, ordering Neda around without looking at her.