Page 8 of The Mismatch

‘Don’t you think I look different?’ Neda asked.

Maman looked at her face, briefly, it was only a flash of a look, but it was enough. ‘What have you done to yourself? You look like a clown,’ she laughed, a raucous, infuriating sound. So, not quite the doll Neda had envisaged herself as.

Tears stung her eyes, and she wiped them away before they ran down her freshly blushed cheeks. In the process she smudged her eyeliner.

Rather than draw any further attention to herself, Neda retreated to the bathroom. She heard Maman call her name, feebly, before giving up and forgetting about the incident entirely.

Neda washed her face with a bar of soap and cold water, allowing the suds to get into her eyes, relishing the sting, until she had to press her fingers against her closed lids to bring herself momentary relief.

It was then that she finally learnt she couldn’t force Maman to appreciate her, to like her, rather than love her out of obligation. Sometimes, obligatory love had to be enough. But Neda knew that when she married, she would make sure it was a love match. She needed to break the cycle she was born into, of being misunderstood and lonely. So at night she dreamt of her perfect match, and wondered if he was dreaming of her too.

CHAPTER 4

Soraya

London, 2014

‘Ten pounds for a burgerwithoutchips?’ her mum muttered, taking her reading glasses off her face, no longer wishing to see the menu or the prices.

Instead she inspected the glass of tap water that had been handed to her, and Soraya could see her gaze settle on the faint lipstick mark on the rim. She hadn’t taken a sip yet. She was often vocal about not understanding independent cafes and restaurants that were intentionally laidback; her main qualm was that they looked, and often were, dirty. Dining out with her mum made Soraya hyperaware of her surroundings. Like how the waiter put the cutlery down in a heap, with no napkin underneath, expecting them to set their places themselves. And in such cases, she could almost hear her mother thinking,When did they last disinfect the table?

As the family had sat down, Soraya felt a lingering, indescribable pang about getting a table for four and not five. And then she remembered that if things were different there would actually have been six of them at her graduation lunch.

Guilt overwhelmed her then; she had been so focused on herself she had almost forgotten about Laleh.

They were squeezed together in a raised dining booth, with Soraya and her mum on one side, and Parvin and Amir on the other. Amir spread himself sideways, meaning Parvin was on the edge of the banquette, and opposite him, Soraya had to tuck her feet under her seat. With any other man, she might have made a point of spreading herself too, but she let it slide with her brother. She had learnt it wasn’t worth the argument.

Parvin distributed the knives and forks whilst Amir tore one of the napkins into little pieces. Soraya had no appetite but wanted the food to hurry up.

‘Take a picture of me and my graduate daughter,’ her mum said, passing her phone to Parvin.

Soraya’s mouth was aching from fake smiling all day. She tilted her head to the side slightly, and her mum put an arm around her, her own chin high with pride.

‘One, two, three, smile!’ Parvin said. ‘Oh, Mum!’ Parvin came and adjusted her mum’s hijab. ‘OK, one more time. C’mon, Soraya, smile a bit more, it’s your graduation!’

‘Beautiful,’ her mum said when she saw the picture, before sending the photos from the day to the family WhatsApp group.

Her dad replied promptly:O I see Your all going for food without me

Soraya’s mouth twitched. Parvin and Amir said nothing.

‘I shouldn’t have sent them to the group,’ her mum said. ‘It looks like I’m showing off.’

‘Well, he could have come!’ Soraya blurted.

‘I know, darling,’ her mum said. ‘He gets jealous, though.’

The whole situation was baffling – but why was Soraya even surprised?

‘It’s my graduation. He should have come; he has no right to be jealous. He went to Parvin and Amir’s graduation – why not mine?’

‘It’s probably better he didn’t come. He would have made us leave early because he was tired,’ her mum said.

‘And he would have ordered the most expensive thing on the menu. Remember when he did that at mine,’ Parvin said.

‘And then say he doesn’t like it after one bite,’ Amir chuckled. ‘Poor man, I wish he was here.’

Soraya did too; despite all the pain he perpetually caused, he should have been there. It was clear her siblings enjoyed his company; they brightened up around him. She wondered why she didn’t, why she held so much resentment towards him that it felt like a burning coal deep in her core. He had always been an absent parent, so she had nothing to compare his behaviour to, and yet he was the person who had put so much pressure on her to do well in school. When she got into Goldsmiths with AAB in her A-levels, his first response was not ‘Congratulations’, but instead, ‘Why not three A’s?’