Amma smiles. “You know, when Polash and Akash were young, they used to do things like that all the time.” She says it as if she’s remembering a fond memory. “Akash would take something that belonged to Polash and unless Polash agreed to do everything Akash asked him to do, Akash wouldn’t give it back.”
“That was a game,” I say. “When they were kids.”
“It was.” Amma nods. “But it’s not like they don’t get into major disagreements now. Didn’t you have a huge fight with Akash last time you saw him? You called him a sexist prick, if I remember correctly.”
“Because he made a ‘get back in the kitchen’ joke. That’s not even original, Amma.” Even though Akash is far older than me, he still tries to get me riled up with this stuff, and I always hate it. “Anyway … it’s different. Akash is a sexist prick,” I say matter-of-factly, and Amma’s smile broadens. “But he would never blackmail me about something like that.”
“Family is complicated, Hani. Everyone has a different relationship to their family.” She leans forward and cups my cheek with her palm. Her hands are soft and warm, and I immediately feel better about everything. Amma has a way of doing that. I don’t understand it, but I appreciate it.
“If you’re going to be with Ishu, the most you can do is listen and support her to the best of your abilities,” she says.
I wonder for a moment what Amma would say if I told her the truth. How she would react. What she would think of me.
I nod my head. “Yeah. I guess I was just surprised. Her sister was so nice.”
“People aren’t always who they seem to be.”
Unfortunately, I know that all too well.
chapter sixteen
ishu
I HAVE NEVER BEEN INVITED TO A WHITE IRISH PARTY before. I’ve gone to Bengali dawats and Eid parties and Desi weddings, but those are all easy to dress for because you just wear a fancy salwar kameez. For dawats, the simpler ones. For weddings, the most expensive and sparkliest ones.
But you can’t wear a salwar kameez to an Irish birthday party without sticking out like a sore thumb.
I don’t know when this became my go-to, but I video call Hani almost without thought. She picks up on the second ring. She looks different. Stripped down. Not the just-woke-up tired of the morning we chatted, or angelic like the first day she called me. She just looks herself, with her hair tied up in a towel.
“Hey.” Hani smiles into the camera. “I’m kind of getting ready?”
“Me too.” I sigh. “I don’t know what people wear to a birthday party.”
“Clothes,” Hani deadpans.
“I know.” I roll my eyes. “A dress? Jeans? Is it casual? Semi-formal? Is it—”
“Definitely not semi-formal,” Hani says. “Show me some options.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.” She points to the wardrobe behind me. “Just open it up and show me what you have.”
“It’s kind of messy,” I mumble, inching forward. I haven’t properly organized my wardrobe in a while. When I throw open the doors, Hani’s eyebrows shoot up right into her hair.
“This is messy?” she asks.
“Well, yeah.” I observe my wardrobe. It’s mismatched, because I’ve been putting everything in without paying attention to color coordination or anything.
“Okay. You’re never looking in my wardrobe,” Hani mumbles. “Let’s see what you were thinking.”
I pull out my favorite flannel shirt. Hani immediately shoots it down saying, “Not unless you want to be an absolute lesbian stereotype.”
“I’m not even a lesbian,” I say.
Hani just shrugs. “That’s why I said stereotype. Plus, considering my friends’ reactions to me being bisexual, I think most people at this party will be the types to pigeonhole identities.” Like they have been our entire lives, I think but don’t say aloud. Maybe Hani has chosen to forget about my first few weeks in the school when the two of us were forced together by her friends. I bet they feel satisfaction seeing us as a couple now. Like they always expected it. We are culturally similar and, therefore, must be meant for each other. Never mind the vast differences in our language or our religious beliefs. To most white people, just having brown skin is going to mean we’re one and the same.
We go through a few more things that Hani says no to and end up settling on a simple black dress and—on my insistence—a pair of leggings.