I’ve never been inside the local mosque—since there is no space for women to pray. It’s a small building that looks like an apartment complex, gray and sad, and the only people who go to pray there are South Asians—mostly Bangladeshi people.
“How are you going to do that?” I ask, because I’m having a difficult time imagining anybody getting excited about jummah prayer there.
“Well, I’m working on contacting the right people. We’re going to figure out if we can make it a little bigger, or even consider relocating it. And your Salim Uncle suggested that when the mosque isn’t being used for prayer, maybe we can get some teachers to teach Arabic, Qur’an, and even Islamic history.” Abba’s face is lit up as he says all this. He looks happier than he has in a long time. I can’t help the grin that stretches my lips as well.
“It sounds like it’s going to be a pretty big project.”
“It will be …” Abba trails off. “And it’ll probably take a long time. Which is why I’ll need your help with it too.”
He meets my eyes, and though he doesn’t say anything about how I disappointed him with the canvassing, I can tell that’s what he’s thinking about.
“I’m sorry about how I … didn’t help enough with—”
“Hani.” Abba cuts me off, reaching forward to place his hands on my shoulders. “That conversation wasn’t about you not helping. It was because you lied, and you didn’t tell me that you couldn’t do it. I would have understood. But … I needed you and you let me down.”
“I know.” I look down on the tiled floor of our kitchen instead of meeting his eyes.
“But we both made mistakes.” Abba’s hands squeeze my shoulders gently, and when I look up there’s no disappointment in his eyes. “And I’m proud of you. I wouldn’t be working on this project without you, Hani.”
I feel the pinprick of tears behind my eyes, and for once they’re happy tears. I try to blink them away as Abba wraps me in the warmest embrace.
After our conversation, Amma makes us the most perfect breakfast to celebrate Abba’s victory: bhapa pitha. She makes a few with gur between the steamed rice, a few with minced meat, and some with cheese. I eat one of each, and by the time I’m done with breakfast I’m completely full.
More than the breakfast itself, though, it’s sitting at the breakfast table with Abba and Amma, feeling content and happy, that makes everything perfect. Like everything is finally getting back on track. Everything … except Ishu. But I have plans for that too.
So, after breakfast I find myself pulling out the baking trays from the kitchen cabinets.
“Planning on baking something?” Amma asks with a raised eyebrow.
“I need to make things up to Ishu,” I say. “Like you and Abba said … I want to show her that I’m in her corner.”
“And baking is going to do that?” Amma asks. Her question makes me pause in my tracks. It’s not exactly the most ingenious idea, but it’s all I have.
I take a deep breath and say, “God, I hope so.”
chapter forty-four
ishu
I WAKE UP ON MONDAY MORNING TO A TEXT FROM NIK that reads good luck today! Instead of making me feel better, though, it makes my stomach drop. The thought of going into school and standing up in front of our entire year to tell them about why I should be Head Girl next year? It feels like too much.
Still, I climb out of bed and slip into my uniform. I shuffle down the stairs to find Ammu waiting for me at the table. For a moment I wonder if she’s somehow found out about the Head Girl presentations. Maybe she heard from one of the other parents, or maybe the school texted her about it. The thought of her knowing fills me with dread. Because what if I don’t win—and that seems like a pretty big possibility at this stage—and then I’ve disappointed my parents once more?
“Ishu.” A smile flickers on Amma’s lips when she spots me. “Do you want me to make you some breakfast?”
“Um, no,” I mumble. “I’ll have some cereal.” I grab the milk, bowl, and cereal and take a seat opposite Ammu. She’s not even on her phone or anything. She just observes me, as if she’s seeing me for the first time in a while.
“Your school called,” she says finally when I’m already halfway through my cereal.
“Oh?” I try to sound nonchalant but the dread in the pit of my stomach grows.
“They told us that the accusation that student made about you has been dropped. You’re not being investigated anymore.”