Tell Me How You Really Feel by Aminah Mae Safi

Author:Aminah Mae Safi
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

15

The Trouble with Angels

Sana

The drive down to Orange County was uneventful. The usual amount of traffic, if not slightly less. If everyone was going to their own Nowruz parties, then they were either already there, or they were staying in their own neighborhoods for the day.

Not an option for Sana.

Mamani still cooked to prove that nobody could take the old country out of her. And to reinforce that she’d married a man who had made enough money that she could cook with pure leisure in mind.

Sana had to dress her best. A flowy, knee-length skirt and a floral print top. Her hair smoothed and pulled back, as usual. Sana added a little extra flick to her eyeliner. If she had an extra special game to cheer at, Sana usually would add a touch more highlighter. But Mamani was from a different generation. She didn’t understand all these young girls “making themselves shiny on purpose.” When it came to special events at Mamani’s house, Sana added extra eyeliner, like her grandmother would appreciate.

If Sana thought she could get away with old clothes on Nowruz—even ones Mamani hadn’t seen before—she would have armchair diagnosed herself with delusion. Mamani could smell new clothes. Sometimes Sana “accidentally” left the store tags on just so Mamani could fuss over the new item and cut the tags out herself.

It was the little things with Mamani.

Mom rang the bell, and a frazzled Mamani swung open the door. “You didn’t park in the drive, did you?”

“No, Maman.” Farrah leaned in to brush a kiss on her mother’s cheek.

“Because your brother will be late and he’ll need the spot.” Mamani double-checked the circular driveway from the door.

Farrah leaned into Mamani’s other cheek. Farrah’s serenity always increased as her mother’s plummeted. They were inverse corollaries of each other in so many ways.

“And the other guests.” A crash sounded. Mamani started, then left the doorway empty as she went to the noise’s source.

“What’s the meaning of this? It’s clear the house, not wreck it.” Mamani’s voice faded as she moved, still shouting, deeper into the house.

Dadu appeared, holding two old-fashioned glasses. “You should take this.”

“Starting early, Baba.” Mom took one of the glasses and gave her father a kiss. She sniffed the glass.

Dadu shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Another crashing sound, followed by the muffled sounds of shouting. Mom nodded and took a swig of her drink. “I think I will.”

Dadu chuckled, then turned to Sana. “You’re too young for our habits.”

“I don’t drink, Dadu.”

“Good girl.” Dadu gave Sana’s hand an affectionate pat.

Sana said nothing. True, she practiced her faith a bit more strictly than her mother and her grandfather. She and Mamani had that in common. But Sana wanted to be a surgeon. Drinking could lead to hand tremors. Not now. But ten, twenty years down the road. After education had been paid for and training completed. It wasn’t worth the risk, even if it wasn’t a guarantee.

“Come,” said Dadu. “Your cousin is over here.”

“Maman’s screaming with company over?” Mom took another swig of her drink.

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