Hot Pink in the City Read Online Free PDF Page B

want anyone
to wait, as if that makes her a bad person. It isn't wrong to let
people wait instead of catering to them all the time. All she does
is try to make others happy. I wonder what makes her happy, or
maybe what she's already doing is all she wants.
    When she picks up the phone and begins to
speak Farsi, it's apparent she's talking to a friend. Her eyes roll
up to the ceiling in ecstasy, and she's smiling. Auntie is
friendly, a hostess, a people person, a face stuffer who wants you
to eat everything on the plate -- after all, there are people
starving in Ethiopia, and we should be grateful for what we
have.
    "Yes, our niece is here... Farhad's niece,
from his mother's side... she's sixteen... I haven't really thought
about marriage, but it does sound like a good idea... your nephew
Nabil sounds like a good match for her."
    The lokum sits heavy in my stomach. It seems
like all the older women in my family are looking for husbands for
me. At home my mother talks about boys she knows, young men her
friends have told her about, sons of friends. Meanwhile, I don't
want to be tied down. I'm still in school! And I'd like to find
someone on my own. Ideas of the summer fling I've daydreamed about
float in my head, but the people around me want to set me up with
someone right now or in the near future.
    Auntie hangs up the phone. "Don't look like
that," she smiles. "My friend saw a picture of you and thinks
you're quite pretty for her nephew. But we're not putting pressure
on you."
    Yeah, right. It sounds like pressure to
me.
    "Dinner's almost ready and your uncle is
almost home, so why don't you wash up. It looks like you've eaten
lokum. I'm so glad you like it. Oh, before you eat dinner, maybe
you should call your parents already and let them know you're okay
instead of waiting until tonight. You might go to bed early and
miss calling them."
    I wash my hands and return to the living
room. I look at the green curtains that mask the alcove. My monster
of a little cousin is behind them. He'll probably hear my entire
conversation with my parents. He's in a central location where he
can watch everyone. Outside of his room, he's sneaking around,
opening doors, and peeking in at people. Nasty little spy.
    I pick up the phone and call my mother. "How
are you, Asma?" she asks. She talks in a hybrid of Farsi and
English, switching between the two. "How was your flight?"
    "Great." I don't tell her about wearing
makeup, handsome Abe, and I most certainly don't breathe a word
about the Kulthum tape.
    "You be on your best behavior. We trust you
by yourself over there. We shouldn't hear a negative word from your
uncle and aunt, but I know we won't hear such things."
    "Right." I gulp. This is too much for me. I
ruined a tape containing music from the Madonna of the Middle East,
I lost money to my bratty cousin, and my aunt is mentioning the
word "marriage" and me in her conversations to friends. I have many
more days of this...
     
    ***
     
    Nasreen's taste-testing and Auntie
interrupting my music recording at least had one good result.
Dinner is fantastic. Succulent beef, a rich gravy, and delicate
rice fill up my tummy, although I'm not eating as much as I
normally do. My nerves rattle through me. I quake hearing the
clattering of forks, knives, and saltshakers. Nasreen picks at her
food. Omar quickly finishes dinner and asks if he can leave. With
these long summer days, he can play outside in the evenings with
his friends. Just as Omar is about to leave, there's a knock on the
door. I see a glimpse of four of his friends, some taller and
older-looking than him, and Omar goes with them to a playground
across the street. Before the door closes on him and his friends, I
stare at his back pockets, picturing my money in them. If he knew
what was going on inside of me, he probably would have stayed to
torture me. My eyes dart up to my uncle and aunt. Nasreen is also
watching. We're particularly interested in Uncle. Auntie doesn't
touch the music