All Inclusive, page 23
“Mom, he died the day after you met him. In the Air India bombing.” It was weird to say aloud. Images from the documentaries pushed forward: the smashed airplane awash in the Atlantic, the bodies recovered, the grieving family members interviewed years later. The family members. It dawned on me that I was one of them now.
Her gaze turned glassy as she took it all in. After a moment she spoke, “I remember the news, but I always assumed he was leaving weeks later …” she went quiet again. I knew she’d believed that Azeez was just another guy who’d taken advantage of her.
“I bet he would have called you if he had left later,” I said with conviction. “I bet you made an impression on him. I bet you were hard to forget.” She gave me a brave smile.
“Maybe. Well … this is a shock. It makes sense now, that time I called India. I wish I’d known … what really happened. I don’t know what to say.” She sighed, air rushing from her microphone, across the continent, and through my headphones.
“Yeah, me too.” I nodded, watching her face compose itself. She was rallying, as I expected she would. I gave her time. I needed her to rally.
“How are you dealing with all of this, Ameera?”
“It’s surreal. He was always a figment of my imagination. Now that I know who he was and what happened to him, he seems … more real,” I fixed my gaze at the camera, just above her head, so that she’ d feel like I was looking into her eyes. “I feel close to him, somehow now, even though he’s dead.”
“Huh,” she murmured. “Well I suppose that’s good.”
“And there’s more, Mom. Jessie, the archivist, is now looking for his family. My namesake aunt. His brother, his parents. I think that maybe I’d like to meet them. You know, one day.” I watched her face carefully. She was still composed, almost stock still.
“I understand.” She bit her lip and I knew she was reining in errant feelings, ones that she deemed inappropriate or self-centred or too big to say to me. She applied more lip balm. “Of course. You need to know more about them.”
Azeez
∞
Jessie reached Nadeem at his office. Family reunifications were the best part of her work, but she approached him neutrally, knowing she should appear to have little stake in the concern.
“You’re certain of this information,” he asked, in his lawyerly manner, after she’ d delivered the news. His voice was steady, but I heard a storm building in his exhalations. Disbelief crackled forward. Was this a joke? What kind of a person …? Then, he softened and gratitude breezed out. A niece. Could it be? Some essence of his brother returning to him.
Yes. It’s true, I told him. A niece.
“I’m fairly sure. Azeez told Ameera’s mother that he had a brother named Nadeem and a sister named Ameera.”
Nadeem held his breath, but I nudged him to inhale my words: Yes, I talked about you.
“He also told Nora he had just completed his PhD at McMaster. We matched his surname to the university’s records.”
Nora. What a curious name, Nadeem thought. My brother once had a lover named Nora. It reassured him to know that I’d known the love of a woman.
“I see,” was all he said to Jessie.
“They didn’t know one another long, or well. You see, it was just a single meeting. Nora didn’t know he’ d left the next day, or that he’ d died.”
He frowned and thought: the girl was a product of a single meeting? Yes, it’s true.
“How old is the girl, then?” He looked at his desk calendar, forgetting for a second that it was 2015, and not 1985.
“Ameera is twenty-nine.”
“Twenty-nine,” he whispered. He pulled out his calculator just to be sure. His mind was sluggish and he laboured through the simple arithmetic: 2015 minus 1985 minus nine months.
“Ameera would like to make contact with you, with the family. If you are agreeable,” Jessie said gently.
“Yes. That’s fine.” He pressed the “equals” button on his calculator. Twenty-nine. It’s true, I reassured him. This is no joke.
“Can I pass on your contact information? I think she might want to begin with an e-mail first. I recommend that, actually. It can be less awkward.”
“All right.” Nadeem spelled his e-mail address. He repeated it to make sure she’ d heard it correctly. And then he hung up, feeling as uncertain as the young man who’d gone to Cork to retrieve his older brother’s body. He wanted to cry, but held back his tears.
Ameera
∆
None of my colleagues were shocked when I told them about Blythe. Manuela hugged me and called me brave for executing our plan. Oscar shook his head and wondered aloud about Blythe’s psychological health, muttering “Loca. There’s your Word of the Week.” Roberto said he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to report to her for the next three years.
They carried on with their routines, nonplussed by Blythe’s departure, easily picking up her slack and filling the shift gaps, while I, on the other hand, was still processing her duplicity, but even more, her absence. I heard the quiet across the wall. Having the bathroom to myself still felt odd. I’d visited Blythe’s empty suite many times over the previous days. I’d needed to see the blank room to believe that she was really gone.
“This means you’ll stay on, then, right?” Roberto asked with a smile.
“Maybe?” I replied.
I really didn’t know and wasn’t ready to make any decisions. What I didn’t tell my colleagues was that Anita had offered me the supervisory role and I’d requested a few days to consider it. It ought to have been a no-brainer, right? It’s what I’d wanted before Blythe tried to cut me down. But so much had happened since then.
Blythe’s false complaints had shone a spotlight on an unexpected yearning. I realized that I no longer wanted to continue my twilight existence at Atlantis. I wanted to live in a way that allowed me to do as I wished. I mean, despite the risk, I hadn’t stopped seeing swingers. Being a swinger. Being myself.
And yet, unemployment was no better. No, I wasn’t ready to decide about the job.
And there was my father. Jessie told me that she’ d found Azeez’s brother and would phone him that week if I wanted.
I’d said yes.
All of that seemed so much bigger than my tiny walled-in life at Atlantis.
∆
I eyed the airplane waiting on the runway. The last of the arriving passengers were walking across the tarmac.
“Looks like we’re in for a minimum sixty-minute wait before they come through,” I grumbled.
“Well, then, we should get comfortable, should we not?” Oscar said, carrying out the canvas chairs. He unfolded them one by one, their metal legs landing with a decisive clack against the white pavement.
This time, none of us hesitated; we gratefully accepted our chairs and rested our feet. We sat in a semi-circle and I glanced furtively at the spot of pavement that Blythe’s chair would have occupied.
“I have an announcement to make.” Oscar looked at the cloudy sky. Then he loosened his tie, pulled it over his head, and stuffed it into his pants pocket.
“¿Qué pasa? ” Manuela asked.
“I’m resigning. Me and my cousin are opening a café beside the crocodile sanctuary. We’ll have drinks and snacks. Clean bathrooms,” he explained in slow Spanish.
Roberto questioned Oscar about his venture dispassionately, as though discussing which route to take for their commute home. Manuela crossed her arms over her chest, her expression difficult to read. I realized that I was the only one unsurprised by Oscar’s announcement.
“I’m sure it’s going to be a success, Oscar,” I said. “That’s a prime location.”
The sun parted the clouds and its rays beat down on us. There was a lull in our conversation as we took in Oscar’s news.
“I also have something to say,” I announced. “Anita offered me the supervisor job.”
“Congratulations.” Manuela smiled weakly. Had she expected the news, even prepared herself for it?
“What? Do they only promote foreigners or something?” Oscar asked. Manuela flashed him a look.
“Yes, that’s good news,” Roberto agreed.
“I think you’ll do a good job, by the way.” Oscar said.
“I haven’t decided yet. I’m not sure if it’s the best thing. I’ve got to give Anita an answer by Monday.” I looked at my hands self-consciously. “I’ll probably say ‘no.’ It might be time for me to go home.”
The first guests came through the doors, ending our conversation. I stood and folded my chair.
∆
“So what’s the problem?” Manuela asked when we finished our shift that evening. “I thought you wanted the job.”
“I did. But now I think I want to take time off to travel. I was thinking India. I might have some family to visit.” I filled her in on Jessie’s narrowing search. Earlier in the day, she’ d sent a three-paragraph summary of her conversation with Nadeem Dholkawala and instructions on how to contact him.
“Wow.” Manuela’s eyes widened and she grabbed my arm. “Family for you to meet! They are going to be excited!”
But I wasn’t so certain. What would it mean, thirty years after Azeez’s death, to know that he’d fathered a child? Would I unearth sad memories? What if they didn’t want me?
“Yeah, I hope so,” I said, pushing away the fears.
Azeez
∞
“What I can’t get over is why now?” Ameera frowned. It was the same expression she’ d worn as a young girl, whenever she was upset. I used to mimic her, scrunching up my forehead to make her laugh.
“I don’t know. Perhaps she only just found us?” Nadeem had wondered the same thing, but he hadn’t given much attention to the question. “It must have been difficult. She didn’t know our surname until recently.”
“I just … I find it … suspicious. And she has the same name as me!” What I could hear in her breath was: I’m afraid.
“He talked to her mother about us, told her our names. The day before he left.”
I remembered that moment vividly, and offered it up to Nadeem: the awkward coffee shop banter. The rush of excitement when I realized she was flirting back. The saccharine sweetness of the donut and double-double. I showed him how I wrote our three names on a paper napkin:
AZEEZ
NADEEM AMEERA
I recreated the formation, standing behind the couch between my siblings. Nadeem only took in pieces of my description, but it made him sigh and smile.
“But how do we really know that Azeez is the father? Yes, he might have known this Nora person. But it could all be a scam.” Her voice still faltered when she said my name. I moved closer to reassure her, but her breath was shallow, a shield against me.
“A scam?” Nadeem’s smile disappeared. “But she hasn’t asked for anything. She only sent an introduction.”
Ameera crossed her arms over her chest. “She must assume that we are well-off? Perhaps she’s found out that you are a lawyer? That we have property?” She was referring to the five-storey apartment building they’d inherited from our parents. Each of their families resided on a floor and they rented the other three flats for a tidy income.
Ameera is an independent young woman. She has her savings. She doesn’t want yours, I said to both of them. Neither paid any attention.
“So what do you want? I was going to invite her to come visit us. It seemed like … like the right thing to do. Perhaps I was too hasty.” Apprehensive thoughts replaced the softer uncleji ones he’ d entertained earlier.
“Visit us? Without verifying who she is first? We don’t know the first thing about this girl, Nadeem.” She shot him a stern look and shook her head.
Ameera
∆
Anita received my resignation on Saturday and offered Manuela the supervisor job on Monday afternoon. The Oceana hamster wheel rolled on.
Although she’ d been third in line for it, Manuela was obviously thrilled, her eyes bright and her grin wide. Soon, she’ d be training three new Oceana staff in preparation for the upcoming season. I listened as she giggled into the phone to Anita. Then they chatted about Ottawa’s rainy spring. Finally, she passed the phone to me.
“Ameera, I filed all your termination paperwork.” Anita explained that my last workday would be the following Saturday, May 16. I heard her flipping through papers and pictured her sitting in her cramped Ottawa high-rise office, from where I’d once admired her framed Huatulco honeymoon photo.
“Sounds fine. When do I fly out?” I glanced Manuela’s way. She was listening closely.
“The following Friday. I hope that’s all right. We have a lot of space on the May 22 charter. So that means you’ll have five days of free time to enjoy before coming home.” She babbled on about how I should take advantage of the beach and sun.
“Okay.” Ten more days in Huatulco was both not enough time and an eternity.
“But listen, Ameera, I’m sorry you resigned. You explained your change of heart, but I’m very surprised.”
“Yeah, me, too.” I was still catching up with myself.
“We have an opening here in sales in case you’re interested. Better pay than what you’ve got now. But worse weather, of course. Deadline’s coming soon,” she said, typing on her computer. “I’ve just forwarded it you.”
After we hung up, relief hit me like cool air on a muggy day. It had finally happened; I was leaving Atlantis’s glass bowl. I was moving on. A necessary ending; one of my own choosing.
“So?” Manuela asked.
“Next Friday.” I blinked back tears.
“Estoy triste. Triste. Your Word of the Week.”
“I’m sad, too, Manuela.”
∆
On Wednesday night, I broke my rule about single male tourists. It no longer applied, right? And Craig, a Jamaican-Canadian social worker from Toronto, was too cute to pass up. He earnestly confessed that he’ d never before had casual sex, embarrassment sliding across his brown face. I lied to him, telling him I hadn’t, either, enjoying the idea of sharing a first with a stranger.
There was a moment when, panting on our backs, I revelled in the spaciousness of the bed while also sensing that something, or someone, was missing. A worrisome thought uncoiled before me: had I ruined myself for regular sex? What was that even called? Twosome sex? I supposed I might need to adjust when back in Hamilton. Or maybe I wouldn’t; perhaps being home would give me an opportunity to explore my sexuality even more than I had in Huatulco. I could create a profile on an online swingers’ dating site or check out a club. A Toronto couple had told me about an Etobicoke bar that had rooms full of mattresses, dim lighting, disco music, and condom bowls. Unicorns would be just as much in demand there as in Huatulco, possibly more so. Or maybe I wouldn’t be a unicorn anymore and would instead look for a partner who was into the same things as me.
Noticing my distraction, my date rubbed his thumb across my bottom lip and then kissed me hard. I wrapped my legs around him, the softness of my inner thighs meeting his slim waist. My worries rolled themselves into a tight ball and trundled away.
∆
I received Nadeem Dholkawala’s reply the next morning. I’d sent him a message earlier in the week, four shy paragraphs introducing myself and telling him that I was interested in making contact with the family in Mumbai.
I stood barefoot on the prickly lawn between my building and the lobby, trying to catch a signal. I crouched on the grass and read:
Dear Ameera,
Thank you for your e-mail.
We are still quite shocked at the news that we might have a niece in Canada. We weren’t aware that our brother had a girlfriend there.
You seem like a very nice girl and if you are indeed my brother’s biological daughter, I am sorry you never got to know him. He was very kind, ethical, and intelligent.
All the best,
Nadeem Dholkawala
The sun shifted, its rays slipping past the branches of the tree above, the glare rendering the screen unreadable. Nadeem hadn’t responded to my request to meet. The family wasn’t interested in opening their doors to me. Tears blurred my vision and I raised myself up, stamped feeling into my feet, and closed the laptop.
And then I stopped and thought: No. Persist. Send him a photo.
I composed:
Dear Nadeem,
I very much appreciate your reply. I understand that you are shocked. I almost can’t believe it myself, but my friend Jessie, who did the search for me, and my mother, Nora, are sure that your brother Azeez is my biological father.
I thought about searching for him for many years, but didn’t have the courage. I didn’t know that he’ d died and always hoped to meet him one day.
I’m attaching a photo of myself. I was wondering — would you have a photo of Azeez that you could scan and send to me? My mother described him to me many times, but I’ve never seen a picture. It would mean a lot to me.
Warmly,
Ameera
The photo I attached, one that Manuela had taken on my birthday, was a close-up of my head and shoulders. The sunlight is golden on my cheeks and I’m smiling a toothy grin.
Azeez
∞
Nadeem blinked at the unopened e-mail from Ameera. He was a man who could be decisive in matters related to work and finances, but personal issues were another thing. He stared at his screen, overwhelmed to be in charge of this significant correspondence. I slipped downstairs and prodded Nafees to go to his uncle.
