If I Say No, page 31
The atmosphere here is a lot more buoyant than the last time we visited—the prospect of a new baby does wonders for family issues—but I still sense cool vibes emanating from my mum and dad. The cooking’s done, so Amma and Bhabi don’t have the excuse of shutting themselves in the kitchen. As such, everyone’s having tea and snacks with us in the living room, making small talk with Imran and cleverly avoiding talking to me.
At least I have Shayla. She’s sitting on the sofa beside me, chatting away about college and her friends. When she asks if I’ve seen a certain Facebook post by one of our cousins, I tell her I haven’t logged into the site in ages. She insists that I check it out and I give in.
“Oh my god. I have so many DMs!”
When Shayla notices that I’m scrolling down my inbox, she starts browsing on her phone. Which is just as well because I freeze at the sight of one of the messages.
Seb.
He sent me a message on... on the Saturday we were in Southend! I blocked his phone number before the wedding, remember? He must have Facebooked me, assuming I was more likely to check social media than my email. Most people are. And he was right. I haven’t checked my personal email account in ages.
Seen as no one’s paying attention to me, I click on Seb’s message. To be honest, I’ve wanted to send him a quick message to check if he’s alright, but I refrained because Imran would hate it. If I did it in secret and he found out later... I couldn’t risk my marriage like that. My marriage is my number one priority.
Oh. It’s just a few words.
Are you ok?
I guess I wouldn’t have asked him more than that if I got in touch with him when I was in Southend. Without thinking about it too long—I don’t have much time; Shayla might turn her attention to me any second—I type a reply. I owe him that much, I guess.
Yes. You?
He replies almost instantly—he was probably online or got a notification on his phone.
Yes
And that’s the last I hear from him.
Funny that his parting word to me is yes. He’s the guy that, quite rightly, said no to me. And I’m more than happy about it. That’s how it was meant to be.
As for Seb’s future... If he meant what he said to Imran about being in love with me, I hope he gets over it fast—if he hasn’t already. He deserves to be happy, too.
Imran asks Shayla which of the many curries on the dining table she cooked. She says she was at college when the cooking was done. Hastily, she adds that she’ll do the washing up.
“Hey, relax,” Imran says as we start eating—the tandoori chicken and pillau rice were plated up in the kitchen with a lettuce salad on the side. “No shade, okay? I’m just curious about how your cooking compares to your sister’s. She’s brilliant!”
“Amma taught me well,” I mumble in Bengali without looking up from my plate.
“Yes,” Imran says to my mum in Bengali. “I ought to thank you for... raising such a wonderful person. My family adores her. She takes care of the house so well. She’s so kind and attentive to my parents—”
“What about you?” Bhabi teases. “Isn’t she attentive to you?” She and Shayla giggle and wait for Imran to respond.
“She’s kindest to me out of everyone,” he says in a firm voice. It rings with honesty; no one could doubt it. “I feel so lucky.” He turns to me and smiles.
My face heats up. He’s bigging me up to my parents so they will know that I’ve turned over a new leaf, that I’m prioritising my husband. I have and I am, but there’s no way for them to know that I’m doing my best to be a good wife to him if he doesn’t tell them. He wouldn’t have gone out of his way to do so—no guy would—if he didn’t know about the hell I raised before the wedding.
“There’s a reason why my mum loves you,” Imran murmurs to me in English as though no one else is in the room. “She can see that you’re taking such good care of me. And how happy I am. Mums know these things.” He winks at me. My face is burning.
“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Shayla croons. “You guys are such a cute couple.”
I look her in the eye and say, “We’re a good team. Pray for us, everyone.” I genuinely mean that.
Before I know it, my mum gets out of her seat, walks over to me, and bends down to kiss the top of my head, murmuring that Imran and I will always be in her prayers. I close my eyes in gratitude as she returns to her chair.
Things will be warmer between us now, I think. My family might not forget everything I’ve done, not for a while yet, but at least they know I’m trying to rectify my mistakes. That I’m happy in my efforts.
Parents don’t want much more than that from their daughters.
Imran and I say goodnight to everyone and come upstairs to my old bedroom. Already, it’s looking a lot different to the last time I was here. Unfamiliar sheets. No personal touches. New layout to make room for bits and bobs from other bedrooms. One day, I’ll come to this house and this bedroom will belong to someone else. A baby. How exciting.
If Imran and I are given the loft room whenever we come to stay, I’m looking forward to sleeping there. I’ve always liked that room.
As soon as Imran shuts the door, I throw my arms around his neck and hug him tight. “Thank you for what you said at dinner. Thank you for caring about it.”
He rubs my back. “Everything about you is important to me. Like you said, we’re a team. I’ll always have your back.”
Lifting my head from his shoulder, I look him in the eye and smile. Every day, he reminds me why I wanted to marry him when we first met. He’s everything I thought he was and more. Yes, one of the things under the “more” section is his talent for pretending. Lies sound like truth on his lips.
Who doesn’t have a dark side, though? Who doesn’t have flaws? Our personalities aren’t made only of black or white—we’re a kaleidoscope of colours, dark and vibrant, cool and warm, all blurring into each other at the edges.
When you have an arranged marriage, you agree to discover those colours over the course of your life together. Allow the good colours to shine and help erase the bad. When you have an arranged marriage, you agree to work on it, make it last. It’s not a trial run. This is drilled into us from a young age, both overtly and subliminally, and most of us accept it when we allow our families to choose our life partners.
Here’s the thing: We choose how we live the rest of our lives together. It’s all on us afterwards.
Some people say they don’t want marriage to change them—but change is inevitable. I’m happy for my husband to change me if it’s for my own good. If it makes me happier. Hopefully, I’ll help Imran change in the same way.
“I’ll always have your back, too,” I tell him. “For the rest of our lives.”
He smiles, content, before leaning in to kiss me.
This is the first time we’ve kissed in almost two weeks and it definitely feels like it. My gut says we won’t have a break of this length any time soon.
Chapter 112
Charlotte
Officially, the party starts in an hour—at 2pm—but because the event organisers finished setting up the Mad Hatter’s tea party last night, we’ve been open from the usual time today. Mel and I will dress for the party closer to the time. She’ll change into her outfit in the bathroom; I’ll pop home.
Fund Manager Seb—my boyfriend, Seb—is already in his party clothes: His favourite smart shirt. He wants people to think he’s a normal customer, buying lots of treats and announcing that he’ll order cakes from us for this occasion and that occasion. Sneaky, I accused. Smart, he retorted—before kissing me.
We’re always doing that. Every chance we get. It’s great. And he’s so gentle, his touch light and soothing. He treats you like a Princess, Mel swooned the other day. He really does. It snatches the breath out of my lungs.
Seb’s quite the Prince Charming, Nan said in a smug tone when she found out we were together for real. Somehow, this has made me the perfect granddaughter in her eyes. She’s even stopped lecturing me about losing weight!
Well, I think she noticed before I did that I’ve lost a few pounds recently. I haven’t been reaching for any cake, you see—those calories really do add up. Following Nan’s heart attack, we’ve been cooking and eating healthier food and that made a huge difference, too. Nan and Seb love me the way I am; as do I. We just want my chronic pain to be more bearable.
Talk of the devils. Seb and Nan enter the shop now—he went to pick her up; she insisted she’d be fine on her own until now. I rise from my seat at the back of the shop to welcome Nan in, show her around. The tables are lined up into one long one to look like that scene in the Alice in Wonderland film. But she wants Seb to talk her through everything and I let him get on with it. Nan’s so smitten with him and he flatters her so much.
Mum wouldn’t have been so easy to impress.
Would mum approve of him, knowing everything I know about him now? She would have told me to be absolutely sure that I wanted to be with him. And to be careful. Don’t worry, Mum, I promise her in my head. The moment he lets me down, I’ll be shot of him. I won’t keep giving him chances to hurt me.
He’s not like the guys that have hurt me in the past. I didn’t care about them like I care about Seb. When he breaks my heart, it will break for real.
Seb and Nan promise to take care of the shop when Mel and I decide to change for the party. It’s almost 2pm. According to Seb, the first few guests that arrive should see us in all our glory. But I don’t make it past the threshold.
“What are you doing here?” I say in a forced calm voice, frozen in the doorway.
“I was invited,” my father tells me.
“By Nan?” I ask. I can hear Nan and Seb slowly converge on us. Because I’m still holding the door open, they can hear what I’m saying.
“No, not your Nan.”
“Seb?” I whisper without meaning to. I can feel him behind me now but I can’t bear to look at him. How could he—
“No,” says my dad.
I sigh, relieved that I won’t have a row with Seb today, so soon after we got together. I want our Honeymoon period to last a bit longer than a week. Reality can come later.
“Mel couldn’t have—”
“I saw all the invites on my Facebook,” he tells me. Ah. He’s still friends with our neighbours; they’ve been sharing all the posts about the party. “All cake lovers welcome, it said.” He gives me an uneasy smile.
“Well, I’m uninviting you.”
“Charlotte,” Nan and Seb say in unison, wanting to reason with me.
Of course, they’re determined for me to make up with my father. Nan wants me to have family when she’s gone; Seb probably deems dad’s half-truths to be equivalents to his own. It’s not about what they want, though.
“This is my shop,” I tell them all. “I’m not letting you in. Our guests will arrive shortly. I don’t want to make a scene and ruin this day.” I shrug off the hand that Seb places on my shoulder.
“Charlotte, honey,” my dad pleads, “I just want to show my support—”
“I don’t want anything from you. Please go or I’ll call the police.”
“Can’t I at least buy something?” he pleads. “Do my bit?”
I fold my arms across my chest and ignore Nan and Seb’s pleas to reconsider. Sighing, dad turns on the spot and walks away. I leave the premises, too.
“Wait!” I hear Seb say as I head off towards the house. I turn around—
He wasn’t calling me. He’s jogged up to my father. “Wait here,” Seb tells him. Sucking in a deep breath, he walks towards me, eyes on the ground because he can’t face the rage on my face.
“How dare you?” I hiss. “Just because you identify with what he did—”
“You forgave me,” he says, voice low. “He’s your dad.” Carefully, he puts his hands on my shoulders and locks his eyes on mine. “Family is important, Charlotte. Blood family and the ones we adopt. I’ve lost half of mine forever. I don’t want you to lose yours. Your mum would—”
“Don’t bring mum into it!” I shove away his hands.
“Your mum’s already a part of it—part of today,” he insists. “Why do you think I went with the Alice in Wonderland theme? I wanted her to be a part of it.”
I blink.
Mum’s name was Alice. Sorry, did I not mention that? Why would I? I only ever thought of her as mum; Nan’s always referred to her as your mother for as long as I can remember. It never occurred to me that Seb had taken inspiration from her name. A party in a cake shop and the Hatter’s tea party go hand-in-hand, don’t they? Because Seb never met my mum, I never thought of him knowing her name.
Of course, he did, though; on day one, he informed me that he’d done his research.
“You overheard your parents talking,” Seb says in a soft voice. “Did you hear whether or not your mum forgave your father for keeping half the truth from her?”
I don’t reply. Seb correctly guesses that mum did forgive dad.
“She didn’t want you to know, though, because she didn’t want the two of you to fall out again,” he says in a gentle but persuasive tone. “She wanted what Nan and I want—for you to get a second chance with him.”
“I know she did but—”
“You can’t get over what he did? Try. He keeps coming back—just like I do. We’ll keep coming back to you. We love you. Let him stay for the party. The next time he comes to the shop, let him stay. Take it slowly, but don’t throw this away.” He cups my face, fingers as careful as ever. “I won’t let him hurt you again, I swear.”
I turn my head and appraise my father; he’s watching us with curiosity. Sighing, I say, “He owes you some cake.”
Seb laughs with joy. I leave him to invite my father back into the shop and head home to change. Into Alice. Yes, I’ll be dressing as Alice and Mel will be the Hatter. I’ll try to have fun.
Chapter 113
Seb
I wasn’t expecting Imran or Shell to show up. Still, it comes as a surprise when his sister and sister-in-law turn up and apologise on the newlyweds’ behalf.
“Her parents invited them over,” Reha explains about Shell. “They’ll drop by if they can manage it.”
I nod. “I’m just grateful you guys came,” I say as cheerily as I can. I know Imran won’t be sticking to what he told his family. “Will Reshma...?”
They make a sheepish face.
“It’s fine,” I assure them. “You guys have fun—”
“Hey, guys!”
My heart hollows out at the sound of the familiar voice. I’m in a packed cake shop, standing by the counter, but it feels like everything is fading away and I’m in the middle of nowhere.
“Oh my god!” Reha squeals as she spots the person that called for our attention.
Her Bhabi says, “Wow.”
As I turn to see our latest guest walking up to us, the music and chatter dies away for me. This cannot be happening. How is this happening? None of this makes sense.
“Hey, Seb. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I can barely breathe.
“Hailey!” Reha says as she hugs Shell’s best friend.
Hailey’s here. Why? How? What?
Bhabi hugs the girl next and they start catching up.
“Hailey,” I finally force myself to say. “What are you doing here?”
She frowns, taken aback by my less than warm welcome. “I’m here for the Hatter’s tea party,” she tells me with a bewildered shake of her head. “To show my support—”
“How did you even know about this?” I wince at how rude I sound.
“What do you mean? You’ve been posting about it on Facebook for weeks.”
I mentally slap my forehead. I forgot we were friends on Facebook. She never hit Like or interacted with my posts about the party, though. If she had, I’d have realised my mistake sooner.
“You never said you were coming,” I say eventually, my brows squeezing together.
“I wasn’t going to,” she snaps, giving Reha and Bhabi a dubious look. “It looks like I shouldn’t have.”
When I don’t respond, Reha rebukes me with, “Hey! Don’t be so rude.”
“What’s gotten into you, Seb?” Bhabi gives me a stern look.
I shake my head. “I’m just stressed about this party, I guess.”
“Being less rude to the guests might help with that,” Hailey retorts, folding her arms across her chest. Waiting for an apology.
But I want to get rid of her, not placate her.
“You know,” she says, slightly angry now, “I’m only here on Shell’s say-so—”
“What?” I gulp.
“She told me to come and support Charlotte.”
“That’s sweet of her, but I wish she hadn’t,” I say pointedly. Drastic measures, you know.
“What?” Hailey snaps.
Reha and Bhabi start complaining but I give them no heed.
“Sorry, Hailey,” I say in a rush, “but as you can see, we’re doing alright. You can run along now.”
Her eyes are bulging out of their sockets with fury.
“Seen as you don’t want to support Charlotte and are only here as a favour to your bestie—who probably won’t come, anyway—you might as well leave.”
Her mouth is wide enough to fit a tennis ball, her hands on her hips. She’s too stunned and angry to respond. I keep quiet, my expression firm and unyielding. She needs to go right now.
And thankfully, she does.
Chapter 114
Charlotte
There was no way I was going to dye my hair blonde for this. Or don a wig. My pale blue dress—to match what Mia Wasikowska wore for most of the first Alice movie—goes really well with my red hair, anyway. But I thought I’d try and get the curls that Mia had in the film; they looked really cool. Plus, I’ve always wished that the loose waves in my hair had more definition to them.
