The curtains are drawn tightly. Even with the glaring brightness of the afternoon outside, the room is dark and cool. The small lamp on the bedside table casts a yellowish glow on Kaya’s mother’s face.
Kaya settles into the cushioned chair before the bed and studies her mother’s features: small curved eyes, pursed lips, long sharp nose, and her tell-tale scowl.
Even though she is dying and wasting away, Kaya’s mother holds on to her poisonous frown.
“I wasn’t expecting you today.” Her voice is raspy and frail
“Mama, please save your energy.”
Kaya can’t believe this low-talking woman is her mother. The illness had taken a lot from her (and their family): money, a house, two cars, and joy. It had also taken Mama’s voice — the strongest, loveliest part of her now reduced to a whisper in her throat.
“Why are you here?”
Kaya is no longer shocked by her mother’s questions during these visits.
“I’m here to visit you.”
Mama laughs — a breathy, cruel sound. “You’ve always been a terrible liar. Just like your father.”
“And you’ve always been unable to accept love.”
Their conversations always start this way: angry, poisoned, and spiteful.
“Did you come here to insult your mother?”
“No, I came here to share some news.”
“Oh really?” Mama sits up delicately, her small eyes widening with interest. ‘Is it about Dimani and Amari? Are they coming home for the summer?’
Mama speaks about her other children, twin boys, with a lightness to her voice — a lightness Kaya had never experienced, even as a young girl.
“It’s about Kabir and I.”
“Kabir? Who is that?” Mama genuinely sounds confused, which throws Kaya a little off balance. She had been expecting a different response: a sarcastic question, a snort, maybe a childish eye roll. Confusion was not on the list.
“My fiancé.”
Mama’s demeanour changes: her face sinks, and her smile turns sour. This was the expression Kaya was prepared for.
“So you want to be the cancer in my bones, Kaya? You want to rot me from the inside out?”
“Don’t speak like that!”
“I asked you to break off that relationship. It is unholy.”
“I love him.”
“Love? Ha!” Another breathy laugh followed by a coughing fit that makes her eyes water and her chest heave violently. “You speak like a foolish teenage girl.”
“And what did you teach me about love?’’
“I taught you to be wise, Kaya. Why will you change for a man?’’
“I am not changing.”
“Yes, you are. Why isn’t Kabir choosing your God over his?”
“He is more Muslim than I am Christian.”
In this instance, Mama seems to shrivel into her oversized house dress. It is difficult for her to imagine Kaya wearing a Hijab, praying 5 times a day, or even reading the Quran. This was not the child she had raised as a fervent praying Christian. Had all the night vigils and family devotions been a waste? Had the choir practices and church plays been for nothing?
“Oh, what a joke of a girl you are. So smart, yet so stupid at the same time. I raised you in church.”
“Yes, a church with perverted priests like Pastor Mikhail.”
Kaya’s words hang briefly before spreading thin like a worn blanket and settling into the stillness.
“Oh, shut up with that nonsense talk. You were a flirtatious child. You think I never noticed how you used to thrust your chest at men and swing your hips around like a cheap prostitute.”
“That’s enough!”
Kaya is surprised at the force of her anger. She presses her palms to stop her hands from shaking too hard.
“Your father would roll in his grave if this wedding goes as planned.” Mama’s voice is quieter now.
“Baba always supported me. He would have approved of Kabir and I.”
This much was true. Baba and Kaya had a great relationship and were more mischievous partners in crimes than family members. They snuck out of the house together, grinning as they slipped out the door to take long walks around their sprawling estate. They talked about everything. While Kaya’s mother and brothers made her feel stupid for asking endless questions, Baba encouraged Kaya to be inquisitive and curious. He answered all her questions and urged her to read as many books as possible. They were inseparable, and she loved him deeply.
It had never occurred to Kaya that her mother might have been envious of her relationship with her father; after all, who had ever heard of a mother being jealous of her own daughter? But one evening, after a particularly long stroll, Baba and Kaya returned home, two forces who immediately filled the house with their energy. They found Mama, Dimani, and Amari at the dining table, eating quietly.
“Baba, your food is in the kitchen,” Mama said without looking up. “Kaya, go and serve your father.”
“Oh my dear, we aren’t hungry,” Baba said, winking at Kaya, “We ate something on the way back.”
“So my food is no longer good enough for the both of you? You have to resort to eating outside now?”
“Here we go,” Kaya started to speak, but Mama’s look sent the words scurrying into her belly. She looked to Baba and waited for him to speak instead.
“Fatima, there’s no need to talk like that. We will save the food for tomorrow, right, Kaya?”
“Yes, Mama. We will eat your food tomorrow.”
Mama remained quiet, focusing on moving her fork from the plate into her mouth. Dimani and Amari mirrored their mother’s movements and trained their eyes on their plates. Baba grasped Kaya’s hand and pulled her toward the kitchen door.
“One day, everyone will find out what the two of you are really doing. I hope you don’t put your family to shame. I hope you do not.”
Many years had passed since Mama spoke those terrible words and irrevocably changed their family dynamic. Sitting in the poorly lit room, Kaya is aware of her mother’s disdain for her and how that disdain never really left, even with all the time and silence between them.
“Baba wouldn’t have supported anything. I know he loved you, but he wasn’t stupid.”
“You never really knew him. You were a stranger to him and kept it that way until he died.” Kaya’s honest and raw words tumble out in an angry rush. She had always been careful about how she spoke to Mama in the past, but today, she is exhausted and impatient.
“You really are your father’s child. He also had a way with words, and his tongue was as poisonous as his heart.”
“Don’t speak about Baba like that.”
“You are not getting my blessing. A dying woman has no business concerning herself with the affairs of the living.”
Mama turns her head to the other side, leaving Kaya to decide whether to respond or walk away. She decides to go with the latter, picking up her bag and standing up with a long sigh.
There are no lengthy goodbyes, teary hugs, or sentimental words. Kaya steps out into the balmy afternoon, squints at the sun, and shields her eyes with her free hand. The shrill sound of her ringtone interrupts the afternoon quiet. Kaya pulls out her phone and sees Kabir’s name blinking on the screen.
She allows herself a brief pause before she answers. This is her future.
