After breakfast, Jane strolled out of the kitchen and halted at the full-length mirror in the hallway. She straightened her cobalt-colored suit jacket, checked her teeth, and smoothed her hair that she’d parted sideways. This morning she had to travel to Montogomery, and Mahsood had promised her a ride. With her laptop case hanging over her shoulder, she glided into the great hall.
Underneath the glass dome, he sat on the gold and white sofa. A newspaper rustled in his hands as he flipped the page.
Jane’s abdomen fluttered. He wouldn’t take her mumblage from last night seriously, would he? They were playing, and any agreement made during sex was null and void. She inhaled and walked toward him, her heels clacking against the hardwood.
Mahsood folded the paper and placed it on the side table next to a flower-patterned lunch bag. “Ready?” He gave her a once over.
“Yeah.” Jane shuffled from one foot to the other.
He stood up, grabbed the lunchbox, and handed it to her. “Aunt Ilma packed tiffin for you.”
“Thank you.” Jane studied the brand-new-looking tote.
“Let's go. I said I would drive you.” He turned away and strode toward the exit.
Jane followed him out of the mansion and to his car. She entered on the passenger side.
The stuffy air in the Audi suffocated her, and the leather of the seat burned against her palms. She swept her locks from her sweating neck and rolled down the window.
Mahsood blasted the AC and turned on a Pakistani tune, a mixture of pop with traditional instruments.
A cool waft from the vent caressed her skin. Jane leaned back. She should clarify to him that she wasn’t quitting her position. But, she didn’t want to quarrel. Not now. Must be the oxytocin from the night before floating through her body. She traced her fingertips down to her collarbone and glanced at her husband.
Rays of the sun reflected in his jet-black hair and slid to his face. He squinted, his focus on the road ahead. The pavement rumbled under the tires, and the car sped forward.
His driving had improved. He was adjusting. The corners of her mouth inched up. “How’s the gasoline venture going?” she asked.
“Fine. You don’t need to concern yourself.”
A nice way of telling her to keep out of his business. She should’ve known better before broaching the subject. Jane chuckled. His curtness wouldn’t spoil her mood. Not today. “We almost finished the RAF project. I personally resolved a shortage of over half a million.” Maybe if he knew how good she was at her job, he’d let her be.
Silence. Mahsood’s attention remained on the highway.
She sighed.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.” He spoke in a measured tone. “Uncle and Awad will take Aunt Ilma to the market. We’ll go with them, so she can show you everything.”
Jane stiffened. She’d gone to that store already. But, she hadn’t spent much time with Mahsood, and running errands could bring them closer. Almost a date. She smirked. Forget the fancy restaurants she’d visited with her exes. Apparently, an orgasm and a trip to the mart fit the bill.
Mahsood pulled into the parking lot of RAF’s building and stopped at the entrance. “Goodbye, angel.” He met her gaze and held it. “And remember what you promised me.” His eyes crinkled and traced down to her lips.
Her cheeks flushed, Jane hastened out of the vehicle. “See ya.”
***
In the next few hours, Jane wrapped up the assignment at RAF, and around noon, stepped into her home office in Birmingham.
“Hi, there.” Rachel waved at her from the reception. “Your husband was looking for you yesterday. I see you two are getting on well.” She winked.
That was how Mahsood had found her. “We’re okay. Sorry for the trouble.” Jane crossed the lobby.
“I need details. Let’s chat over food. Apple’s?” Rachel fumbled inside her desk and sprung to her feet with her purse in hand.
“I brought some.” Jane raised the tote she was holding.
“That’s a first. I didn’t know you owned a lunchbox. I’ll order takeout.”
A delivery guy from a nearby sandwich shop arrived as advertised, ‘freaky fast.’
Rachel settled across from Jane in the company’s breakroom and unwrapped her ‘absolute porker’ stuffed with ham, salami, and bacon.
Jane swallowed the saliva flooding her mouth. She picked at her curry and put the fork down. “Doesn't Awad insist that you eat halal?” Come to think of it, she’d never seen Rachel follow dietary restrictions.
“He doesn't care. In front of his parents, I comply, but the rest of the time—whatever.” Rachel bit into her sandwich and chewed in silence for a moment. “I couldn’t live with his folks. Dunno how you do it.”
“Aren't you going to marry him sooner or later?”
“We’d live separate from them. He did that while with his ex.” Rachel sneered. “Even then, the crackhead couldn’t handle it and ran off into the sunset…you’ve heard the story.”
Jane closed the lid on her half-full container. She couldn’t care less about Awad and his former wife. No point in clogging her psyche with others’ personal problems. She tucked away the leftovers into the bag and placed them in the fridge. “Who’s our client after RAF?”
“No idea, sweetie. Hendersons, the furniture shop on Fifteenth Avenue, canceled their contract and refused to pay the penalty. Tom’s furious. He’s been on the phone with lawyers the whole morning.”
No surprise there. She’d told Tom not to recruit this client. Henderson and Sons hung on the verge of bankruptcy and should’ve declared it instead of throwing money into a pit. But, Tom, in his hunt for green, signed them for a premium package of consulting services. They finally realized they couldn’t afford Davis, and now the team would remain idle and Tom would suffer losses. Jane shook her head as she loaded a fresh pod of Columbian into the Keurig. The upcoming week would be relaxed.
She spent the rest of the day playing Math Master in her office. Tom had gone out to meet with an attorney, and her other colleagues chattered in the hallway, fetched coffee, and played videos on their computers. In the end, she left Davis at five on the dot and arrived at Khan’s mansion long before sunset.
Stepping out of her Prius, Jane stretched her stiff muscles. Because of the crisis at RAF, she’d missed practice yesterday, and her body ached for action. She could run in, grab her gi, and dash off to jiu-jitsu before anyone noticed. Explaining her hobby to Mahsood would be a chore and, probably, another fight. Best to postpone this conversation for as long as possible or, better, forever. She cracked the door and slipped into the great hall.
Male voices and the clinking of dishes carried from the dining room.
Wasn’t it too early for them to be back? So much for sneaking out. She snorted and pulled off her shoes.
Rafa trudged out of the living room with a duster tucked in her armpit. She headed toward the kitchen “As-salamu alaykum, Ms. Jane.”
“Oh, hi. Why’s everyone home at this hour?”
“It’s Jumu’ah—Friday. They finish early or don’t work at all.” Rafa reached the doorway and glanced back. “Let’s eat. Samira is clearing up dinner.”
Jane’s stomach rumbled. A while had passed since her midday meal. She entered the kitchen behind Rafa and sat at the table.
Aunt Ilma set platters with scraps in front of them. “What happened last night, beti? Are you doing okay?”
Jane looked down. “Sorry to make you worry. Had to stay late for a project.”
“Poor thing. Your boss is shaitan, but all will be better now.” Aunt Ilma patted her hand. “Beta will earn, and you care for house and mind no troubles.” She smiled, crow’s feet deepening around her eyes.
“No, Aunt Ilma.” Jane bit her lip. “I enjoy my job, and don’t want to depend on Mahsood.”
The auntie rubbed her forehead. “Well, beti, do as you know.” She plodded toward the sink.
“The things I would give to be in your shoes, Ms. Jane,” said Rafa digging her spoon into a bowl of thickened stew. “If my husband made enough, I’d quit on the spot.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “But it's a sin for you to lose sleep over money. The Khans have so much that you don’t have to touch water your whole life.”
Jane eyed Aunt Ilma who scrubbed a dutch oven.
Rafa tracked her gaze. “She does it out of boredom.”
“And your husband, what does he do?”
“He shelves groceries at Walmart, and my son is in the tenth grade. Samira has three little ones. Her husband is a driver.”
No wonder Samira looked exhausted from dawn to dusk. Managing three kids and Khans’ household must’ve been tough.
Rafa chewed a piece of meat and swallowed. “We are simple people, not like the Khans. In Punjab, they hold the rice market in their fist. A large family, respected, and the boys all have brides from birth, and only from the best families. So, you’re lucky, Ms. Jane, especially that you aren’t a Muslim. It was unheard of for Khans to wed below themselves until the eldest got with Ms. Ruby. Everyone would laugh at him.”
“Have you known them for a while, Rafa?”
“Since Mr. Awad enrolled to study here. My second cousin labors for them in Punjab. She recommended that I clean and cook for him. I thought it was for couple of years, but he decided to marry and stay, though nothing came of it. Him and Ms. Ruby fought terribly. Every evening, she’d go out, and he followed her. He tried to lock her in, but she was so nimble—would pick the lock, or unscrew the frame, or crawl out of the window.”
Jane gaped. She’d assumed Awad and his ex had fights, but this was the stuff of dark romances, or…crime scenes.
“In the end, she escaped. Mr. Awad wasn’t himself back then. He stood under her father’s door until the police threatened him. He washed his grief down with liquor, and for Muslims, drinking is haram.” Rafa frowned. “The boys were small and cried for their mother. Maybe that's why he sobered up.He poured his love into them.”
Jane sighed. At least, Awad was a dedicated father. She pushed her rice soaked in gravy around her plate.
Rafa munched on bread. “They say Allah punished him because he married a kafir…” She faltered and glimpsed at Jane. “Sorry, Ms. Jane. I didn’t mean to offend you. But don’t worry. After you accept Allah, you two will be fine. The owner said you’re thinking about it. Not like Ms. Ruby. You understand that without it, happiness will not be.”
Heaviness spread through Jane’s chest. Rafa didn’t approve of her marriage. She’d compared her to a woman who’d abandoned her children. Was accepting their religion the only way to overcome the stereotype? Mahsood had never asked her to convert, but, perhaps, he thought the same as Rafa, or was hurt by the criticisms of others.
Rafa chattered on.
Arms wrapped around her torso, Jane nodded. “My head is killing me. I want to lie down.” She got up.
“Peace be with you, Ms. Jane. And don’t take my stupid words to heart.”
Jane squeezed out a smile. “Of course. Have a good evening.”
She ran upstairs and crashed on the bed, burrowing her face into the pillow. These people didn’t understand her. She was an outsider to them, perhaps, even a despicable one. Did Mahsood think the same?
The memory of their lovemaking flooded her mind, and tingles trickled down to her core. He’d pleasured her. And enjoyed himself. She flipped over and stared at the ceiling, her back arching against the soft mattress. The attraction between them was real. She was stupid to listen to old wives’ gossip. Curling up, she grabbed the blanket and pulled it over her. He’d come to her later tonight. And that was all that mattered.82Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhqwLNXcOq6
