A Cup of Friendship (33 page)

Authors: Deborah Rodriguez

BOOK: A Cup of Friendship

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T
his was to be their last Wednesday night together in the coffeehouse. They closed for the afternoon and nobody was allowed to enter except Candace, Jack, and Bashir Hadi, Halajan and Rashif, Yazmina and Ahmet, Layla and baby Najama, and, of course, Poppy. Good-byes were going to be said and promises made to stay in touch forever.

Tomorrow it was Sunny’s turn. She was leaving Kabul. She set a long table outside in front of her mural and planned a delicious menu, to be cooked and served by the staff of Rumi, her favorite restaurant in Kabul. She had invited everyone with a letter or email so that they’d understand that even her Afghan friends were expected as her guests, not as employees or servants, to sit at her table and eat her meal, so that she could say good-bye.

She’d given the coffeehouse to Halajan, Ahmet, and Yazmina to own and run with Bashir Hadi as a partner with the family. But Yazmina was going to be very busy working as a designer and dressmaker for Rashif’s shop, which would be the first unisex tailor shop in Kabul—with separate entrances and changing rooms for the men and women, of course.

So the daily job of cleaning would be Layla’s, who was going to live in Ahmet’s old room in Halajan’s house. And Ahmet and Yazmina were taking Sunny’s rooms for their family. Poppy would protect them all.

Candace was staying in Kabul to continue the work she and Isabel had started on behalf of women convicted of “moral crimes.” She regarded the American government’s warnings to evacuate Kabul as premature and unnecessary, and she vowed to stay until her work was done.

And Jack was going back to America to live near his son, who was going to college in Ann Arbor. He had an interview with an NGO there that needed a security director for its international operations. He could work right out of the Ann Arbor office. He felt strongly that the American presence in Afghanistan was only adding fuel to a volatile fire.

Sunny stood, waiting for her guests to arrive, surveying the coffeehouse that had been her home for over six years. She put her hands on her hips and breathed in deeply, her chest expanding, and then let it out. She’d accomplished much—the floors, the generators, the roof—and yet nothing at all. It was only a coffeehouse, after all. It wasn’t a school, or an NGO, or an organization to help women or children. It was just a place for people to come and hang out.

The door swung open and Ahmet entered, holding the door open for Yazmina, who carried the baby in a sling, and Layla following behind. Sunny greeted them and led them to the table, which sat under the trees that twinkled with the tiny lights Sunny had woven up their trunks and through their branches. Flickering candles and fresh flowers decorated the length of the table. Sunny served Cokes and tea.

Then Jack came through the door with Bashir Hadi, followed by Halajan and Rashif.

Jack first said his hellos to everyone individually, walking around the table, speaking in the native tongue of each person, shaking hands, kissing cheeks three times. Sunny watched him, her chest filling with love and pride. He looked up, their eyes met, and Sunny felt for a moment like a character in a romantic movie.
You idiot
, she said to herself,
don’t get all sentimental
.

And then Candace blew in as if powered by the winds from the Hindu Kush, looking more beautiful than Sunny had ever seen her. It wasn’t her clothes, or her hair, or her bangles and bling; it was that she was
happy
. Sunny knew that her work and her independence were fulfilling to her. Who knew what the future held—how long she’d want to stay, whether she’d become lonely or if she’d meet someone who loved her the way she deserved to be loved. For now, she was content.

Sunny was overcome with emotion as she sat next to Jack, among all her friends laughing and drinking, while the crew served the food they’d cooked in what was her kitchen for this one last night. She thought back to kissing Jack in the closet, laughing with Bashir Hadi, seeing Petr slink in with Isabel, hating, then loving Candace. She thought of the Indian doctor’s speech. Of Malalai Joya. Of bringing Yazmina here, of Ahmet falling in love with her. Of his discovering the relationship between Rashif and Halajan. Of Tommy leaving, then returning and, finally, leaving. Of knowing Jack for so many years before she realized she was in love with him.

Of the damn wall that she’d finally finished painting in time for a wedding. This place, this nothing of a coffeehouse had had miracles happen in it. It had been a home away from home for many people. Most of all for herself.

She’d changed here. Her entire life had changed here.

She raised her glass and said, “To friends. To living a life of love and good health. To a safe Kabul forever!
Salaamat!
To peace!”

And everyone answered with shouts of “
Inshallah! Inshallah! Salaamat!
” God willing. To peace.

Her last night in Kabul. Early in the morning she would be leaving with the one thing she could never leave behind. She and Jack were headed for a new life together in Ann Arbor, Michigan, in the United States of America. She reached down under the table and took his hand; he looked at her and squeezed it. She smiled at him widely and fully, with the unself-consciousness of love.

Behind him was her mural. This she was proud of. Gray doves filled a stone courtyard under a blue sky. But every seventh one was white. Because each of her friends in Kabul was a seventh dove, the one with the spirit that rose to the heavens.

Acknowledgments

I
am a storyteller first, a writer only later. These stories could not have been transformed into a novel without the help of some of the world’s greatest editors, first among them the amazing Leslie Schnur, who not only helped me shape my ideas into the novel they became, but who also always spoke the truth. Working with her has been the best education I could have wished for in fiction writing. Her gifts and wisdom are on every page. More than just an editor, she has become a valued friend. I also owe a great debt to the fine editors at Random House. Caitlin Alexander and Jane von Mehren made me go deeper and work harder than I ever thought possible. I owe you both so much, along with the wonderful publicity, marketing, and sales departments of Random House, who have always supported my work so wholeheartedly.

As a hairdresser and coffeehouse owner, I had the opportunity to hear everyone’s stories, one of the great privileges of these occupations, and I am pleased now to present a few of my own stories to readers. While this book is fiction, many of the characters were inspired by the wonderful people I met during my expat life in Kabul, behind both the coffee bar and the beauty chair.

None of this would have been possible without my two favorite people in the world: Marly Rusoff, my wonderful agent, and her amazing, funny, and sweet husband, Michael (Mihai) Radulescu. Marly, you stood by me and held me up when I couldn’t do it myself. You always believed in me and helped me understand that anything is possible. Michael, you are one of the few people I know who would travel to the end of the earth to help me, even offer to risk your life for me. This will never be forgotten.

I would like to thank my daughter-in-law, Tannaz Ghanei, who not only is a great wife to my son Zach but also a wonderful woman who gave me a window into much of the Persian culture and its beautiful lifestyle.

I will never forget the time my sweet friend and muse Karen Kinne from Holland, Michigan, helped me birth the idea of this book over a bottle of wine and a pizza. Thank you, Karen, for being a lifelong friend. May there be many more pizzas and wine in our future.

Heidi Kingstone, what can I say? You are a great inspiration for this book. I love your style, laugh, and humor. You are a beautiful woman inside and out. Thank you for being a true friend and for saving my life in Afghanistan.

Daniel Cooney and Mireille Ferrari Cooney, your friendship has meant so much to me over the years, both in Kabul and in the States. I am proud to be Auntie Debbie to your sweet Maia. Thank you for advising me on subjects that went well beyond my experience in Afghanistan. I am truly grateful that our paths crossed.

Lindy Walser, you have been such a strong advocate for the women of Afghanistan. Thank you for all your effort with Oasis Rescue. Your compassion is extraordinary, as are you.

Chris Gara, it was you who gave the Cabul Coffee House in Afghanistan its true colors. I drew upon the works of art that you painted in the courtyard and on the walls of the coffeehouse for this novel. Thank you so much for your endless devotion to making the world a more beautiful place through your art.

Edie Kausch, thanks for being my first friend in California, but more important, a friend for life.

Bill Kish, thank you for the great times we had at the Cabul Coffee House. I loved your stories and the knowledge you shared with me about the Nooristan area. I gleaned so much from you then and now. I always looked forward to seeing you walk through that coffeehouse door. Thank you for always being only an email away.

To Betsy Beamon, one of the bravest expat women in Afghanistan, you are an inspiration not just to me but to the world. I am so proud to have you as my friend. Thank you for letting me bounce ideas off you while I was writing and for sharing your rich knowledge about the traditions and culture of the wonderful country of Afghanistan.

Polly, you listened to me complain, laugh, and cry. You sat on my lap as I told story after story while working on the book. You never had a negative thing to say … well, maybe just a little meow now and again.

Last, I feel a great debt of gratitude to so many of the fine men and women of Afghanistan, who have struggled so long and endured so much. May peace soon be yours.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

D
EBORAH
R
ODRIGUEZ
is a hairdresser, a motivational speaker, and the author of the bestselling memoir
Kabul Beauty School: An American Woman Goes Behind the Veil
. She spent five years teaching at and later directing the Kabul Beauty School, the first modern beauty academy and training salon in Afghanistan. Rodriguez also owned the Oasis Salon and the Cabul Coffee House. She is the founder of the nonprofit organization Oasis Rescue, which aims to teach women in post-conflict and disaster-stricken areas the art of hairdressing. She currently lives in Mexico.