Dreaming in English (18 page)

In the mail, Ike and I get a letter from the U.S. Bureau of Citizenship and Immigration Services saying our application has been received and that another notice will be sent soon with a date for our immigration interview, which means that so far everything is going as it should in this regard. With my first paycheck from working in Ardishir’s office, I buy a bicycle from the Ordinary Bike Shop and begin biking to class. In the early evenings, Ike and I bike around Reid Park, often packing a picnic for dinner. I love the hot spring breeze and how it works its way through my hair and the smell of the golf course grass and the
thwack
of the tennis balls as we pass the courts. I love, too, how my thigh muscles become well defined as the weeks go on, but most of all, I love my new bike. It’s what Ike calls a
retro
bike, by a company called Schwinn, and it’s sparkly blue with wide tires and a basket on the front and a cheerful brass bell, which I sound each time I pass a jogger or walker. Even though it’s not too practical, each day I wear one of my new spring knee-length skirts when we go biking because, somehow, wearing them makes the outing feel even more American, and I put on sleeveless tops
just because I can.
America—the land of spaghetti straps and flip-flops. My kind of place!

There’s so much to do, so much to explore, so much of Ike to get to know. We go to the towns of Bisbee and Tubac and also visit Kartchner Caverns, and one night, instead of bike riding, we drive to a place called Gates Pass and eat cheese and drink wine as we watch what must be the most beautiful sunset in the world, and when it’s over we lie on a futon mattress in the bed of the pickup truck and make plans for our future. I’ve noticed that in the last few weeks he has stopped mentioning his coffee shop and instead has begun thinking of travel adventures for us to take, such as hiking to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, and river rafting in Colorado, and even backpacking in South America—once I have my residency papers. All of this sounds very good, very exciting to me, although I can’t help but feel bad about his coffee shop. Rose and I often shop at the Trader Joe’s across from Ike’s perfect location, which is still available, still waiting for him. Every time I see it, I feel a horrible guilt from my belief that I have ruined his dream.

The situation with his parents could be worse. It could also be better.

Mrs. Hanson makes no more visits to the guesthouse, announced or unannounced, and since Ike’s discussion with his father, she’s stopped saying anything at all about our marriage. Ike stops over at his parents’ regularly, and I even go with him once to pick up Camille, who wants to visit Old Sport. Mrs. Hanson comes out of the kitchen to say hello, and her eyes communicate no obvious dislike for me. I take this as a hopeful sign that maybe Ike is right and that over time perhaps I’ll be welcomed into the family, which is something both Ike and I want very much.

I maintain this hope right up to the day that Jenna, Ike’s old girlfriend, comes back to town.

Then, in an instant, I lose my newfound hope.

Then, in an instant, I realize I could lose everything—not only Ike but America, too.

I
t happens one afternoon on a beautiful spring day that sparkles with sunshine.

It’s after class. Eva and I have walked to Starbucks (since I have my bike with me, I do what Eva calls taking my bike for a walk), and just walking puts me in a good mood. This is one of those things about being free that you can’t fully appreciate unless you’ve lived its opposite. In Iran, something as innocent as walking down the street with girlfriends—the fact of young women having fun together, of maybe laughing too loud—can draw all sorts of attention and cause all sorts of problems. But not in America. America is not about keeping other people down.

When we arrive, we join the just-off-work Ike and Josh at a patio table and quickly fall into an easy conversation, which is more or less a continuation of the one we all had the day before—a lot of talk and laughter about nothing much at all. It’s all so perfect, so fun, and it feels like it will last forever, this sort of happiness, this sort of easy, free day.

I should have taken a photograph.

“No way,” Ike murmurs at the sight of her. “No friggin’ way.”

He looks at her as if she’s a mirage, a shimmering gift of water in a very thirsty desert, as if the sight of her is simply too good to be true. Then he pushes back his chair, stands, and goes to her. It’s like he’s floating from how light his heart is at the sight of her.

It’s Jenna. I know this instinctively.

She waits for him in her short denim skirt and sparkly red high-heeled sandals that match her pedicure. In between the skirt and the sandals are impossibly long and forever-tan legs, the exact sort of muscled female legs I so badly want for myself. Her long, sleek blond hair beckons him. Her too-white model’s smile beams at him. Her palms lift upward, as if to say,
Here I am, Ike. Yours.

When they embrace, there’s no space between them, and they embrace for a very,
very
long time—or maybe it just feels that way because I’m unable to breathe. I’m remembering what Mrs. Hanson told Ike when Jenna left, how if you love something, you must set it free, and if it comes back to you it’s yours. I wish more than anything that Jenna had stayed away.

“This chick is trouble,” Eva says. “I’m telling you right now.”

Her words aren’t necessary, for I can tell all on my own that Jenna is far more than simple trouble. She’s a thief—a beautiful thief, the very worst kind—and she has come to steal my husband.

“Get over there,” Eva says. “Mark your man.” To Josh, she asks, “Who is she?”

“I have no idea. And if I do, I’m not telling.” It’s clear from his low-level chuckle that he knows her. It’s clear, too, by the glimmer in his eyes that he likes her.

“It’s Jenna,” I say. “Ike’s old girlfriend.”

Eva knocks her arm into me. “Get
over
there.”

“I can’t just—” I fall silent as they step apart—not by much, not by nearly enough! It’s like there’s a magnet pulling their hearts together. Why, oh why, can’t I catch my breath?

They don’t exchange words at first, but talk with their eyes instead.

Ike’s:
I don’t believe this—what are you doing here?

Hers:
I came back. For you.

His:
But I thought you were gone forever.

Hers:
I couldn’t stay away.

“Ike!” Eva calls out. “Come introduce her to your wife!”

For once, I’m grateful for her obnoxiousness, because I’d begun to think Ike had forgotten all about me. At Eva’s words, his forehead wrinkles and he gives me a look of confusion, as if he’s forgotten who I am.
I’m your wife, Ike! Your wife!

He nods vaguely, as if he’s heard the screaming in my mind, and turns back to Jenna. I can’t hear what he says, but I imagine him choking on the words
I’m married now
, saying them with regret, for Jenna is the easy one to love, the one whose presence wouldn’t cause problems with his family. Jenna is the one he loved first.

“I don’t feel well,” I murmur.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Eva elbows me, hard. “Act like a grown-up for a change.
Toughen up
, chickee-poo.”

She’s the one who left
, I tell myself.
You’re the one who stayed.

It seems like a pretty bad sign that I have to keep reminding myself of this.

Jenna’s green eyes are troubled as Ike leads her to the table. She’s
beautiful—
absolutely, inarguably so. She and Ike would make perfect American babies. She’s taller than him, with broad, strong shoulders that make her waist look tiny. Ike introduces us. “Tami, this is Jenna. Jenna, Tami.”

Awkwardly, I get to my feet. “Hello. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet
you.
” Jenna extends her silken-soft hands with their French-manicured nails. But it’s her
eyes
that are most troublesome—a man could get lost in them for days. “I didn’t know Ike got married!” she says.

“Well, he did.” Eva doesn’t try to keep the snarl from her tone.

“This is Eva,” Ike says. “A force unto herself. And Josh. You remember Josh, of course.”

Jenna gives Eva a cursory nod and focuses on Josh, a far friendlier face. “Joshie! Nice to see you!”

Josh sits up from his slouch, takes her hand, and pulls her down so he can kiss her cheek. “Hey, welcome back! Where-all have you been?”

“Oh, you know.” Jenna’s smile is generous. It seems to include the whole world. “I’ve been flitting here, there, everywhere.”

Ike smiles. “Flitting—that’s the perfect word to describe you.”

“Did you say flit?” Eva asks. “Or twit?”

Josh laughs, and I would, too, if I knew what Eva meant, because I’m sure it’s deliciously rude, but neither Jenna nor Ike seems to have heard her. Jenna tilts her shoulder forward at him, as if to say,
Aren’t I just so cute to describe myself so perfectly?
The problem: She
is
just so cute! Even as she’s flirting with my husband, I can’t help but think this—she’s cute, and beautiful, too, a deadly combination.

“Have a seat.” Ike gestures for Jenna to take his chair, and she does, as if it belongs to her, as if she owns, too, this table we’ve been sitting at for all these weeks, all these months. This is the table where Ike gave me my walking shoes!
It’s not her table!
But that’s the thing about beautiful, confident people—there’s power in their beauty. They feel entitled to anything they want. The last thing I want is to sit next to her, because by any comparison, I lose—in confidence most of all.

“So how was the great European adventure?” Josh asks, as Ike gets an empty chair from another table.

“It was, well . . .” Jenna glances at me, and her smile falters and she bites her lip, and for the first time, I see how hard this is for her, to have to pretend she’s not upset. She probably wants to slink away and cry—that’s certainly how I feel. “It was very European.”

“Imagine that,” Eva says.

I feel a tiny measure of relief as Ike places the extra chair next to
me,
not
her
. I’m now between them. My knee is right here. Ike could easily put his hand on it, but he doesn’t.

“This is quite the triangle,” Eva says. “
How
do you two know each other?”

“Eva, please don’t start with your shit,” Ike says, his voice mildly stern.

“We dated in college.” Jenna’s green eyes glow spookily.

“Fuck buddies,” Eva says.

I gasp. Ike is tensed with anger, like he was when his parents insulted me. I brace myself to hear him defend Jenna’s honor, but it turns out she can defend herself perfectly well.

“We were a little more than that,” she says. “We lived together for over a year.”

I gasp again.

Ike looks at me. “You knew that, right?”

I shake my head no. I definitely did not know that!

“I’d have to say we didn’t make very good roommates.” He smiles to reassure me, to tell me the fact that they lived together for more than one year is no big deal. But it is! It is a big deal!

“That’s an understatement!” Jenna laughs. “Does he still leave his wet towels on the floor? That used to drive me nuts!”

Ike does, in fact, leave his towels on the floor, but it’s not something I’d ever complain about, and certainly not to her. “Ike is very nice to live with.”

He reaches for my hand, squeezes it, and gives me a smile that tells me I’m nice to live with, too. I return his squeeze gratefully—very, very gratefully, for while he neglected to mention they’d lived together, I remember all too well how he described the end of their relationship.
She wanted to get married
, he said.
I said I’d wait for her, that she should go and I’d stay and get the coffee shop off the ground. But she said she knew that if she went, she wouldn’t come back . . . that she wouldn’t be the same person a year down the road and she had to be free to see where life took her.

It sounds like you really loved her
, I said.

He nodded. Yes, he’d loved her.
But she was right
, he said, his voice strained, nearly cracking.
She didn’t come back.

And yet, here she is. The bird he set free has flown back to him.

“How long have you two been married?” Jenna asks, studying me too closely. Witches have green eyes, don’t they?

“About five weeks.” I sound weak. I
am
weak. “Almost six.”

Jenna tilts her head at me. “And you’re . . . new to America?”

Is ours a green-card marriage, is what she’s asking.

“I’ve been here a little more than four months.”

Her smile is friendly. “Well, you sure managed to snag yourself a good one. They don’t come better than Ike.”

“She didn’t
snag
him,” Eva says. “If anything, he snagged her.”

Josh makes a sound of two cats fighting, but no one finds this funny.

“
How
long are you in town for?” Eva asks.

Jenna levels her eyes at Eva, not intimidated by her at all. “Oh, I’m back for good.”

“For good?” Ike looks from Jenna to me and then back to her. “What are you going to do for a job?”

“I have a few ideas about that.” She tilts her head at him, then, saying something by the gesture, and I feel very much in the way, seated here between them. Even in public, part of their world is private. Inaccessible. Ike and I are still holding hands, and I squeeze his very tightly. It’s a squeeze of terror, for I think I might be losing him. “What about you?” Jenna says to him. “What are you doing still working here? You should have your coffee shop open by now!”

There’s unmistakable tension in his voice as Ike says, “I’ve hit a snag.”