Dreaming in English (22 page)

“Gah!” I say.

I decide to send one that’s brief and to the point and that will definitely show him—well, lots of love! I type
LOL. LOL. LOL
, hit the SEND button. I visit for a while longer with Maryam and Ardishir, all the while half expecting Ike will send me a similar message back. But he doesn’t, and the hour gets late, and I’m supposed to work in the morning, although I’m sure Ardishir would understand if I took the morning off, but I don’t want to leave him without the help he needs, and so when it gets to be eleven, I ask if he’ll drive me back home.

I love riding in cars at night. I always have, especially with my window down, and the fresh air tonight makes me feel better. “Thank you for listening to me snivel tonight,” I say.

Ardishir smiles. “You weren’t sniveling. You’re just a bit emotional, which can get in the way sometimes of having a . . .”

“Mature discussion? Yes, I know.”

“I guess Ike’s telling you to toughen up a little bit.”

I smile. “That’s what Eva said to me, too.
Toughen up, chickee-poo
.”

“The world’s not going to end if Ike doesn’t open that coffee shop right now,” Ardishir says.

“But he wants it,” I say. “And if I wasn’t in his life, he’d have the money he needs from his parents and he’d open it for sure. And I
want
him to have his shop. I want that for him. It’s as important to me as it is to him.”

“Were his parents just going to give him the money, or was it going to be a loan?”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “I didn’t think it was my place to ask.”

“Well, Jenna would give the money in exchange for half ownership, right? Is that the offer on the table?”

“I think so, but do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Knowing you, I think it’s a horrible idea. But it’s good to know Ike’s willing to take on a partner.” Ardishir shifts in his seat and glances at me. “I have a little money, you know.”

I stare at him, remembering something Maryam told me once—that Ardishir’s family has money behind the money and bank accounts behind the bank accounts. “You have a lot of money, don’t you, Ardishir?”

He smiles. “You could say that.”

I’ve always liked how he never shows off his money. He does buy the best of things, but he doesn’t buy too much. Their house is beautiful, and it’s big, but it’s not flashy. It’s classy.

“Are you saying you’d loan Ike the money?”

Ardishir shakes his head. “I don’t want to loan him any money.”

“But you couldn’t just give it,” I say. “He wouldn’t accept it. You’d be a partner with him, somehow?”

He shakes his head again. “I don’t want to be a partner in a coffee shop. But I would like my sister-in-law to be an entrepreneur. That’s still the best way to get rich in America. I’m thinking I could make some money available to her at very favorable terms.”

“You mean—” My heart swells as I realize what he’s offering. He’s so good to us, so good to me. “But I’ve never run a business before. I’m probably not a very good investment risk.”

We’re just a block from home, and he holds off on answering until we get there. He pulls into the driveway where Ike’s truck should be but still isn’t, idles the engine, and gives me one of his long, mentoring looks. “When have you not succeeded at anything you’ve tried?”

I’m the only one in this car, and he’s looking right at me, so he must be talking to me. But . . . excuse me? He can’t
really
be talking about me. “I haven’t exactly tried much of anything in my life,” I say. “Ardishir, what if he never comes back?”

“Ike’s not the sort of guy who’s going to cut and run,” Ardishir says. “He’s in it for the long haul, and he’s trying to make sure that you are, too. Now, didn’t you earn your college degree?”

“Well, yes,” I say. “Of course. You know I did.” Rose peeks out from behind her living room curtain to see who’s in her driveway. I wave to her, and she waves back before disappearing behind the curtain again. “I love Rose.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Ardishir says. “Didn’t you get a good job as a teacher?”

“Well, yes, but . . .”

“And didn’t you leave that job on your own terms once you realized it no longer was the right job for you?”

I smile, for I’d never thought of it that way before. I’d only thought I failed. “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.”

“And didn’t you somehow manage to get a coveted visa to America?”

“Well, yes, but that was—”

“And didn’t you find a way to stay?”

“Only because—”

“And didn’t you marry a great guy who loves you very much?”

“You mean the guy who has since left me?”

“Ah, ah, ah!” He holds up a hand to stop me. “To me, it looks as if you have achieved or are in the process of achieving some very impressive things. To me, an investment in Tamila Soroush is a very good investment. I think it’s an A-plus investment.”

“Ardishir!” I sit up taller, trying to assume the posture of someone who is an A-plus investment. I do, actually, suspect I’d be a good business owner. Ever since the idea of working in the coffee shop occurred to me, I’ve become more and more excited about it. I’ve thought how it would be smart to have a spreadsheet detailing the profit margin on each item of food or drink we sell, and to run our specials based on this. Besides the business aspect, I also can imagine working there with Eva, keeping it fun, bringing Ike’s vision to life. His grand plan is to have not just one, but a chain of local coffee shops, and so he’ll need someone to manage the one while he opens the others, won’t he?

Maybe I can be that someone . . . if he ever comes back.

I
ke stays away the entire night, but when I wake up from a very troubled sleep, I see that at least he sent me a text message shortly after two o’clock, although it’s not at all nice:
What the hell’s so funny?

A flame of anger sparks in me. Who does he think he is, to talk to me this way? And why does he think that
I
think anything’s funny? Nothing’s funny! This is serious business! I think of several rude comments to type back to him, but I don’t. Instead, I text,
Where R U?
leaving off the
LOL
this time—that’ll show him!

By the time I’ve showered, dressed, and tidied up, I’ve received no reply. I want to text again,
Where are you? Where are you? Are you with her?
but I know this will only anger him further, and so I force myself not to.

I go outside and wait on the sidewalk for Ardishir to pick me up, and I’m frustrated, because not only is it rude of Ike to stay away like this and to send mean messages, but everything’s changed and he doesn’t even know it! He has no idea that he doesn’t need Jenna or his parents anymore. All he needs is me and my money from Ardishir, and he can make his coffee shop dream come true. I finally have something to offer him, and he’s really not being very nice to me right now. I bet he’d be nicer if he knew.

When Ardishir pulls his black Lexus to the curb and I climb in, he gives me a concerned look. “He’s not back yet? Or did he just leave early today?”

“He’s not back.”

Ardishir whistles. “Maryam would
not
let me get away with that. There’d be hell to pay if I ever tried.”

I love my morning drives with Ardishir. We have such nice conversations, just the two of us, and I appreciate getting his perspective on things without Maryam butting in. He drives me to work on the three mornings a week that I fill in for the woman on maternity leave, and I usually take the city bus back home, unless Maryam picks me up to go shopping, which is pretty often, as there’s always something she wants to buy or consider buying for the baby.

“What would Maryam do?” I really want to know, because I definitely don’t know what I’m supposed to do—it isn’t okay that he hasn’t come home!

“I have no idea,” Ardishir says. “I’d never do it.”

“So it’s bad that Ike thinks he can do this?”

He gives me a sidelong glance. “What do you think?”

I sigh. “I think it’s probably pretty bad.”

“Changing the locks would not be inappropriate at this point,” he says. “To teach him a lesson, if nothing else.”

“Do you think he’s trying to make me mad? To see what I’ll do?”

“I doubt it,” Ardishir says. “I think he’s just so wrapped up in whatever he’s feeling that he’s not considering you at all right now.”

“Jerk,” I say, quickly adding, “Him, not you!”

Ardishir smiles. “It’s hard, becoming a couple.”

“Was it hard with you and Maryam?”

Now he laughs out loud. “I’ll plead the Fifth on that one!”

“The Fifth?”

“The Fifth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution—you can’t be made to incriminate yourself or testify against yourself in a court of law. The idea dates back to England in the late sixteenth, early seventeenth century, when it was common practice to torture people to get information from them, or to get them to confess to something.”

Late sixteenth, early seventeenth centuries—in normal countries, physical coercion was outlawed centuries ago. Not years, not decades—
centuries.
“You mean like still happens in Iran?”

I say this ironically, but Ardishir raises an eyebrow. “It’s not just Iran, but yes. Torture can be a pretty effective way of getting what you want out of someone. Or, it can be a way of totally disregarding everything you profess to stand for and making yourself look like an ass in the process. It depends on the country.”

Once we arrive at his office, I take my position at the receptionist’s desk and get to work greeting clients and answering the telephone and filling out insurance paperwork. I leave my cell phone right in front of me, but Ike doesn’t call and doesn’t call, and even though I’m very busy, my anger builds throughout the morning. Who does he think he is, to treat me this way? This is not how a husband treats his wife! I decide to call and tell him this. No more waiting around for him. And if he doesn’t answer . . . well, let’s just say some very unpleasant things might be said on his voice mail.

But thankfully, he does. “Hey,” he says.

“Where were you last night, Ike?”

“Listen, Tami, I’m at work. I don’t have time for this discussion right now.”

My new husband can be a real jerk when he wants to be.

“I’m at work, too, Ike, and I understand you’re busy, but you can give me a one-word answer. Where were you?”

“What’s all this LOL shit you keep texting me?”

A flame of anger surges inside of me. “I don’t believe you just said that!”

“I don’t believe you think this is funny,” he says.

“I
don’t
think this is funny!”

“Well, then, why do you—” He pauses, and then, unexpectedly, he laughs. “What do you think
LOL
means, anyway? ”

The instant he says this, my eyes sink closed and I know I’ve made yet another mistake with my English. “What does it mean, please?”

“LOL. Laughing Out Loud.”

“I thought it meant Lots of Love.” I roll my eyes as I think back to the numerous ways I’ve used this inappropriately, such as when I told him he could bang me forever, and all the times I’ve texted him to ask when he’d be home for dinner—LOL. “You must have thought I was crazy this whole time!”

He chuckles. “No, just very happy.”

Now I’m laughing, too. Kristen, the other billing clerk, in whom I confided, gives me the thumbs-up sign and a hopeful look that causes my laughter to fade, as it reminds me that things are still
not
okay between us. “Ike, where were you last night?”

“Where do you think I was, Tami?” The edge is back in his voice.

He knows what I’m worried about, I can tell. I shouldn’t have to say it. “If I knew, I wouldn’t ask. Why don’t you just tell me?”

He sighs. “I really do have to go. We’ll talk later, all right?”

“No, Ike, it’s not all right!”

“Well, it’s going to have to be. It requires more of an explanation than I have time to give.”

With that, he hangs up. Hangs up—on me, his wife who has the money he needs to open his precious coffee shop!
You don’t hang up on your wife without saying good-bye. You don’t hang up without saying I love you.
This is what I should call back and tell him, but I’m sure he wouldn’t answer. I could text him (leaving out any mention of
LOL
), only if he didn’t reply, then I really
would
have to change the locks, and I don’t want to do that, so instead, I spent the rest of the morning ignoring him just as earnestly as he ignores me.

But I’m fuming.
Fuming.
I’m mad as I say good-bye to Kristen and Ardishir. I’m mad the whole bus ride back to central Tucson, and I’m mad the whole six-block walk home from the bus stop. I’m so mad I don’t know what to do with all my anger.

It’s only when I arrive home and find
her
—Jenna—sitting in
my
chaise lounge on
my
patio, petting
my
dog, whom Ike must have dropped off on his way to work, that I know what do to with all my anger.

I aim it—like a bullet to the heart—directly at her. She looks so perfectly pretty in her sleeveless white T-shirt and red miniskirt that I’d like to claw out her pretty green eyeballs. I set my purse down on the patio table and face her with my hands on my hips. “Please stop petting my dog,” I say. “And please get out of my chair.”

When she first saw me, Jenna looked chastened. But now, her brows furrow. Not like she’s intimidated, more like she’s curious.
Was she with him, was she with him, was she with him last night?

“This isn’t your dog,” she says. “It’s Ike’s.”

The nerve of this woman!

“What’s mine is Ike’s, and what’s Ike’s is mine,” I say. “That’s what being married is all about.”