Dreaming in English (26 page)

He has no idea I’m falling apart.

“Well, it’s . . .” It’s rotten, is what it is. I mean, it’s nice, maybe, but it’s awful, too. Because this makes Ike a partner with
them
, not me. In the past days, Ike’s dream has become my dream, and
oh, God.
His mother’s going to probably want to work there, doing the baking or working the cash register or something, and there’s no way I could ever tell her what to do like a boss sometimes has to—and would I even
be
the boss anymore if none of my money is used? When Mr. Hanson’s watchful eyes catch mine, I look away, to the window, desperate to escape, desperate to be rescued. “I don’t know what’s keeping my sister,” I say. “Excuse me, please.” I reach for my purse and stand. “I should make sure they’re okay.”

Conscious of everyone’s eyes on me, I walk away, outside and to the parking lot. I look up the street in the direction from which Maryam and Ardishir should be coming, hoping in vain to see their arriving car. There are no messages on my cell phone, and so I dial Maryam’s, which rings four times and then goes to voice mail. I hang up and call Ardishir, but his goes to voice mail, too. I feel tenser with each ring that goes unanswered. I call their house, which they better not still be at, but the machine comes on there as well. I dial back Maryam’s cell phone. This time I leave a message. “I hope you’re on your way,” I say. “Things aren’t going well and I need you!”

I’m dialing Ardishir’s cell phone again to leave a similar message when Ike joins me outside.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “They’re not answering, and I’m getting worried.”

“No, I meant—I’m sure they’re fine. I meant, are you all right with this?”

“With us accepting your parents’ money?”

“Yes, right.”

“Oh, well . . .” My heart melts as I look at him, standing there all blue-eyed and broad-shouldered. “I thought we’d settled on using Ardishir’s money.”

“Yeah, but that was a loan,” he says. “This is a gift that doesn’t have to be repaid.”

“Do we really want to do that?” I ask. “Accept such a large gift?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says. “My folks want to help get all their kids established firmly on their feet as adults, doing what they love without the burden of a huge debt. It means a lot to them, to be able to help us. Just about everything my dad and I made flipping houses was supposed to be used for my business, and now that they’ve reconsidered the . . . the . . . the wisdom of our marriage, I
want
them to be able to help in the way they’ve always intended.”

“But that’s the thing, Ike.
Have
they reconsidered the wisdom of our marriage?”

“You don’t think so?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little strange for them to make this offer only now, after my family stepped in and solved the problem that your family caused? This could be their way of, I don’t know . . . of
not
accepting me.”

Ike’s jaw is set. I’ve offended him. “I doubt this has anything to do with you, to be quite honest. It’s about them and me, and us reestablishing the strong relationship we had, up until . . .”

He stops, but the rest of his words are in his eyes.

“Yes, Ike. Go ahead, you can say it. You had a good relationship with them until I came along,” I say. “But I don’t think that’s your mom’s motive, or at least her only motive.”

“Well, then, what do you think her motive is, Tami?” His tone is edgy, challenging.

“Don’t be mad at me, Ike. I’m just trying to tell you how I feel, which is what you always say you want me to do, right?”

His posture softens immediately. “Yes. I’m sorry. I do want to know what you think.” He grins. “This is just one of those instances in which I wish it happened to be exactly the same thing I think.”

I smile. “I wish that, too.”

“But it’s not,” he says. “So what do you think?”

“I think your mom doesn’t like me any better today than she did yesterday or a week or a month ago. She still hates me, and I think that maybe this is her way of—what’s the word? Keeping influence over you. I like the idea of us being fifty-fifty partners, and it won’t be that way anymore if you use their money.”

“Yes, it will,” he says. “Of course it will.”

“It won’t feel that way,” I say. “At least not to me.”

“Well, yeah, but you’re—”

“I’m what, Ike? A total and complete wimp?”

He smiles. “No. You’re just wrong,” he says. “And if you come back inside, I’ll prove it to you.”

Going back inside is about the last thing I want to do, but I can’t very well refuse, so we go back, hand in hand.

“Is everything okay?” Mr. Hanson asks when we get back to the table.

“Everything’s fine,” Ike says. “We just need to discuss your offer a little bit further.”

“I meant with Tami’s sister and brother-in-law,” Mr. Hanson says. “Are they all right?”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” I smile at him gratefully for his concern.

Ike and I are sitting down by now, side by side again, with Ike’s arm around my shoulder. “So, anyway,” he says, tapping on the table with his free hand. “I guess we need to understand what your motives are in offering us the money.”

“We gave you our word, Ike, and we mean to keep it.” Mr. Hanson looks solidly at his son.

“I appreciate that,” Ike says. “Probably more than you’ll ever know. But we have the money we need now, from Tami’s brother-in-law.”

“We’re not offering you a loan,” Mrs. Hanson says. “This won’t have to be paid back. Isn’t that what he’s offering, just a loan?”

Ike raises an eyebrow at her. “It’s not
just
a loan, Mom. Ardishir was the only guy who ponied up when no one else would. Not you, not the bank. He came through for us in a very generous way. And if he hadn’t, would you be—?” He looks firmly at his father. “Why are you making this offer? And why now? Why not three weeks ago?”

Mr. Hanson clears his throat. “It’s taken time for us to—”

“It’s the prudent thing to do,” Mrs. Hanson interrupts. Mr. Hanson narrows his eyes at her.

“Prudent,” Ike repeats. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Hanson answers. “Until we know what the future holds, we believe this is the wisest course for all concerned.”

“I see,” Ike says. “And what is it you think the future holds, Dad?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “That’s the problem with the future. It’s impossible to know, and it’s certainly all too often unpredictable.”

“Well, Tami and I are confident the future holds great things for us,” Ike says.

“And some people are confident, even in this day and age, that the earth is flat,” Mrs. Hanson says. “Being confident doesn’t mean you’re right.”

“Jesus Christ, Mom,” Ike says. “What are you worried about? Tami’s immigration situation? Because everything’s progressing in that regard. It’s not going to be a problem.”

“You don’t know that.” Mrs. Hanson puts on her smiling, banana-bread face and turns to me. “Tami, please know this is not a criticism of you. We think you’re lovely.”

I smile at her lie. This sort of false kindness is something I’m very used to from Iran, where people seldom say what they really think. Even so, my intense dislike for her bubbles to the surface.

“You think
Jenna’s
lovely,” I say, correcting her. Just as quickly, I gasp and cover my mouth. I hadn’t really meant to say that!

Mrs. Hanson startles backward. “Jenna? Who said anything about Jenna?”

While Ike and his dad are looking at me to see why on earth I brought up Jenna, Mrs. Hanson glares at me, threatening with her bloodthirsty eyes. I’ve seen this look on people before—on the
bassidji
in Iran, where the worst thing you can do is let them haul you away, to get you alone, where anything can happen—where they can devour you, where they can make you disappear. If we’re going to have a confrontation, we’d better have it in front of witnesses who can offer me some protection.

“I forgot to tell you, Jenna was in town this past week,” Ike says, which I’m sure isn’t true. He didn’t forget. “She said to tell you hello.”

“Your mother already knows Jenna was here,” I say. “In fact, they got together, more than once. At least that’s what Jenna told me. We had a long conversation right before she left.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t mention it, Mom,” Ike says, and then adds, “I’m surprised you didn’t mention it either, Tami.”

“And
I’m
surprised that no one mentioned it to me,” says Mr. Hanson.

Ike looks to his mom at the same time she’s shooting me a warning look. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “Mom?”

She says nothing.

By now, the arm that Ike’s got around my shoulder is rigid. “What exactly are you suggesting, Tami?”

I know right then from the tense resolve in his eyes that Ike really has made his choice, and he really has chosen me. He would wrestle with a tiger to keep me from harm; he would not forgive his mother, ever, for what she tried to do. I feel trapped by his eyes, asking me for the truth, but now I’m filled with regret. I didn’t mean for it to come out this way. I didn’t mean for it to come out at all.

“I’m not suggesting anything,” I say.

“Then why bring it up?” Mrs. Hanson says. “Why bring up the fact that I visited with Ike’s old girlfriend for a few minutes and neglected to mention it? Maybe I was trying to spare the two of you some awkward moments. Maybe I was trying to
help you
by not mentioning she was in town. Did you ever think of that?”

At that, I have to laugh, just the tiniest bit. “Right. Of course. You were just trying to be nice to me. I can’t imagine why that never occurred to me. How exactly did you happen to see Jenna? How did that meeting come about, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Mrs. Hanson has tiger eyes—she wants to devour me.

Mr. Hanson covers his wife’s hand with his own. “Let’s go back to the money,” he says. “This really is a business issue. A business decision.”

“But it’s not your business,” Ike says. “Not anymore.”

“Doesn’t it make sense to keep legal entanglements to a minimum for a while? Just until”—Mr. Hanson looks at me apologetically—“until we know for certain that Tami’s going to be here for the long haul. Which I, for one, hope you are.”

I smile at him in thanks for his kind words, but Ike’s not feeling quite so generous.

“Our
marriage
is a legal entanglement, Dad,” he says. “And—”

“What happens if you can’t stay?” Mrs. Hanson asks me. “What happens to your share of the business, then? Is your family willing to just
give
Ike the money?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” As I say it, my cell phone rings. I scramble for my purse and see it’s Ardishir. “Having said that, excuse me please. Let me just—Hello?” I stand and walk away from the group. “Ardishir?”

“Tami, hey. Sorry we’re missing your meeting. Is it going okay?”

I glance back at the table. Ike and his mother are leaning toward each other, clearly arguing. I strain to hear. “I thought you were going to call it Ike’s Coffee Shop!” she’s saying. “What are you going to call it now—Ike and Tami’s?” She says this like it’s a horrible-sounding name.

“Elizabeth,” Mr. Hanson says.

“Where
are
you, Ardishir? I’m dying here without you! You would not believe—”

“The baby’s fine,” Ardishir says. “Your sister just had some stomach cramps, and we thought we should get to the doctor. But she’s fine. Everyone’s fine. She just needs to stay off her feet for a while.”

“Oh, Ardishir!”

Back at the table, Ike stands. “I’ve about had it with you,” he says to his mother.

“You’re my son,” she says. “I’ll never stop trying to protect you.”

“I better go,” I whisper to Ardishir. “I’ll call you later.”

“I don’t need your protection,” Ike snaps.

I’ve ended my call and stand frozen, not wanting to walk back into what is now a very heated conversation. I wish I could tiptoe away, but I can’t do that either, so I just stand still and pretend to be invisible.

“And I don’t need your money, either,” Ike goes on. “I need your support.
And
I need you to be decent to my wife, because
she’s not going anywhere.
”

“Oh, yes, she is, son,” Mrs. Hanson says. Meanwhile, Mr. Hanson is holding his head in his hands, like this conversation has gone exactly where he’d hoped and prayed it wouldn’t.

“
I’ve had it
,” Ike says. “If you’re forcing me to make a choice between you and Tami, I choose her. You’ve got to know that by now.”

My heart begins to swell with love until Mrs. Hanson retorts, “You don’t have to choose, Ike.” She pauses for effect and takes a long sip of her iced tea before continuing. “I can just about guarantee that the government will do that for you.”

LET US LINGER HERE A WHILE IN THE FOOLISHNESS OF THINGS

I
ke and I meet the leasing agent at the coffee shop. We sign the papers for a five-year lease (wow!) and give him the deposit. We have officially accepted Ardishir’s loan offer and officially rejected Ike’s parents’ gift. The night we get the keys, we set a table for two in the middle of the empty café. By candlelight, we drink champagne and giddily plan our grand opening. We dance (badly) around the restaurant. As Ike twirls me, visions of my framed photographs spin through my mind, finding their places on the walls of our café. I wish
this
moment could be photographed and then placed on the wall, captured forever, for like my photographs it, too, feels like an act of rebellion, a tiny declaration: This is what free people do. They make their dreams come true.