Mommy Dearest
“So much happened yesterday, and you texted me instead of calling, Safaa!” Sumaiya exclaimed, her voice echoing from the other end of the line. Saffa gave me a desperate look, begging for assistance in this overwhelming moment.
I sank deeper into the mattress, burying my face in its softness to escape the conversation. I didn’t have the strength to confront Sumaiya; my thoughts were too consumed trying to unravel my mother’s mysterious actions.
“Well...it was you who told us you were studying for an exam and not to disturb you,” Safaa nervously muttered.
“Anyways, this is Zulekha’s mess. You should call and ask HER about it.” Safaa faced towards me and rolled her eyes.
I knew I couldn’t hide any longer. It was only a matter of moments before Safaa pulled me by my hair and handed me the phone.
I got out of bed and made my way to the kitchen, eager to check if any delicious Gulab jamuns remained from yesterday. As I reached for one, I vividly remembered: Saif had put his finger on the very same treat just before I asked him and his mother to leave.
The mere thought of him and his evil mother made me feel nauseous. I hear whispers from Ammi and Abba’s room. They were discussing me and Yusuf again. Which reminded me that I had to call him; he had left me a good night voicemail, but I was too tired to respond.
I heard footsteps approaching from my parents’ room.God, I hope they don’t ask me more questions about my relationship with Yusuf.
"Zulekha, can you come in here? There is something we would like you to do.” Mom asked. I couldn’t help but feel for them. They were doing their utmost, and it was their responsibility to respond to their family members, not mine.
“Yes?” I replied as I leaned on their bedroom doorway.
“Does Yusuf’s mom know about you and him?” Abba questioned, his voice low but pointed, as he lay in bed with his feet crossed.
“Yeah, I think.... why?” I asked. Pulling out the chair near my mom and sitting down.
“WHY?!” Mom yelled frantically, but not loud enough for neighbors to hear.
Mom clasped her hands together, her eyes locked on me like she was measuring the weight of my words. “Because sooner or later, she will. And when she does, it shouldn’t come as a shock. We don’t want this turning into gossip that spreads through the community before anything is official.”
She wanted to hit me and throw me in the same grave with Nani.
Abba repositioned himself towards me, his eyes bearing a weight of emotion. “We gave Yusuf a chance yesterday, Zulekha. But don’t mistake that for full approval. You have to understand—we still have a family reputation to maintain. If we feel anything off about his family. Your relationship with him is over. No ifs or buts.”
“So, what exactly do you want me to do?” I asked, bracing myself.
“We all should meet his mother properly. Soon,” Mom said, her tone sharp yet bound with anxiety. ” Yusuf needs to introduce you not as a secret friend but as someone she might have to consider for her son’s future.”
My stomach lurched. This wasn’t a simple request. It was another test, another checkpoint in the endless obstacle course my parents had built.
***
"THEY WANT TO MEET YOUR MOM!" I screamed into the phone like a toddler high on sugar.
“Huh, wha—” Yusuf started to respond, but I cut him off. Time was of the essence!
"THEY,as in my parents, are DYING to meet your motherrrr! Your mom knows about me, right?” My voice cracked halfway through the sentence. Panic was rising in my chest like soda shaken too hard.
On the other end, Yusuf chuckled—chuckled—like this wasn’t DEFCON 1. “Relax, Zulekha. Yeah, she knows I like you. She just doesn’t know the... uh... full story.”
“Full story...as in? I nervously asked.
“You being Sunni. But it won’t be a huge problem.” Yusuf confessed in a low tone.
I whimpered, dropping face-first onto my blanket. “Oh great, so she knows I exist, but not in 3D. My parents want a full-onfamily summit,and your mom thinks I’m, what, a footnote?”
“Not a footnote,” Yusuf said quickly, “more like a... teaser trailer.”
I sat up straight. “Yusuf, this is NOT Marvel. This is our life. Do you know how fast brown parents can turn a teaser trailer into a horror movie?!”
“Jaan. I got it handled.” Yusuf exclaimed.
“Handle what? Jaan se Jaanwar tak ka safar?!” I yelled.
He burst out laughing on the other end. “Wow. Did you just demote me from jaan to jaanwar in one sentence?”
“YES!” I yelled, pacing my room. “Because only a jaanwar would think telling his mom ‘btw I like this girl, surprise!’ five minutes before a meeting is a smart idea!”
“Relax,” he said between laughs. “My mom isn’t like your mom. She doesn’t—”
“—doesn’t what? Summon the wrath of the entire extended family with one phone call?!” I cut him off. “Yusuf, you don’t get it. My mom’s already planning what to say to family members; your mom doesn’t even know I exist. This is a Romeo & Juliet reboot waiting to happen.”
There was silence before Yusuf muttered, “At least we won’t drink poison at the end, right?”
“Keep joking, jaanwar, my mom might add it in our biryani the next time you visit,” I hissed.
“I hung up, contemplating what to do next.” My heart raced like it had just run a marathon. I stared at my phone screen, debating between calling Mehreen, Sumaiya...or the Army. But in the end, there was only one person who lived for this type of drama.
I dialed Farah.Uncertain if she would pick up. I texted her what had happened after Yusuf’s visit, and all she sent me was a blank and angry face emoji.
“Hello?” she answered, suspiciously calm.
“Farah!” I screeched. “Emergency! Red alert! Mom and Dad want to meet Yusuf’s mom, and Yusuf is acting like it’s no big deal. NO. BIG. DEAL!”
“Okay, and what do you want me to do? Draft a peace treaty between your mom and his mom?” Farah replied forlornly.
She was still upset.
“Look, Farah, I know you don’t like Yusuf. But I do, and it would mean a lot if you were just a tad bit happy for me.” I muttered. My palms were sweating, anxious about what Farah’s reply would be. I would hate to lose my best friend over a guy I loved.
“Ok. What would you like me to do Zulekha, my love?!” Farah giggled.
She loved me to much not to care.
“My mom is already giving me judgmental looks, and his mom doesn’t even know that I am SUNNI. Do you know what happens when you put fire and kerosene in the same room?”
“Shahrukh Khan in a Bollywood movie,” Farah replied dryly.
“THIS ISN’T FUNNY!” I snapped. “I need a plan. I need a script. I need—”
“A nap,” Farah interrupted. “Zulekha, breathe. Yusuf’s mom is probably normal. Unlike yours.”
I gasped. “Take that back!”
Farah cackled. “Fine. But tell me the truth—are you panicking because of them...or because this makes it real now?”
My jaw dropped. Trust Farah to psychoanalyze me mid-morning.
“Have them meet. but make sure you meet her alone BEFORE the gathering and let her know about your helicopter mom.” Farah stated.
Farah’s words hit me. Genius. I knew I made the right decision calling her.
Meet Yusuf’s mom...before letting her meet mom? That was like trying to rehearse for a play before opening night, except the play was my life and the audience was ready to throw tomatoes.
“You’re right,” I muttered, biting my thumb nail. “If she meets Ammi first, she’ll run faster than I do when the ice cream truck comes around.”
Farah laughed. “Exactly. You need to soften the battlefield. Charm her. Win her over. Pretend to be the angel version of yourself.”
“Angel version? You mean less sarcasm, more manners?” I asked.
“Yes” Farah declared.
I flopped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning above me. My brain spun just as fast. Meeting Yusuf’s mom alone? Could I actually pull that off without combusting?
“And I can warn her ahead of time of what not to say at family meet-up,” I said firmly.
“Fine,” I sighed, already regretting everything. “I’ll do it. But if this goes wrong, Farah, you’re responsible for my Janaza.”
Farah smirked through the phone. “Don’t worry. I’ll add sunflowers on the grave.”
I hung up. Staring at the fan again.
I rolled onto my side, hugging my pillow.What do I even say? Do I hug her? Shake her hand? Do I take mithai or flowers?Brown moms were a species of their own — unpredictable, quick to judge, and experts at reading the micro-expressions you didn’t even know you had.
Tulips. I will take Tulips. My mom loves them. She might like them too.
