Tripping on Tears (15 page)

CHAPTER
Twelve

THAT
Was
the first and last in-depth discussion about religion Safia and I ever had. She never was clear with me regarding her beliefs; I assumed she didn’t know yet; I’d had two traumatic events in my life that had prompted me to come to terms with my beliefs – the death of my Mother and Father. Watching someone waste away, the life ebbing out of them, gives you a lot of time to think about the unknowns in life and pray that while they’re suffering here on earth, they’re on their way to something better and more peaceful – someplace where they can find happiness again.

Why Safia had engaged in that conversation that morning, the morning after we made love for the first time, I don’t know. I figured religion had always been a big part of her life growing up, especially if her parents were devout; she knew where they stood, maybe she wanted to know exactly where I stood on the matter. Religion had obviously played a bigger part in her life than mine.

Everything was great. Safia and I fell into a wonderful domestic rhythm with one another. That’s not to say things got boring, just that we seemed to gel well together. We were still in the honeymoon phase of our relationship, you know that early stage where all you can think about is being together and making love. And, boy, did we make love. It just seemed like we couldn’t get enough of one another – if only that phase stayed as intense and strong throughout the entire course of a relationship, there’d be a lot less break-ups and divorces – but a whole lot more exhaustion.

Now that Safia had moved in, I discovered I had to make a few concessions. I never claimed to be an interior designer, and it turns out I wasn’t – at least according to her. While I thought I had put together a nice place, she found it a little male-centric, I guess. If it was truly to be our place, she wanted to be able to add touches here and there; put her own imprint on the place. That scared me, as I didn’t know what that imprint might be - possibly a cat calendar in the kitchen, or something much worst – I had absolutely no idea at all. She had a point, so I agreed, with only one stipulation; she could do whatever she wanted with any of the rooms as long as she didn’t touch anything in my office/library. That was my sanctuary for writing and I liked it the way it was; although I know as I looked at her face every time she was in there, she had plans for that room as well, and it was killing her that it was off limits.

The first thing Safia did was re-arrange the furniture in the family room, and various other rooms. I quickly discovered she had a knack for knowing where everything should be to best suit the room. We didn’t go out and redecorate, but she did pick up some things that helped accentuate what we had; it no longer looked like only a man lived in the place, but now a couple.

As we continued to get to know one another as a couple living together – each other’s quirks and habits – Safia continued working at Koffee Krisp while I continued working on my book. It was during this time that I encouraged her to explore art classes. She had said she wanted to be an artist, and I didn’t see any reason why she shouldn’t explore that possibility. So many of us in life don’t pursue our true goals and before we know it we’ve lived an entire life never having taken a chance – that’s when the regrets start.

At first she was reluctant; I could understand why. While she enjoyed drawing, she was sure she wasn’t that good, at least now that she was being encouraged to pursue it. She didn’t want to show me anything she had drawn in the past, but I didn’t care, if it was a passion, go for it; what’s the harm? You find out you’re not as good as you thought you were? Then at least you know. There was also the possibility you’d find out you’re better than you thought, and with the right training and guidance, could be on your way to big things in the field. It took some encouraging, but before long, she’d signed up for one or two classes, and seemed happy with the prospect. I just made sure there was no one named Daniel in those classes.

It was also during this time that we had our first rough patch. It wasn’t an argument, it was more of a reactionary thing, and it was strictly my fault. Safia had had a long day working at the coffee shop and came home to discover I had also had a long day working in my study on my book. I was engrossed in my work and plowing along at a relatively steady pace, unwilling to stop. She didn’t ask me to. What she did was make us dinner. Nothing to complain about there, right?

At some point in the evening, she stuck her head in and announced that dinner was ready. A harmless enough occurrence, and one, that if I took a moment and considered it, would reveal I was in fact hungry. I don’t know what I was thinking; maybe I was at a point where I wasn’t sure which direction to take the writing; or just connecting with the words I was absorbed in writing – I really don’t know – but I believe my response at the time was, “Not now.”

I guess that could seem harmless enough, but I’m fudging the truth here. The true response was more like, “NOT NOW!” I spoke with attitude and annoyance and for no reason other than I’m used to being single and working away without having to consider anyone but myself. I could have just explained to her that I was really into the work at the moment and that I’d get something to eat in a bit if she’d be so kind as to put some food away for me, and everything would have been all right. I should have been more diplomatic, because she didn’t deserve my annoyance for coming home after a tiring day herself and going to the effort of making us dinner. As I was immersed in my work, I didn’t look up from it to see her expression, but based on the sound of the study door closing – not quite a full slam, but enough to let me know everything wasn’t okay – I knew I’d said the wrong thing and in the wrong way.

I remember just sitting there reviewing my actions and looking at that closed door. Okay, what now?

“Safia, I...”

“Your dinner is in the fridge. You’ll have to heat it up,” she said.

Her tone was cold. And she didn’t look pleased to see me.

I’d been a coward. I knew I’d upset her, but I hadn’t immediately gotten up from my desk and headed out of the study to apologize to her. I should have done it immediately, but instead, I stayed in the study, half working on my book and half wondering what the fallout was going to be. The irony was, she had left me alone, as my tone had indicated, to work on my book, but instead of truly being able to work on it, I was haunted by how upset she might be. I didn’t get nearly as much work done as I would have if I’d only taken a break, had some dinner with her, and then returned to my work.

“Are you upset with me?” I asked.

“No, I’m fine.” She seemed to speak with cold, clipped words. I heard what she was saying, and I understood what she was saying, but deep done, I knew she was anything but fine.

“Safia,” I said, “I’m sorry for my tone; I was just immersed in my work. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay; I shouldn’t be disturbing you when you’re working,” she said.

“No, no, that’s okay. Really I’m sorry.” I really was.

“You should get something to eat,” she said.

I just looked at her. She was pissed, whether she said so or not. What she didn’t understand was that I understood, and agreed with her. I’d been wrong, but at least I was admitting it; I knew my mistake and wouldn’t make it again. She just wasn’t going to let me off that easy. And here I was learning some more about her; namely that Safia wasn’t a screamer; no, when she got mad, she got quiet, and she seethed. Even with my apology it didn’t matter, she’d let me off the hook when she was damn well good and ready to do so – and not before that.

The rest of the evening was the same game over and over; me asking her if she was okay, her saying she was, and me saying I didn’t think that was true. I’ve often heard it said that couples should make a point of never going to bed angry; in theory this sounds like an excellent idea, but Safia had work in the morning, I had work in the morning, and I didn’t know how long she could stay mad, so I wasn’t sure how long of a night I was in for. Instead, at some point, I just excused myself and went to bed. I believe that’s actually better than the ‘don’t go to bed mad’ theory – let the other person work through their anger or annoyance; don’t force them to get over it sooner than they’re ready to. Eventually Safia came to bed, and in the morning I apologized again, and all seemed right with the world.

It was funny, because shortly after we first met, I said something like, “Eventually I’ll probably get on your nerves; annoy the hell out of you.” She had responded by saying there was nothing I could ever do to upset or anger her; I couldn’t help laughing. I pointed out to her that it was impossible to be in a relationship and not deal with tension, anger and arguments. Only a blind romantic fool would believe otherwise. I told her that despite the fact my parents loved one another; they also knew what buttons to push to drive the other one crazy and upset them. It was how you dealt with the anger when it arose that would define whether or not you’d make it as a couple.

For a first incident, and one that I stupidly caused, I believe we had done all right.

Weeks passed with the two of us building a life together. She introduced me to more Bollywood films and Indian cooking and I continued to introduce her to my classic movies and British cuisine; while I’ve never had Naan before, she’d never enjoyed a Yorkshire Pudding with roast beef on a quiet Sunday evening. As for everything else, we were pretty much on equal footing, as she’d been raised here, and was as Western in many ways as I was. And as we settled into the relationship I noticed she became more and more confident – especially in expressing her opinion. I think she found I was more than open to her speaking her mind and challenging me; I love a confident woman who will take no shit. I find that exciting. I was looking for an equal, nothing less, and had never viewed women as anything but equals.

It was while we were lying there after making love that Safia expressed her opinion about something I’m not sure she had wanted to tell me, but was sure I’d eventually bring up one day.

“I finished reading your book the other day,” she said, breaking the silence of our dark bedroom.

“Huh?” I replied. I was content after making love to her; lost in that contentment as we lay together.

“
The Sinful Delusion
. I finished reading your book,” she repeated.

“What’d you think?”

“I much preferred the Gore Vidal book,” she replied.

“You didn’t like it?” I asked. I have to admit, that while I understand you can’t appeal to and please everyone, the thought she was disappointed in the book, did rattle me a little – although I didn’t want her to know that.

“No,” she simply said.

It bothered me, but seeing how we had just made love to one another and I was basking in the glow of that, it seemed to soften the blow. She had picked the best time to tell me what she’d thought of my book – beautiful, smart, and let’s face it, cunning, and all in one package.

It was during the second month of our living together that both Kareena and Safia’s sister Rijja started coming around more often. I always had an open door policy for anyone in her family, so I was glad to see her sister was taking advantage of it, and equally disappointed that her brother wasn’t. As she explained to me, he was a teenager, and no doubt felt he had better and more important things to do with his time than visit his older sister.

Kareena had started coming over well before Rijja. Kareena had broken up with Qadi, theirs being a brief physical pairing that was what it was – two people using each other for a bit of pleasure for a short period of time. It became obvious to me that Kareena had a bit of a wild streak, very unlike her best friend Safia. Kareena and I got along well enough, but it was definitely one of those situations whereby if Safia and I hadn’t been a couple and she and Kareena best friends, Kareena and I would probably have never had anything to do with one another. She was a nice enough woman, but somehow it just didn’t gel between us; for Safia’s sake, however, we were civil and polite to one another. Don’t get me wrong, we didn’t dislike one another; we were just kind of indifferent to one another. That was fine with me, and as far as I could tell, fine with her as well.

What really excited me were Rijja’s visits. Safia had been thrown out of the house by her parents and disowned, so it was nice to see she still had the support of a family member; it was important to her, as she and her sister had been close and still were; she told me that together they had done their best as young girls to torment their younger brother, who they’d deemed a brat, and in youth, a dirty unnecessary addition to the family. They may have thought that way as young girls, but in hearing them talk, I’d come to realize they were very protective of their younger brother and loved him a lot.

I guess Rijja had been coming around for about three to four weeks on her own when she surprised both of us by announcing that Safia’s parents wanted to see her. Rijja explained that they seemed to be lightening up; Safia was thrilled and so was I. I knew she loved her parents and definitely wanted them in her life. So did I. Even though we were together, and if we got married, and would be creating our own family dynamic, it was important that Safia still had the love of her family with whom she had grown up. Isn’t that part of the beauty of two people coming together? Not only do they get to form a new family dynamic, but they have each other’s families as part of their own – an extended family, with in-laws, brother-in-laws and sister-in-laws. If everyone got along, it could only be great.