Finding Mr Perfectly Fine

‘Well, you know what he’s like, he always gives in eventually.’

At her insistence, I give her a rundown of all the men I have and haven’t been meeting over the past few months, leaving out my own emotions. I don’t need my younger cousin pitying me. As I talk, she continues to sort her suitcase out, occasionally murmuring something in solidarity. When I tell her about the rejection from the Tower Hamlets guy, I pause for a second and wait for her outraged response but she seems to be too busy with her unpacking to pay much attention to me.

‘Did you hear what I said?’ I demand. ‘They said I was too old when I’m bloody younger than him!’

‘That’s crap,’ she replies flatly. ‘But to be fair, you know what Bengali families are like. They think bigger age gaps are better.’

I snort. ‘Of course they do. God forbid a bride is too mature and experienced to know her own mind. Those mothers-in-law like them young so they can groom and manipulate them.’

‘It’s true though, isn’t it? The older a woman gets, the more set in her ways she becomes. Marriage is all about compromise.’

‘And what about men? Doesn’t the same apply? Don’t they get more set in their ways?’ I stare at Sam, agog, like she’s grown a third, Masonic eye in the middle of her forehead. I can’t believe that this is what she thinks. I’m no Amina when it comes to feminism and dismantling the patriarchy, but even I can see that this is messed-up.

‘Men have to get married when they’re older,’ she says matter-of-factly. ‘So they can establish their careers and all that.’

‘OK, so if all the older, established men, marry younger women. Who do the women in the middle marry?’

Samia smiles sagely, as though only she is privy to the inner secrets of marital structures. ‘There’s someone for everyone. Allah knows best.’

‘You sound very well versed on marriage for someone who isn’t planning on getting married any time soon,’ I say after a long pause. This whole conversation has not turned out the way I expected it to. I’d expected her to have my back, tell me that the world, and our community with its expectations should all go to hell. Instead, she basically agreed with it all.

‘I need to be ready when the time comes.’

There’s a rap on the door and Nani hobbles in and tells us to go back downstairs for dessert. She frowns when she sees the open suitcase on the floor, and I know what’s about to go down.

‘Dekhrayni kilan amareh nah zikaya, Africat gya addo marso,’ she scolds Samia, telling her off for ‘gallivanting’ around Africa without getting her permission. Serves Sam right for hiding her trip from Nani until she landed. I chuckle to myself as she continues to berate her, about how she’ll never get married now because she’s too independent, and what has happened to her previously lovely colouring? Can’t she scrub her tan off?

‘Marriage isn’t on the cards now,’ Sam snaps at Nani. ‘I’ll wait for Zara to go first, thanks.’

I sneak out the room and let Sam deal with Nani. I hear enough of it on a daily basis.

*

‘How come Sam got to go to Zimbabwe but you won’t let me?’ Amina says on the way home. ‘She’s only a year older than me. If she’s allowed, I should be, too.’

‘Samia’s life is her dad’s problem, not mine,’ Mum replies, turning around from her position at the front passenger seat to glare at us. ‘And by the way, the only reason he agreed was because of their arrangement. If you’re happy to make the same deal, then by all means, we can discuss you living abroad for two months.’

‘What deal?’ Amina scowls, her arms folded across her chest. I lean forward, eager to hear the gossip myself.

‘That if she went to Zimbabwe, as soon as she got back she had to get a biodata written up and start meeting candidates.’

‘Oh.’ Amina slumps further into her seat and Yasmin and I exchange glances. It’s the first I’m hearing of such a deal.

‘And they’ve already got a meeting lined up. So unless you want to follow the same path as your cousin, don’t make comparisons.’

‘Did Sam mention anything to you?’ Yasmin asks me quietly when the conversation moves on. She and I are sitting right at the back of the eight-seater, in our usual seats.

‘No. She went on and on about how men should marry women that are more than just a couple of years younger than them,’ I admit. In fact, I’m pretty sure she acted as though marriage wasn’t on the table at all. Didn’t she tell Nani that she was waiting for me to go first? I stare out of the window, tuning the rest of the conversation out as I try to figure out why Sam basically lied to me.

There’s only one possible, albeit heart-squeezingly painful conclusion, I decide. My cousin – who I thought was one of my closest confidantes – has hidden the fact that she’s looking to get married because I’m older, still single, and she thinks I’m going to give her nazar. She’s always been a massive believer in the evil eye.

Layla gets straight to the point, when I call her to ask her what she thinks.

‘Who cares what your cousin is up to?’ she says bluntly. ‘Forget about her and focus on yourself.’

‘How? I don’t know if I even want to marry Hamza.’

‘Why are you trying to make such a massive life decision on your own? If you need help on deciding whether or not to progress things with Hamza, you need to let either your friends or your sisters meet him. Get our opinions. See him through our eyes.’

This is probably why Layla is a lawyer and I work in local government.

‘He probably wants nothing to do with me anyway,’ I whisper. ‘I’ve ruined my chances with him.’

‘Well, the longer you air him, the worse it’s getting. Call him, text him, do something to make him realise you’re not messing around.’

After we hang up, I brace myself and text Hamza a simple, Hey, you OK?

I spend the rest of the night waiting for his reply. It never comes.