Act One: Scene One
Present day. Atlanta, Georgia.
A kitchen. In it:
Zarina—32, of South Asian origin—gimlet-gazed, lovely, though her appearance already lightly worn from worry. And…
Her younger sister, Mahwish—25—light and carefree. Even lovelier. A real knockout.
Both are American-born; both speak without any accent.
Zarina is in an apron, chopping vegetables.
MAHWISH: Stop changing the subject.
ZARINA: There was a subject?
MAHWISH: Zarina, did you get that link I sent you or not?
ZARINA: Wish. There is no universe. In which I start. Online dating.
MAHWISH: Z… if you don’t start showing some interest, Dad is not gonna let me—
ZARINA (Cutting her off): You don’t need me to get married for you and Haroon to get married.
Beat.
MAHWISH: You’re just flouting Dad.
ZARINA: Flouting?
MAHWISH: Because you can.
ZARINA: Do you even know what that word means?
MAHWISH: Yes, I know what it means. And I know it comes from a Dutch word that means to hiss at. In derision—
ZARINA (Impressed, lightly sarcastic): Wow.
MAHWISH (Over): Manuel says learning the words isn’t enough. You have to learn where they come from.
ZARINA: Manuel. Your GRE teacher.
MAHWISH: Yeah?
ZARINA: With the muscles and the tank top.
MAHWISH: So Manuel’s a stud? What does that have to do with—
ZARINA: Does Haroon know how you feel about Manuel?
MAHWISH: I don’t feel anything. I just think he’s hot—
ZARINA: I think it’s good. You’re acknowledging your desire for someone other than Haroon.
MAHWISH (Over): I’m not acknowledging desire. I don’t have any desire for Manuel.
ZARINA (Lightly taunting): Manuel. Manuel.
MAHWISH: You’re just trying to change the subject again…
I can’t get married before you do, Zarina.
ZARINA: That’s absurd. This is not Pakistan.
MAHWISH: It’s not what’s done.
ZARINA: Neither is having anal sex with your prospective husband so that you can prove to his parents you’re a virgin when you finally marry him.
MAHWISH: I can’t believe you just—
ZARINA: There has to be a better solution. Prick your finger. Bleed on the sheet—
ZARINA: You’re the one doing it.
MAHWISH: Here’s what I know about you. Anything I tell you, sooner or later, you will use against me.
ZARINA: I’m a Scorpio.
MAHWISH: It’s a character failing.
ZARINA: Shoot me.
MAHWISH (Suddenly): Why are you cutting an avocado?
ZARINA: For the salad?
MAHWISH: We hate avocados.
ZARINA: You hate avocados.
MAHWISH: Dad hates avocados.
ZARINA: I love them.
MAHWISH: See? Flouting.
(Pause)
I never told you this…
You know that book you have of the Prophet’s sayings about sex. On your shelf…
ZARINA: Yeah?
MAHWISH: One day I was in your room and, when I saw it there, I had this weird feeling like I should take it down and open it. So I did. You know what I opened to? The Prophet saying that wives are like farms. That husbands could farm them any way they wanted. From the front or back. But not in the anus.
ZARINA: So the sin is on the farmer. Not the farm.
MAHWISH: Really?
ZARINA: Wish, I don’t think any of us should be taking sex advice from the Prophet.
MAHWISH: Then why do you have the book?
ZARINA: If you’re so worried, stop doing it.
MAHWISH: He’s a man. If I don’t do something with him, he’ll find somebody else to do it with…
(Beat)
So you don’t think I’m gonna go to dozakh?
ZARINA: Wish, you know I don’t believe in hell.
MAHWISH: But what if you’re wrong? Manuel said there was this philosopher guy—
ZARINA: You and Manuel were talking about a philosopher?
MAHWISH: This guy named Pasta.
ZARINA: Pasta?
MAHWISH: Who said that he wasn’t sure if there was a hell but it was better to believe in one just in case.
ZARINA: Pascal.
MAHWISH: Okay. Whatever.
ZARINA: And that’s not actually what Pascal said.
MAHWISH: How are you not scared of hell?
ZARINA: I can’t be scared of something I don’t believe in.
MAHWISH: It’s in the Quran.
ZARINA: It’s a metaphor.
MAHWISH: For what?
ZARINA: For suffering. For the cycle of human suffering.
Mahwish considers her sister. Impressed.
MAHWISH: See… you’re so smart. You’re beautiful. You’re young. But you behave… like a… hurridian.
ZARINA: A what?
MAHWISH: You know… a bossy old woman.
ZARINA (Pronouncing it correctly): Harridan?
MAHWISH: Is that how you say it?
ZARINA: Harridan. Repeat after me. Harridan—
MAHWISH: You’re like one of those compound wives on Big Love.
ZARINA: What in God’s name are you talking—
MAHWISH (Continuing): Too bad they canceled it. You’d be perfect. Married to me and Dad. I feel like you’re my sister wife.
ZARINA: You’re truly insane.
MAHWISH: Dutiful. Despotic.
ZARINA: That was right.
MAHWISH: Thank you. Up and at ’em at six thirty. Cooking breakfast.
ZARINA: For you and Dad.
MAHWISH: I never asked you to cook me breakfast.
ZARINA: You’re an ungrateful brat.
MAHWISH: You wanna cook breakfast? You wanna clean? Fine. I’m just saying, there’s better things for you to be doing.
ZARINA: Like cooking and cleaning and having babies with someone I don’t love?
MAHWISH: I love Haroon.
ZARINA: I know you do.
Mahwish’s phone sounds with a text. She checks.
MAHWISH: Some new barista at Java on the Park recognized Dad from TV. Gave him a free cappuccino.
(Off another text, reading, perplexed)
The eagle has landed.
ZARINA: The what?
Another text.
MAHWISH (CONT’D): God.
Mahwish shows the text to Zarina.
ZARINA (CONT’D): Dad’s sticking his tongue out at you?
MAHWISH: He just discovered emoticons. It’s so annoying.
(Typing into phone)
Busy.
(Beat)
You won’t go online dating. You won’t let me set you up with Yasmeen’s brother—
ZARINA (CONT’D): My life is fine. Leaves me time and space to write.
MAHWISH: So you keep saying.
ZARINA: What is that supposed to mean?
MAHWISH: You never talk about what you’re writing. You never show anybody anything—
ZARINA: Doesn’t mean I don’t write—
MAHWISH: Why don’t you ever talk about it?
ZARINA: Because I don’t want to.
MAHWISH: So you actually write when you go to the library? ’Cause that’s not what the librarian said.
ZARINA: What librarian?
MAHWISH: The blonde. Stacy. She’s in my yoga class. She says you stare out the window for hours.
ZARINA: I’ve had writer’s block. That’s why I’ve been staring out the window.
(Beat)
And I don’t just stare out the window. Sometimes I masturbate.
MAHWISH: You what?
ZARINA: Stacy didn’t tell you that?
MAHWISH: In public?
ZARINA: The desk I sit at is in the corner.
MAHWISH (Intrigued): What’s the book about?
ZARINA: This really hot guy who teaches me amazing words in my GRE class. It’s called Manuel.
Beat.
MAHWISH: Why can’t you just tell me what it’s about?
ZARINA: Gender politics.
MAHWISH: Hello? English?
ZARINA: Women and Islam.
Beat.
MAHWISH: Like what, like bad stuff?
ZARINA: Not only.
MAHWISH: Well, I hope not. ’Cause everyone’s always making a big deal about women in Islam. We’re just fine.
ZARINA: Good to know.
MAHWISH: You don’t actually do that in the library, do you?
ZARINA: For me to know, and you and Stacy to find out…
Pause.
MAHWISH: You’re hiding, Z. Behind the cooking and the cleaning and the “I’m working on gender politics…”
(Beat)
You have to put Ryan behind you.
Pause.
ZARINA: He is.
(Beat)
He’s married—
ZARINA (Cutting her off): I know!
Zarina is suddenly emotional.
MAHWISH: I didn’t want to tell you…
I found him on Facebook…
He’s with his wife and they’re holding a baby.
Zarina is clearly affected at hearing this.
Mahwish goes to comfort her.
Zarina walks out.