The proposal was an elaborate plan Maziar had set into motion weeks before. Unbeknownst to me, he’d sat down with my parents while I was at work, asking them for their blessings. They’d been thrilled, and sworn to secrecy for the next two weeks.
When we returned from Mexico, we were greeted by a little celebratory get-together with my family. Also, there were Neda and Bita. Missing were Maziar’s parents, a small detail everyone noticed.
“Where are his parents?” my grandmother asked. She knew why there weren’t there but felt the need to point out the obvious.
“Leave it alone, Maman,” Mom replied, her eyes icily staring the old woman down.
“Humph. Well, just seems like they should be,” she said, unable to resist the last jab.
I just turned and walked away, but the damage was done. I felt the small knot of hesitation instantly magnify in response to Mamanbozorg’s words. I was already worried about how we were going to proceed with the wedding events in his mother’s absence. My grandmother had just made it worse. Maziar, however, just smiled at the old woman, refusing to allow her to get the best of him. He believed we would be fine.
In the Iranian culture, there is a traditional proposal referred to as the khastegari. In the old days, when a man was of marrying age, he and his family would seek out an appropriate bride. Once they’d decided on a potential mate, the process began.
It consisted of two various visits in which one or more representatives from the man’s family would take part. The first visit was for the parties to become acquainted and didn’t include a formal proposal or commitment. If it progressed to a second meeting, a marriage proposal was made by the suitor and his family.
Nowadays, however, the first two khastegaries were done in one step. The groom would privately ask the bride’s parents for their permission. This was a sign of respect more than necessity. He would then propose to his bride much like how it’s done in Western cultures, creating some elaborate fairytale plan he’d come up with. Taking part in the ritual was nothing more than formality, occurring afterward when the two sets of parents sat down to discuss the logistics of the wedding.
Talks quickly began after the engagement on whether Maziar’s family would follow through with the tradition. Mom knew of Naghmeh’s hesitations, but Maziar had already proposed. He’d set the wheels in motion and now her absence could be viewed as an insult to my family. She began whispering in my ear about her discontent. I became stressed and irritable, finding every reason to snap at Maziar, releasing my frustrations onto him.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked one night, after sustaining my mood all evening. “You’ve been going off on everything lately. I have a hard time believing you’re this angry over where I left my shoes.” He just looked at me, annoyed and confused.
I had tried to ward off Mom, arguing with her, trying to make her see our situation was out of the normal parameters. I begged her to drop it, to see past the world of traditions. To her, though, the lack of involvement coming from Maziar’s camp was unnerving. She knew our relatives would view Naghmeh’s absence as a direct result of her disdain for my family, so her pride wouldn’t let it go.
Gone were the days when she thought Maziar choosing me was enough to get us through. Now she wanted the comfort of knowing I would be accepted by the family I was marrying into. She also wanted to prove my grandmother wrong.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said, not wanting to deal with it.
He looked at me, hazel eyes boring down on my lie. I’d never been good at lying.
“That’s not true,” he said, calling my bluff as he scooted closer to me on the couch. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I looked at his persistent face and felt the exhaustion come crashing into me. I wanted so badly to spend my days flipping through magazines and surfing the wedding websites. Instead, this chapter of our story was much like the rest, sitting around worrying about the obstacles we needed to overcome. At the same time, I was too overwhelmed to shoulder the weight on my own any longer.
“My mom keeps stressing me out that your parents haven’t come over for the khastegari. We’ve been fighting, and it’s just getting to me,” I admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell me what your mom was saying?” he asked.
“Because I knew the situation was already difficult for you. I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“Yeah, but we’re getting married, Sara. You’re supposed to talk to me when something is bothering you so we don’t end up fighting like this, even if you think I have too much going on. Okay?” he said, trying to convince me.
I wondered how Maziar had become the rational one while I warped into the timid, emotional wreck. I used to feel headstrong and badass; now I just felt tired and worn down. I blamed it on the hell I’d been dealing with the past few years, but I suddenly questioned my own strength. I leaned into him, allowing him to carry my worries as he lay his strength over me like a warm blanket.
“Okay,” I said, grateful for his presence.
I walked down the produce aisle grabbing vegetables for dinner. I was comparing two heads of lettuce when I heard someone say my name.
“Sara?”
My heart stopped, recognizing his voice instantly. I looked up to find Ben.
“Hey,” I replied, flustered.
He smiled, flashing his dimples at me. He looked good. He’d gotten a tan, no doubt from the Santa Barbara beaches, causing his crystal-blue eyes to stand out against the bronze backdrop. They twinkled now, as he looked at me.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m good. How are you? How’s Santa Barbara?”
“It’s great. I love it there. I hear you’re working with Seti. Do you like it?” I must have looked confused that he knew that information so he threw in, “We talk from time to time.”
It hadn’t even crossed my mind that they’d stayed friends. Made sense.
“It’s great,” I said. “What brings you here?”
I suddenly realized I was still holding the lettuce like a moron. I went to place one back on the pile and bag the other. Before he had a chance to reply, the overhead lights caught my ring, causing it to flash across the cart. Ben instinctively looked down at it. Shit!
“Congratulations,” he said, not skipping a beat.
“Thanks,” I replied, uneasily. I unconsciously braced myself for his anger.
“I’m happy for you, Sara.” He seemed completely unaffected.
Just then, a blond woman walked up behind him, placing her arm around his waist.
“Are you ready, babe?” she asked, eyeing me curiously.
“Yeah. Sara, this is Liz.”
“Hi,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” she replied, kindly.
He was looking at her while she spoke to me. His face held an expression I recognized well. Then, he turned back towards me. “Okay, we have to go,” he said. “It was great seeing you, Sara. Take care.” He smiled at me one more time before he turned and walked away with Liz on his arm.
I stared at their backs for a moment, waiting to feel something life-altering, but I didn’t. Ben seemed genuinely happy, and all I felt was relieved. I was glad he’d moved on, that he’d found someone else, someone who could give what he wanted.
Good for him, I thought. He deserved it.
I smiled to myself as I turned to finish my shopping.
I fumbled with the keys, trying to balance grocery bags on my arms. As I walked in, I heard Maziar in the bedroom having a heated conversation on the phone. I couldn’t make out any of the words, so I was forced to flutter about anxiously until he finished. He walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, flustered but smiling.
“Ask and you shall receive, beautiful,” he said, obviously proud of himself. “I just talked to my dad. We’ll be coming to your house next weekend.”
“What about your mom? Is she coming?” I asked, the knot of dread now a hard basketball in my gut.
“I’m not sure,” he replied, thoughtfully. “My dad said he’d talk to her.”
I began to chew my bottom lip as he reached out and pulled me into his arms.
“He knows the tradition. I’m sure he’s going to talk to her. If she refuses, then he’ll ask my aunt.” I felt sick to my stomach, the constant unknown slowly killing me. He held me tighter. “Stop worrying. It’s going to be okay.”
I looked up at him, wondering if he really was naïve enough to think things would magically fall into place or if he was just putting on a show for my benefit.
“I have to call my mom,” I said, frantically.
“No need. I already called her right after I hung up with my dad,” he said, smiling broadly.
“You called her?” I asked, shocked. I could barely look his mother in the eye and here he was going head-on with mine.
“Yes. I wanted to make sure Saturday was okay. Plus, I figured she’d be stressing about the whole thing, so I thought I’d save you from the conversation,” he said. “At least for tonight.”
He constantly amazed me, putting himself in uncomfortable situations so I didn’t have to. He dealt with the backlash, put his foot down, got into screaming matches, whatever it took to show the world I was his Number One.
I must’ve done something right in a past life.
Saturday arrived and my house exploded into chaos. Mom’s anxiety was demanding, consuming everyone in its wake. We ran around cleaning and setting up, trying to make everything as perfect as she needed it to be. There’d been no confirmation that Naghmeh would be attending, and I’d been sick to my stomach for days.
When Maziar’s family finally arrived, Mom and I were in the kitchen. We froze simultaneously, glued to our spots on the floor. I had a plate of pastries hanging midair, holding my breath, trying to identify the voices as they came in. Mom was doing the same.
“Welcome, Parviz khan. Come in, Naghmeh khanoom,” we heard Dad say. We gasped in unison.
Did he just say Naghmeh? Had his mother actually shown up? A few days ago, the final verdict was that if she refused to come, Maziar’s Aunt Lily would stand in. A smile spread across Mom’s face, taking her presence as a victory. I smiled back at her, trying to mimic her enthusiasm, but I was filled with apprehension. I knew she hadn’t accepted us, so her presence meant only one thing: there was a struggle ahead.
Mom turned and walked out of the kitchen, urging me to follow. We came in with trays of tea and pastries that she placed on the coffee table. She began the pleasantries, greeting the guest, welcoming them to our home. Maziar’s father hugged me affectionately. His mother, however, greeted me coldly. I prayed Mom hadn’t noticed, but the subtle crinkle of her forehead told me otherwise.
I looked at Maziar, who had also seen the exchange. Although he remained passive, I could see his protectiveness bubbling to the surface. I took a seat next to him, reached out for his hand, rubbing his palm to calm him. Simultaneously, I looked at Mom, pleading with my eyes for her to let it go. With a little nod, she conveyed that she would. I could hardly breathe, afraid I’d have a heart attack before it was all over.
Dad started the conversation, trying to break the ice. He asked Maziar’s parents about their family, tracing their roots back to various cities in Iran, a common practice when meeting for the first time. They talked about old times back home, people and places they shared. Soon the wives were participating a bit as well.
A half-hour in, when all neutral topics were exhausted, the khastegari began. The fathers took the lead, each speaking affectionately about the other’s child. For a moment, it almost seemed as if things would run smoothly. However, the lioness reared her head, making our house of cards come crashing down.
“I’m sorry, Abbas khan. I don’t mean to be rude. I think we should discuss the issue at hand, though. Everyone is acting as if we don’t have a bigger problem.”
The muscles in Maziar’s jaw twitched with anger. Both he and Nima moved forward in their seats, my soldiers coming to attention. I braced myself as she continued.
“These kids are young and in love. They don’t understand how difficult marriage is, especially when children become involved. I just don’t think they understand what they’re doing. We come from such different backgrounds.” She was careful to choose her words, trying to convey her opinion respectfully. I was thankful for that much.
Maziar sat forward, ready to pounce on her. Mom looked at him, slightly raising her hand to stop him before he could get started.
“What are you referring to, Naghmeh joon? Aren’t we all Iranian here?” Mom asked, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips as she forced Naghmeh’s hand.
“I was referring to the different religions, Shireen joon,” she responded, feigning a look of innocence as she waited for Mom to make the next move. The battle of wills had begun.
“There will definitely be some navigating that has to be done because of that. But that said, I think the kids are mature enough to handle it. I don’t think they’re going in blindly, or taking this decision lightly,” Dad replied, jumping in. “The truth is, they’re adults who love each other. If they want to spend their lives together, who are we to stop them? We’re only here to provide guidance if they ask for it.”
“Yes. We need to put our own differences aside. Any arguing we do amongst ourselves only makes things more difficult. Surely we can all find common ground, don’t you think?” Mom added.
“We’re no longer in the world we grew up in. Times have changed in this country. The youth now falls in love first, then worries about the logistics later. Race and religion don’t concern them. Love and compatibility are all that matters,” Parviz said. “Maziar and Sara are strong, and it’s obvious how much they love each other. I for one am not the least bit worried about them. They’ll find a way to make it work.”
I was so overwhelmed by the emotions in the room. Parviz’s smile filled my eyes with tears. Maziar and Nima’s strength hovered protectively over me. My parents’ love shined like a beacon in the dark. I couldn’t look at Naghmeh.
She was also witnessing all the people willing to come to our aid, despite our differences. I could tell she felt overwhelmed by the wealth of emotions too, but not for the same reasons. She suddenly realized she stood alone.
“What will happen with all our customs? Will we have a Jewish wedding or a Muslim one? Will you come to Shabbat dinners?” she asked, looking wildly around the room for an ally. “And when you have kids, will we have a bris? Or a Bat Mitzvah? Have you even thought about that?”
Gone was the strength of a few moments ago, replaced by a deep desperation in her voice, compelling me to look at her. When I did, I saw that she was staring at me, searching my eyes for an answer. She needed validation that she wouldn’t lose her only son. Maziar stepped in, still on the defensive.
“Mom, those are all details that we have to figure out, but we’re going to do what works best for us. Everyone is just going to have to deal with it.”
I placed my hand on Maziar’s leg, knowing that his anger would cause more harm than good. She had legitimate concerns, and if nothing else, they deserved to be addressed. Remaining silent was no longer an option for me. I needed to step up and take control.
“Naghmeh khanoom, I understand why you’re worried, but you don’t have to be,” I assured her. “We haven’t discussed all the details, but we aren’t planning on getting married and just forgetting everything we grew up with. We’re going to incorporate as much of both of our traditions as we can. It’s something that’s important to us.” I maintained eye contact as I spoke so she could see the truth in my words. “God is God regardless of his name, and God is love, something both of us have plenty of. That’s what we are going to teach our children.”
She looked at me for a few moments, trying to read me. I held her gaze, knowing she wasn’t completely convinced. Then, she turned toward Mom, and with a weary smile on her face asked, “Shireen, could I have another cup of chayee, please?”
A unanimous exhalation passed through the room as everyone acknowledged the change of subject as her admittance of defeat. She had found herself alone, isolated on the island she’d created. She was hoping to find allies in today’s meeting, but was met with unexpected resistance. She knew pressing the issue would only cause an explosion between her and her son. The already strained relationship between them teetered on a string, and losing him was the one thing she was trying to avoid.
We looked at each other, neither of us fully convinced of the other’s efforts. After a few moments, she gave me a halfhearted smile, her acknowledgment that she’d lost today’s battle. I smiled back, extending an olive branch in hopes that it could be the start of some sort of peace treaty between us.
I wasn’t sure if she would go home and think things through, having a change of heart, or at least finding some tolerance for Maziar and me. I wanted to believe that her love for him would inspire her to shed her preconceptions. But I had spent so many years facing walls she’d placed around me that I couldn’t completely convince myself of the hope everyone else seemed to be feeling.
Too tired to analyze the situation any further, I allowed myself a night where I could pretend Maziar and I were just another normal couple, planning a normal wedding, not some representation of the ongoing conflict in the Middle East. I let my mind wander as those around me spoke of various wedding details.
I avoided looking in Naghmeh’s direction. If no one could see the hesitation and frustration emanating from her, I could, and I was too exhausted to allow her to take this night from me as well.