to sleep in on Saturday morning. Mum woke me by barging into my bedroom and ripping the curtains open. I sat up in bed, blinking in the bright sunshine.
Mum bent over and picked up clothes from the floor. ‘Do you have any more washing?’
I shook my head.
‘Change your bedding before you come down.’ Mum left.
Sanela rushed in, still wearing her nighty, and threw herself on my bed. ‘Mummy’s cross.’ She covered us with the doona.
‘It’s a big day.’ I lay back on the bed for a few minutes. ‘Sabiha is coming for lunch.’
‘What’s she like?’ Sanela asked. ‘Is she nice?’
I was surprised. Out of all the adjectives that could apply to Sabiha, nice wasn’t anywhere in the top ten. ‘She’s, well…’ I stuttered to a stop. I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. The first words that sprung to mind were selfish, superior, harsh, bitchy, underhanded. ‘Yes, she’s nice.’
Mum shouted my name from the hallway. Sanela jumped out of bed with a gasp and ran to her room to get dressed.
Mum was in a frenzy of cleaning, demanding that each nook, and cranny was spotless. Dad and Ali spent the day outside, mowing the lawn and trimming the bushes, while Mum and I cleaned the house with Sanela trying to help.
After we cleaned, Mum and I prepared food for the BBQ. I sliced eggplant and zucchini for the charcoal on the grill and prepared the salads. We were having a regular garden salad with oil and vinegar dressing, and a šopska salad with tomato, cucumber, roasted peppers, onion, topped with grated white brine cheese and parsley sprinkled on top.
Mum prepared the meat. She’d already marinated a whole chicken in olive and sunflower oil and rubbed it with garlic. Last night she’d marinated barbecue lamb chops in vegeta and garlic, and now she was making marinated chicken and beef skewers by threading capsicum and mushrooms.
In the fridge was pljeskavica, spicy Bosnian beef patties that are flatter and thinner than hamburgers, and ćevapi, skinless sausages. Now all we had to do was take the condiments out, ajvar, a Bosnian relish, kajmak, churned cream and kefir, a fermented drink.
I set up the table in our alfresco area using real cutlery and glasses because Mum hated plastic, and covered the table with a cloth to protect it from the elements, and then went to get ready.
After we all dressed, we waited in the living room, bunched up by the window, for Dad to return home from picking up Sabiha.
‘How long until they come?’ Sanela demanded as she peered past the curtain. She wanted to catch the first glimpse of Sabiha.
‘At least another ten minutes,’ I said patiently and bit my nails.
I just wanted to get through the lunch unscathed. Until now, each sphere of my life was completely separate, but now they were converging and I was worried that the ripples would reveal too many things I wanted to hide.
‘Get away from the curtain,’ Ali snapped.
Even though it was a barbecue Mum made us all dress up in our best and Ali was slouching on the couch in a nice shirt and jeans, acting like he didn’t care, even though he was tapping his foot in a nervous rhythm that I recognised.
‘Why?’ I demanded.
‘Because it’s going to look like we can barely wait to see her.’
‘So.’ I crossed my arms. ‘We can barely wait.’
‘I don’t want her to know that.’ Ali stood and tried to lead Sanela away.
‘No.’ Sanela stomped her foot. ‘I’m waiting here.’
‘Come here.’ Ali tugged her sharply, but Sanela grabbed hold of the curtain in her hands and gripped for dear life. ‘Let go.’ He lifted her fingers one by one.
‘You’re hurting me,’ Sanela whimpered.
‘Let her go.’ I threw myself between them and dug my nails into the soft skin on top of his hands.
‘Ow.’ Ali snatched his hands back and let Sanela go.
Sanela fell to the ground.
‘Bitch.’ Ali pinched me on the side, making my flesh burn.
‘Ow.’ I screamed, lifting Sanela with one hand while I rubbed my side with the other. ‘Bastard.’ I slapped him on every part of the body I could reach.
‘Meany,’ Sanela shouted and slapped him too, her hands mostly hitting his legs and knees.
‘Stop it.’ Mum’s scream echoed round the room.
We broke away from each other and saw Mum standing at the top of the stairs, her body stiff with rage. She’d been on edge all day as she demanded perfection from everyone considering Sabiha’s first visit. She was like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
There was the sound of a car pulling up and Mum looked through the round window on the stairs landing facing the front of the house. ‘They’re here,’ she rushed downstairs.
We frantically tried to repair our clothes and hair.
‘Here we are,’ Dad said in English as he held the door open for Sabiha to enter.
Sabiha followed him. She looked fresh-faced and somehow vulnerable. Her clothes weren’t the usual scuffed and worn clothes that screamed attitude, instead she looked like a Target catalogue with a perfectly pressed shirt, A-line skirt and shiny feminine shoes that she carefully removed in the entryway.
‘This is your brother Ali,’ Dad said.
Ali automatically offered his hand, but he pulled it back at Dad’s look of annoyance.
Sabiha noticed their interaction and put her hand out. ‘Nice to meet you, Ali.’
‘And this is your little sister Sanela,’ Dad said after she shook hands with Ali.
‘Hello.’ Sanela threw herself at Sabiha’s legs and hugged her thighs.
Sabiha stiffened as she looked at the top of her head.
Dad reached for his hand to pull Sanela away. ‘Sanela’s friendly.’
Sanela looked up in confusion as he pulled her away. Dad had told us to treat Sabiha like family before he left and she was only following his instructions.
Noticing her hurt, Sabiha leaned down and cupped her cheek. ‘You’re gorgeous.’ She gave Sanela a brief peck on the cheek.
Sanela brightened and smiled.
‘And this is my wife, Jasminka.’ Dad jumped over me to Mum, who was standing on my right.
‘Nice to meet you.’ Sabiha offered her hand again.
‘We’re glad you visited us,’ Mum said, her voice holding an edge of displeasure. She’d switched to Bosnian, as per her rule that we all speak it at home.
Sabiha’s smile faded. She thought Mum was having a go at her for not seeing Dad before, but Mum was still in anger mode from our little tiff and it was hard for her to switch gears.
‘You have a beautiful house,’ Sabiha said after an awkward silence, peering at the high ceiling. It was the first time I’d heard her speak in Bosnian and her accent was apparent. Her slow choice of words marked her as a novice speaker.
‘Thank you. Lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes,’ Mum said in English, and briskly gestured for me to help her.
Dad went outside and fired up the barbecue while Mum and I carried out the meat. Ali and Sabiha awkwardly stood in the doorway together, trying to make small talk.
Sabiha nudged closer to Dad. ‘Wow, that’s a lot of meat,’ she said, examining the plates to be barbecued. ‘I thought it was just us.’
‘It is.’ Dad squinted as he flipped the pljeskavica. ‘Why don’t you give Sabiha a tour of the house,’ Dad said when he caught Sabiha curiously peering through the sliding door.
‘I’ll come.’ Sanela clasped Sabiha’s hand.
‘Why don’t you go too?’ Dad nodded at Ali.
‘Let’s go upstairs.’ Sanela tugged Sabiha. ‘I want to show you my dollhouse.’
We couldn’t all fit on the stairs. Sanela led Sabiha up, while I walked next to Ali, who watched Sabiha’s back moodily. I nudged his side and mimicked he put a smile on. He nodded and eased his frown lines.
‘See, this is where she lives.’ Sanela was hogging the conversation, going into the life of her dolls.
‘My turn.’ I led Sabiha to my bedroom.
‘It’s so tidy.’ Sabiha said it like it was a bad thing. ‘You told me you had a poster of Ian Somerhalder on your wall.’
‘I do.’ I opened my walk-in wardrobe. Taped on the inside of the doors were my posters and photos in a colourful mosaic.
‘Oh.’ Sabiha peered at the photos. ‘My poster is above my bed so I can see him first thing in the morning.’
‘Mum doesn’t let us mark the walls,’ Ali said.
‘She’s a neat freak,’ Sabiha said.
‘No, she’s house-proud,’ Ali retorted, as if Sabiha was having a go.
‘What’s your room like?’ Sanela asked.
Ali and I perked up.
‘It’s smaller. My entire house is much smaller than this,’ Sabiha said wryly. ‘And I don’t have a built-in wardrobe, just a regular wooden one that I have to fit everything into. I have a big bookshelf with all of my books and I covered every wall with something that has meaning to me.’ She brushed the clean walls, her lips formed into a moue of disgust.
‘Do you want to see your room?’ Sanela asked.
‘My room is in my house,’ Sabiha said.
‘It’s across the hall.’ Sanela took her hand and dragged her across. ‘See, this is your room for when you sleep over.’
Sabiha looked around the room with wonder. She gingerly stepped across the threshold and gently touched the white princess’ furniture with her fingertips.
‘Dad bought it as soon as we moved in. He wouldn’t let anyone sleep in it,’ Ali said accusingly.
Sabiha turned around. She looked awestruck, with tears seeping out of her eyes.
‘Lunch is ready,’ Dad called out.
I turned around and saw his head peering over the stairs.
‘Sabiha is crying,’ Sanela said to Dad.
He ran the rest of the way. ‘What happened? Did someone say something?’ He brushed past Ali and I in the doorway and collected Sabiha in his arms.
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Sabiha wiped her face. ‘They were showing me my room.’
‘Do you like it?’ Dad asked quietly.
‘I love it.’ Sabiha hugged him and they clung to each.
‘Why don’t you all go downstairs?’ Dad ordered.
I shuffled down the stairs, feeling deflated.
‘What was that about?’ Ali asked.
I shrugged. ‘That’s how it’s been since they started speaking.’
Mum came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘Where’s your father?’ she asked as we walked out to the alfresco room.
‘He’s hugging Sabiha because she was crying.’ Sanela sat at the table.
‘Is she all right? Should I go upstairs?’ Mum asked, looking up the stairs with concern.
‘I think they want to be alone,’ Ali said, his tone caustic.
Mum stopped, undecided. We trooped out and sat at the table to wait. We sat for five minutes in silence, the tantalising smell of cooked meat wafting in our nostrils from under the foil covered trays. Mum kept waving away the flies, aiming for the salad.
My stomach growled, and my irritation rose. Ali tapped his fingers on the table. ‘Stop that,’ I snapped.
He tapped harder, giving me an arch look. I slapped his hand. He elbowed me.
‘Stop it. I’ve had enough of you,’ Mum hissed.
‘Mummy, I’m hungry.’ Sanela tugged on her arm.
‘I know,’ Mum said. ‘Dad and Sabiha won’t be much longer.’
‘I want some chicken.’ Sanela nudged the foil.
‘Don’t,’ Mum said. ‘We have to wait.’
‘How much longer?’ Sanela whinged.
‘I’m sure they won’t be long.’ Mum’s face was losing its calm façade and was getting creased with irritation. We waited a few more minutes. ‘Go get them.’
When I walked up the stairs, I heard the quiet murmur of their voices. My footsteps softened, and I crept down the hallway.
‘She kept me from you all these years,’ Sabiha cried.
They were talking about Bahra, Sabiha’s mum. It seemed she finally believed Dad’s version of events between her parents.
‘Don’t blame your mother completely. We were both at fault. We weren’t happy in our marriage and she wanted out. She was scared that if I knew about you, then I wouldn’t have wanted to get divorced.’
‘Really?’ Sabiha asked.
There was a silence. I held my breath.
‘Yes, I would have done everything in my power to be in your life,’ Dad said.
My eyes burnt, and my legs were shaky. I leaned against the wall and breathed through my nose. If Dad didn’t divorce Sabiha’s mum, he wouldn’t have married Mum. Which meant that Ali, Sanela and I wouldn’t be born.
Ali had it right all along when he called Sabiha the enemy. I had thought that by getting along with Sabiha I could get closer to her dad, recapture the man that he was and heal our family, but now I knew that was a myth. The man that I knew was gone.
Mum’s frustration wafted upstairs like a presence, and I had to interrupt. I crept down the hall backwards and then scuffed my feet on the wooden stairs as I climbed the last step. When I reached the doorway, they were sitting on the bed. Dad had his arm around Sabiha’s shoulders and she listed against him.
‘Mum wants to serve dinner,’ I said.
‘We’ll be right down,’ he said.
As I went back downstairs, I caught sight of my reflection in the hallway mirror at the landing. My eyes looked large and shocked. I thought I’d passed the worst of it with Sabiha. That the shock-waves from our reunion were over with, and yet each time I got knocked down again. I took a deep breath and smoothed out my face to look pleasant.
‘They’ll be right down.’ I kept my head down as I unfolded the napkin on my lap.
They came in five minutes later. ‘We thought you got lost.’ Mum tried for a light-hearted tone, but sounded biting. She’d spent all morning cleaning and preparing food only for the entire meal to be ruined.
‘We were talking,’ Dad said.
Sabiha and Dad sat, and we finally began serving ourselves. I was shaking from hunger because I’d been saving myself for the barbecue all morning and barely had breakfast.
‘Wow, I thought this was just a barbecue, but it’s a feast,’ Sabiha said with a nervous laugh.
‘You’re a special visitor,’ Sanela repeated Mum’s warnings. Everything had to be special.
Sabiha looked disappointed.
‘You’re not a visitor. You’re family.’ Dad shot Mum an angry look.
‘Yes, but this is a special occasion,’ Mum snapped. ‘After all, it’s Sabiha’s first time visiting us.’
Dad looked chastened. The lamb chop I was eating became hard to swallow as an uncomfortable silence descended and we were all reminded of our strange circumstances.
Mum took a deep breath, like the kind you do before diving off a high board. ‘Sabiha, what sort of things do you like to do?’ Mum asked her softball question she used as an icebreaker on all of our friends.
‘Sabiha loves writing,’ Dad answered for her.
Sabiha nodded.
‘What sort of things do you write?’ Mum passed the salad around.
‘Articles. In fact.’ Dad used his fork as a pointer. ‘She’s going to be a journalist.’
This was the first I heard of Sabiha’s ambition. I looked at Sabiha and saw she was frowning at Dad.
‘Actually, I write short stories,’ Sabiha said tentatively, as if she feared contradicting him.
‘Of course. She’s developing a portfolio of different samples,’ Dad said with approval.
‘No.’ Sabiha dropped the salad bowl on the table and it landed with a bang. She looked embarrassed as she attempted cleaning vegetables off the tablecloth. ‘I enjoy writing short stories.’
‘Of course you do,’ Dad said. ‘But you have to think about a proper job.’
Sabiha looked down at the table, her fork beside her plate. Dad’s face creased in consternation as he realised he’d overstepped, but he didn’t know how to fix it. Dad looked to Mum for help, his usual gambit for her to keep the conversation going. Mum stared at him. My stomach dropped. Just when the silence went for too long and it seemed she was going to leave him hanging, her manners took over.
‘You’ve made Alma’s transition to her new school effortless,’ Mum said. ‘She’s thrilled there.’
Sabiha looked up.
‘We were nervous at first,’ Mum continued. ‘Alma only went to all girls’ private school’s so there were a lot of adjustments to be made.’
‘Really?’ Sabiha’s gloomy face faded as she looked at me curiously. ‘You didn’t tell me that.’ She picked up her fork. ‘No wonder you’re such a dork around boys.’
Dad breathed a sigh of relief while my fists clenched as I waited.
‘Boys.’ Mum’s ears sharpened. ‘You didn’t tell me about any boys?’
I wanted to close my eyes the way you do when a speeding car comes at you. This is exactly what I’d feared would happen and now that my worst fears were coming true, I was a hapless bystander.
‘They’re just some guys we hang around with,’ Sabiha said off-handedly.
‘I hope you girls know you’re too young for boyfriends.’ Mum had been lecturing me about waiting because my schooling was the most important thing for my future. Guilt squatted in my stomach like an unwelcome visitor when I thought of Alex.
‘We’re friends.’ Sabiha was annoyed. ‘It’s Brian and his best friend, Jesse.’ She turned to Dad. ‘And you know we have nothing to worry about with Brian.’
‘Why?’ Mum was puzzled.
I closed my eyes momentarily, wishing myself away.
‘Brian is gay,’ she said.
‘Gay.’ Mum repeated, as if she’d announced he was an alien, and to her he might as well be. ‘You didn’t tell me that.’ She looked as if I had stabbed her.
I looked at my plate, gripping my cutlery so tight my hand hurt.
‘Dad didn’t have a problem with it when he found out.’ Sabiha said. I peeked up and saw she looked perplexed at the commotion her over sharing had caused.
‘You knew about this too?’ Mum looked at Dad, her voice accusatory.
I sunk into my seat. This was exactly what I’d feared would happen.
‘Let’s talk about something else.’ Dad put on a fake smile, giving Mum the signal that they should talk about this later. Mum gave him a death stare and thinned her lips as she stabbed her ćevapi.
Dad waited a beat for Mum to introduce a new topic of conversation, but she turned her attention to her food.
‘Did you have time to read those books I gave you?’ Dad asked.
‘Yes,’ Sabiha said uncertainly.
‘What books?’ Ali demanded.
‘I bought Sabiha the books I loved reading when I was young,’ Dad answered. ‘Call of the Wild, White Fang, Old Man and the Sea and All’s Quiet on the Western Front. Which one did you read first?’
‘Um, well,’ Sabiha said. ‘I’m still reading them.’
‘Sounds like you don’t like them,’ Ali needled.
‘It’s not that I don’t like them.’ Sabiha was flustered and her face flushed. ‘It’s just that they need to be read properly.’
‘So which one have you started?’ Ali asked.
‘Well, White Fang is very elemental,’ Sabiha said hesitantly.
I’d read all the books that Dad gifted her. He’d insisted that we all read the classics, so that we had a “well rounded” education like the one he’d had in former Yugoslavia, and I knew what her concern was. They were all boy books with dark themes and made for heavy reading. I would have chimed in to help her, but after she’d landed me in the shit about Brian, I was enjoying her discomfort.
‘So you’ve read none?’ Ali concluded with a happy smirk.
‘That’s enough,’ Dad snapped.
Ali looked at Sabiha with resentment before stuffing his mouth with a lamb chop.
‘So who are your favourite authors?’ Dad asked.
They spoke to each other as if they were the only ones in the room, while we looked on in silence. When it was obvious no one could eat any more, Mum stood and wordlessly collected the large serving dish and carried it to the kitchen.
‘We’ll have ice-cream in the living room,’ she said curtly.
I began stacking plates and Sanela got the breadbasket and carried it. Usually Ali was hit and miss when helping with cleanup, but this time he collected the cutlery, which said a lot about how much he wanted to avoid spending time with Sabiha.
Sabiha had followed Dad to the doorway, but she stopped and watched us for a moment. ‘I’ll help.’ Sabiha returned to the table and collected dirty plates.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Dad said. ‘You’re a guest.’
‘I thought she was family,’ Ali said with a raised eyebrow.
Dad foolishly stood in the sliding door doorway. He had one leg out of the alfresco room and one in. His face lined with consternation. He didn’t know what to do. ‘You’re right, Sabiha. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can all sit down.’ He began helping too.
Soon we were all trooping to the kitchen to put the dishes onto the kitchen bench. Mum bit her lip to keep her frustration from spilling over. All we were doing was transferring the mess from one room to another.
‘Kids, take Sabiha upstairs while I wash up and we’ll have ice-cream in a little while. You can stay and help,’ Mum told Dad when it looked like he was going to follow.
I knew he was going to get a “what for” with Mum hissing her frustration at him under the cover of the banging dishes as they stacked the dishwasher. When we got upstairs, Sanela went to the toilet and Ali disappeared into his bedroom, leaving us alone.
Sabiha’s phone beeped. She looked at the screen and smiled. ‘Brian’s all pumped about the party. Are you still going?’
‘Why?’ I sat on my bed and grabbed my cushion, squeezing it to contain my anger. I couldn’t look at her. I knew I was going to cop it from Mum when she left.
‘Maybe it’s not a good idea,’ Sabiha said. ‘I mean, your Mum was even freaking out about you being friends with Brian.’
She was such a hypocrite. The only thing she cared about was making sure I was out of the way so she could do what she wanted. Well, I had my own plans that were nothing to do with her.
‘You’re not going then,’ Sabiha said, sounding relieved, assuming my silence was a no.
‘I didn’t say that,’ I said.
‘But your parents—’
‘Are my parents and I’ll make my own decisions?’ I stood and threw the cushion at the wall.
Sabiha’s eyes widened. ‘I’m trying to look out for you.’
‘That’s not your job,’ I said flatly.
‘Did I do something—’ she was asking, when Sanela burst through the door again.
‘I found it.’ Sanela brandished her Glamour Barbie.
Sabiha gave me one more confused look, before she gave Sanela her attention. They talked until Mum called us down.
‘It’s time to take you home,’ Dad said to Sabiha after we all had ice-cream.
‘Thank you very much for having me to lunch.’ Sabiha gave everyone a kiss and hug. The only person who hugged her wholeheartedly was Sanela. She came to me last, giving me a hurt look when I gave her a perfunctory hug and air kissed her cheek.
‘I’ll go straight to the city,’ Dad said before he left.
‘You’ll be home as soon as the plenary session is finished,’ Mum said.
Dad nodded, saying nothing.
Ali and I exchanged a knowing look behind Mum’s back. Dad would stay at the conference for the cocktail party afterward. He always said that networking was a necessary evil and we knew he wouldn’t be back until midnight.
‘Ali, Sanela upstairs,’ Mum commanded as soon as the front door closed. ‘Alma, with me.’
When I entered the kitchen, Mum was behind the counter. The kitchen was her domain, and she was tough and impregnable behind it. She put her hands on her hips and I knew I was in deep shit.
‘What’s this about you being friends with boys?’ Mum demanded in Bosnian. Now that Sabiha was gone, she reverted to her mother tongue.
I needed time to think things through, but if I hesitated in answering her, she’d think I was lying.
‘We all hang out together.’ I erred on the side of simplicity.
‘Who’s we?’ Mum demanded.
‘Me, Dina, Sabiha, Jesse and Brian.’
‘And Brian is the gay one?’ Mum raised her eyebrow. ‘Is Jesse his boyfriend?’
‘No.’ I nearly exploded with laughter. ‘Brian and Jesse are best friends.’
‘Why don’t the three girls just “hang out” together?’ Mum used air quotations. Bosnians thought that boys and girls were friends for one reason and one reason only. In her words, because they were interested in “hanky panky.”
‘We do since Brian left school.’ I stretched the truth. Jesse still met with us every morning, but lately he was spending lunchtimes with Charlie preparing his graphic book for publication.
‘He isn’t going to graduate?’
In Mum’s world an education was all you could depend on. It was your chance to rise above and guarantee a better life. Anyone who didn’t was a loser destined for menial jobs and a life of misery.
‘He had to get a job when his parents kicked him out.’ I hoped his hard-luck story would soften her up.
‘Bloody Australians,’ Mum muttered under her breath.
She pulled up a stool and sat, indicating I should do the same. I didn’t know whether to be relieved. Mum was over her anger stage, but now she wanted to know everything about what happened at school and I hadn’t thought about what I should and shouldn’t tell her.
‘Did they kick him out because of drugs?’ Mum narrowed her eyes.
Of course, that was what she’d think. To her, gay people and drugs went hand in hand.
‘No, it’s because he told them he was gay. You’d have to be a pretty rotten parent to do that to your kid.’
‘Oh.’ Mum looked away guiltily.
Mum was religious, and she didn’t approve of gay people because she thought they were deviants.
‘Why did he tell them?’ she asked, as if it was Brian’s fault for rubbing his parent’s noses in it.
‘Because he got sick of lying.’ I was annoyed. ‘Anyway, his father always suspected. He kept making all these little digs about him not being a real man, and Brian said he wasn’t really losing much anyway.’
Mum looked at the tiled kitchen floor. ‘I used to know who all your friends were and what you were up to, but now I’ve lost touch.’ Mum sighed.
I felt her despondence. I wanted to go back to a simpler time when I could share every part of myself and not keep it all compartmentalised.
‘At least I don’t have to worry about any of you being gay,’ she said, as if this was a great bonus in her life.
‘What does that mean?’ I demanded.
‘It’s a blessing. I can’t imagine what Brian’s parents are going through.’
‘What about what Brian is going through?’
‘He brought it on himself.’
‘Would you kick one of us out if we were gay?’ I demanded.
Mum’s eyes shifted to the side as if she was looking for a way out. ‘That’s something we don’t have to worry about.’ She stood and wiped the already clean countertop.
Mum refused to lift her gaze. I wished I’d never asked the question. I’d always thought Mum’s love was limitless. That it was always going to be there, no matter what. This was the first time I’d seen that Mum’s love could be a tap that was turned on or off at will. It made me feel terrible, like the only certainty in the foundation of my life was gone.
I stopped, my brain fuzzy from processing the terrible reality I’d learnt. For a moment I thought about the party and what would happen if they caught me. When I’d contemplated my punishment, I’d thought it would take the form of losing all computer rights, or not being able to watch television for a month. But what if the ultimate price was being kicked out? What if this was the tipping point that would make Mum abandon me?
Maybe Sabiha was right, and I shouldn’t go to the party. Was it really worth risking Mum’s love? I wanted to cry. I remembered everything Sabiha told me about her mother, the way she accepted her completely. Wasn’t that what a mother was supposed to do? She was supposed to love you no matter what?
‘Before you go, I wanted to talk to you about tonight. Are you sure you’re up for the responsibility of being in charge?’ Mum carefully folded the tea towel and hung it on the hook.
‘I can make sandwiches with the leftover roast.’ I ticked the points off my fingers. ‘Sanela can stay up one hour extra, but she needs to be in bed by nine o’clock. Ali is to stay with us in the living room and help. And if there are any problems, we can call you at the hospital and have you paged.’
Mum looked relieved. ‘The only reason I’m leaving you in charge is because I know you are responsible enough to handle it.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘We’re fine. I’ve been—’
I cut myself off before I finished the sentence that I’d been in charge plenty of times before. Mum wasn’t supposed to know about all the nights that Dad didn’t come home until after we were all in bed. As far as Mum knew, this was the first time we were on our own, when in reality it was the first time we were alone on a weekend when we didn’t have the schedule of school to keep us on track.
‘You know I’m responsible,’ I said bitterly. I was responsible enough to be in charge of my siblings, but not to pick my own friends. The hypocrisy of the adults in my life made me burn. ‘Did you know it was Sabiha’s birthday next week?’
Mum dropped the aluminium bowl she was cleaning. It hit the tiles and made a deep clanging sound.
‘It is?’ Mum picked up the bowl and returned to the sink to rinse.
‘I didn’t realise there was only one year’s age difference between us.’
Mum was hunched over the sink, her hands gripping the edge as she waited for me to ask the next logical question. I saw Mum’s reflection in the window, fear on her face, and I knew I did not want the answer.
‘I should probably buy her a present.’
Mum relaxed. ‘You buy one from yourself and I’ll buy one on behalf of the family.’
I ran up the stairs to my bedroom; the question poised on my tongue, ready to tumble out. “Mum, how is it you fell pregnant three months after Sabiha’s mum did?”