How would I cope if my entire understanding of our life together turned out to be a lie?
Chapter Fourteen
Before
Lots of people come to Arab weddings.
Hundreds. In addition to dozens of aunts, uncles, and cousins on both sides, pretty much every immigrant family from our parents’ native Palestinian town was on the guest list. Ali and I didn’t know half of them. Luckily, our families were from the same town, so we didn’t have to put another entire town of people on the guest list. Ali and I sent about twenty-five invitations each to our own friends and, in his case, colleagues.
Our tradition was for the groom and his family to pay for the wedding. Ali’s mom,Um Ali(which translates to “Mother of Ali”), and his sister Julia made most of the arrangements but included me in the planning. That was when I first started to grow close to Julia, who was practical and pleasant and pretty much never had a mean word to say about anyone. Being around her made me want to be a better person.
In the spirit of inclusion and getting along, I invitedUm Aliand Julia to go with me, along with Mama and Lulu, to pick out my wedding dress. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was fortunate in them. I’d heard nightmare stories about people’s in-laws, but mine were genuinely kind.
“If you make my son happy, you make me happy,” my mother-in-law liked to say.
About three weeks before the wedding, I was at my future in-laws’ house with Julia finalizing the RSVPs and the seating chart when a name on the guest list caught my attention.
Ms. Elizabeth Martins.
I froze, staring at the name, unable to believe what I was seeing.
“What is it?” Julia asked.
“Do you know who this is?” I asked, unsure whether she was aware her brother had dated a white American girl for years.
She looked at the name I pointed to. Her expression grew serious. “You should talk to Ali about it.”
“Do you think this is OK?” My neck burned. “To invite this woman to our wedding?” Julia was reasonable. She couldn’t possibly approve. “Do you?”
“Amira,” she said in a calm, quiet way that reminded me of Ali. “No matter what I think, I will never speak against my brother. Never.”
“No matter what,” I repeated, stung. “I thought we’d become close.”
“Iamyour friend, and soon we’ll be sisters-in-law,” she said. “I would never speak against you either.”
“If I was in the wrong, I’d want you to be honest, to tell me so,” I said hotly.
“Speak to Ali.” She moved away, returning to the other end of the dining table to continue what she was working on.
“I would if I ever saw him,” I grumbled, mostly under my breath. It was tax season, which meant he worked long hours.
“I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”
“Fine.” I grabbed my purse. “I’ll see you later.” I walked out, got into my car, and drove until their house was out of sight. Then I pulled over and forced myself to take several deep breaths.
I couldn’t believe it. Ali invited his ex-girlfriend to our wedding without mentioning it to me? Without making sure I was OK with it? Maybe he thought I wouldn’t care, that I understood that Lizzie Martinswas in the past. But now doubt flooded me. Maybe Baba was right. Maybe Ali intended to keep Lizzie around as his sidepiece.
My face was hot, and my chest felt like there was a heavy brick lodged inside of it. I wanted someone to vent to, but I was too embarrassed to let anyone know that my fiancé invited his ex to our wedding without telling me.
My phone buzzed. It was Ali calling. I sent it to voicemail. The same with a second call. And a third. Then he texted.
Hey I’m trying to call you. Can you pick up?
I wanted to continue to ignore his texts. To keep him guessing for hours. Days, even. But I’d never been any good at playing the long game. I furiously pounded a response into my phone.
Me:??Maybe you should call your girlfriend and see what she’s wearing to the wedding I wonder if she’ll wear white. What do you think???
Ali:??Pick up the phone so we can talk??
