Have I? I check my phone and, yep, Ma is right. I have been a potato for three hours straight.
‘Shirin and Lipi are busy today,’ I say, sitting up. My neck aches at the movement and I twist it from side to side to relieve the muscles. ‘They’ve got a dawat.’
‘I don’t think we’re due to be at a dawat today. Or are we?’ Ma’s forehead wrinkles with confusion before realisation dawns upon her. ‘No. We’re definitely not going to a dawat today. It’s next week I’m thinking about.’
Ma is still in her gardening gear, but her hat and gloves are off so I bet she’s about to hit the shower – one she is in dire need of after gardening all day – but I know if I don’t take thisopportunity I might not get another one.
‘Ma, can we talk?’
‘This sounds serious. What’s going on, Poppy?’
I shuffle sideways to make room for her on the sofa, then blurt out, ‘I miss hanging out with Shirin and Lipi.’
‘Oh, honey.’ Ma gently moves a strand of hair that’s fallen in front of my eyes to behind my ear. ‘I know you don’t have as much time with them as you’d like with the job, but you’ll figure out a way to make it work. You’re best friends, and they’re not going anywhere just because you’re not spending every second of every day together like you used to.’
‘No, it’s not that.’ I fasten and unfasten the top button of my top, my hands itching to do something. ‘Well, I guess that doesn’t help. It’s just .?.?. I don’t get to hang out with them as much as I’d like to any more because of, you know, what happened between you and Salman’s parents. Like today. We should be at the dawat with them.’
‘Oh.’ The word lingers heavy in the air between us and I immediately feel guilt course through me.
‘I don’t blame you,’ I’m quick to say, because her eyes look sad. ‘It’s just .?.?. do you ever miss hanging out with Hira Auntie and Azad Uncle, Ma?’
‘Yes,’ she says simply, as if there was never a question about it, and it makes my heart break.
‘Then why aren’t you friends with them any more?’
‘It’s not that simple, Poppy.’
‘Why not? Why can’t you just make up with them?’ I can feel my voice rising, and I have to remind myself to lower it. ‘If you tell me what happened between you guys, maybe I can give you some advice?’
Ma lets out a sigh. ‘Poppy .?.?.’
‘I’m older now, Ma.’
‘By six months.’
‘Which means I’m older. Also, I have a job, remember? I psychoanalyse people on the daily.’
Ma looks thoughtful. I wonder for a moment if she will tell me the truth, but then she says, ‘There’s no going back to that friendship, Poppy. We can only move forward from it.’
‘Ma, what happened? Just tell me, please. I want to know why I can’t hang out with my friends as much any more.’ I don’t want to play that card, but it’s my only option.
Ma’s facial features go slack while her hands twist, and I feel the pit inside me expand. What the hell happened between them that it makes Ma react like this?
Unfortunately, I don’t find out.
‘I really do need a shower,’ she says, getting up and ending the conversation before I can protest. She walks slowly upstairs, her arms hanging at her sides.
I turn back to the TV, which is still playingReal Housewives, and stab at the remote to turn it off. In the silence of the lounge I pick up a sofa cushion and press it against my face before letting out a scream. I don’t know what else to do. I remove the pillow from my face and hold it against my chest as I slouch on the sofa.
I don’t want to be angry with Ma because I know she’s hurting, that she’s been hurting the whole time, but I can’t help it. I’ve had to give up time with my friends because of her fight.
I pick up my phone and decide to lose myself in social media for the rest of the day. At the top of my Instagram screen, I see a green circle surrounding Salman’s profile picture.
I never unfollowed him and he never unfollowed me. To be honest, I kind of forgot he was on Instagram. He’s only got a couple of posts and rarely posts stories, so I wasn’t particularly worried about seeing something on my feed from him.
Despite my brain telling me not to, that he will be able to see that I’ve watched his story, I click on the circle. A video starts to play, panning around the room he’s in. It’s bright anddecorated with posters of a boy band from the early noughties, and immediately I know he’s in Khaleda Auntie’s daughter’s room. As the video pans, I catch a glance of Shirin and Lipi in their outfits. They’re wearing similar shades of emerald green, with even the embroidery looking similar, from what I can see. My chest tightens with misery.Ishould be matching with them too. Instead, I’m on the sofa in my pyjamas – what’s the point of changing if you’re not even going to leave the house?
The video ends and an image appears in its place, with music playing in the background. It’s a selfie of Salman in his outfit – a burgundy kurta that draws out his brown eyes, and a pair of jeans – taken from above. As the image plays on my screen, I listen intently to the song, one I’ve heard so many times before, and wonder why he chose that one.
