“Can I have her call you?” Amie said finally. “She works as a doctor,” she lied—her mother was a cashier at a local used clothing store. “She’s always working. It would probably be best if I gave her the opportunity to call you at her leisure, if you don’t mind?”
Sadira finally relented and wrote down a number for Amie to pass along. She gushed about how much she looked forward to getting to know this successful doctor who raised such a bright and successful young woman. That’s when Amie realized that a new form of guilt had settled in, stretching from her neck all the way down to her toes.
Before long, the dressmaker had wheeled in her display of her most prized bridal designs. While there was no shortage of bridal shops in Rabayat, Sadira had insisted that Amie only consider dresses from her personal seamstress.
Zafina smugly informed Amie that the dress was to be modest; no skin showing. “We don’t show everything like Americans do,” she said. “Leave that for your husband.”
“Zafina!” Sadira laughed, embarrassed.
At first, Amie worried the dresses would be stuffy or matronly, but as it turned out, they were all showy, elegant pieces more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen. The seamstress held up one A-line gown almost entirely made of chiffon; it was a simple form with long sleeves and a high neckline, both of which were painstakingly embroidered with thousands of tiny, sparkling silver beads.
The next gown she tried on boasted long sleeves and a peekaboo neckline; metallic laces woven into the material for a modern feel. Amie thought it nice enough, but Sadira’s lack of enthusiasm was evident on her face.
The real treat came on the fifth dress; a long-sleeved gown that was all lace; vintage and simple in style, with a matching lace head covering with lovely white beading. If she were really having a Middle-Eastern wedding, Amie thought that this would be the dress she’d choose. She’d hardly stepped out before the girls before Sadira began gingerly wiping the tears from her eyes.
“This is it!” the older woman shouted joyfully, approaching Amie and caressing the fabric of the dress. “Look at you! You beautiful bride!”
Amie stared in the full-length mirror before her and inspected the dress. While the bust fit a little looser, she couldn’t help but get butterflies as she looked at her reflection. This was it. This was her faux wedding gown.
“It’s perfect,” she said finally.
“Nan!” Sadira called to the dressmaker. She began requesting that the seamstress take Amie’s measurements and tailor the dress ready for their nuptials. Amie couldn’t believe what was happening and almost moved to protest but what was she supposed to do?
Was she supposed to stop her fake mother-in-law from putting a hold on her fake wedding dress; reveal it was all some big charade Malik was staging? She felt her stomach sink in utter discomfort as she watched Sadira leave the room with her checkbook in hand; ready to put a down-payment on the gown.
Zafina watched her mother leave the room and suddenly her eyes were fixated on Amie. The sister brushed her hands through her long brown locks, fussing with it as she spoke. “Malik is a hard man to love,” she said.
“Well…” Amie shrugged. “Perhaps you don’t know him the way that I do.”
“I know he doesn’t respect women, and that he definitely doesn’t like the theater—whatever he might have told you,” she said pointedly.
Amie could feel sweat forming at the top of her hairline and could only pray Zafina couldn’t read how nervous she’d just become. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it isn’t because of love for my brother,” Zafina continued. “Are you in this for his money?”
“What?” Amie frowned. “No, of course not!”
“You’ve won my mother’s heart, and that worries me,” the woman said simply. “If you break her heart, you will have broken many.”
“I love your brother,” Amie said emphatically, realizing that her words were no longer those of an improvised script/performance. “And I understand your reservations about my being here…” Suddenly she felt anger in the pit of her stomach and her face flushed as she turned sharply to face Zafina. “Actually, you know what? I don’t. You’ve been hostile towards me since the moment we met. Don’t you want your brother to be happy?” she snapped. “How can it bother you so much knowing he’s no longer getting into trouble or bringing shame on your family name? And how am I the least desirable candidate for him? Don’t you care what makes him happy?”