âI donât have a list.â
âO.K., Nazo and I will help you write your list,â Nafisa said. âNumber one: name begins with âA.â Ends with âD.â Do we know anyone like this?â
Nazo giggled.
âNafisa!â I said, face growing hotter. Asad. After the roadtrip, he had been ducking into the kitchen now and then to ask me about English vocabulary, just like his sister had. I laughed a little too loudly at his jokes and tried to wipe the grin off my face after he left, all the while wondering when his next visit would be. Each time, I felt Nafisa and Nazoâs eyes boring into me as they pretended to be absorbed with the cooking.
âYou like my brother?â Nazo said. Her green eyes danced cartoonishly.
âHe is very nice,â I said carefully.
âShe says heâs very nice,â Nazo said to Nafisa, as if she were an interpreter.
âYou like him,â Nafisa said, leaning close to me. âYou like us. You should marry him.â
Nafisaâs face could look so serious, with those big eyes, that naturally downturned mouth.
But surely sheâs joking.
Nazo nodded, looking earnest herself. I turned to Laila for a hint, but she was keeping a close-lipped smile on her face.
âWhat? Marry?â I said, my voice sounding strained. âYouâre kidding.â
âNo,â Nafisa said, her uncovered black ponytail flipping emphatically over her shoulder. âYou marry him. You will be our sister.â
âI canât marry him. I hardly know him!â I protested.
âYou have known him for twelve days,â Nafisa said. She had counted the days since our road trip to the village? âThat is more time than I knew my husband before I decided to marry him. And look, we are happy.â
They were. After her husband left again, Nafisa had moped the entire day. On the one hand, it was hard for me to imagine how this kind of attractionâand yes, loveâhad developed after they had married barely knowing each other. It was ludicrous to discuss Asad and marriage with his sister and sister-in-law when he and I had only had a handful of conversations, never alone. Could they be that naïve?
But then I remembered her biting down on her pinky knuckle in the kitchen. I looked at the slight swell of her pregnant belly under her
shalwar kameez
. All this, with a man she had only known from a few hoursâ worth of supervised meetings.
âWell?â Nafisa said.
I had no answer for her.
âWe just want you to be our sister.â
Nafisa had said âsisterâ once already, but now I began to understand. Nafisa and Nazo, their rapport so easy, like a married couple, even when they bickered. How they moved in the kitchen, never bumping into each other. Nazo told me once that she and Nafisa would have a say in whomever their remaining single brothers married, because they would be taking on a new sister as well.
âYou already feel like sisters to me,â I said, meaning it. I had never become so close to women in such a short time. In a culture that separated men and women, women developed an instant, easy intimacy within their inner sanctums. It had been so natural to fall into that uncomplicated closeness. But with this talk of marriage, why hadnât they brought up the obvious? âI just canât marry your brother, because Iâm not Afghan and Iâm not Muslim. I wouldnât be acceptable.â
âIt is no problem,â Nafisa said. âYou will not have to become Muslim right away. You can take your time. I will show you how to pray. Then you convert, and it will be O.K.â
I hadnât grown up religious, nor been particularly drawn to religion, but Nafisa made it sound so simple, so essentialâa foregone conclusionâand I couldnât help but feel a bit charmed by it. Learn to pray, the rest would come.
I rolled my head back on the pillow, making a playful gesture
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