50

Leigh waits at the doctor’s office, unsure what to expect. For Seema, she’s brought three long-stemmed calla lilies, the classic creamy white spiked with golden yellow, their flower. For Seema’s family, she has dressed carefully, her trimmed jacket instead of her usual geometric waistcoats, her Wellingtons instead of her combat boots, and no hat, her hair brushed rather than tousled.

Fiaz peeps into the reception. “Look at you, all suited and booted!” he announces loudly, as if alerting someone.

“I didn’t expect you, Fiaz.” She’s a little aggrieved at his inclusion. Did Seema ask him along to counterbalance her? She’s miffed, too, at his description of her outfit, after all the trouble she’d taken to appear less androgynous.

He holds the door open for the women following. Her first sight of the sister shocks Leigh. She has Muslim friends, some who wear the hijab, but she’s never met a Muslim this severely attired. A gray hijab wound tight around the face barely exposes the cheeks and chin and forehead, and loose lines of a black full-sleeved gown conceal the rest, only hands visible. A nun, in cloak and habit, would appear fashion-conscious next to her. And Seema’s mother, so different—small and unthreatening, like a kohl-eyed doll in the pink sweater and blue shawl that envelop her. Then Leigh notices the grave lines of her face, and its features, very like the sister’s. No one would mistake them for anything but mother and daughter.

“Ammi, Tahera—my friend Leigh,” Seema says. “She’s been coming with me to all my checkups. Leigh, this is my mother, Nafeesa, and my sister, Tahera.” She accepts the lilies Leigh holds out at arm’s length. “Are these for me?”

Leigh places a friend-like kiss on Seema’s proffered cheek and exchanges awkward handshakes with Nafeesa and Tahera. They look at her with unguarded curiosity, while she tries hard not to stare at them resentfully. Leigh has never had to worry about her family’s acceptance. Her Irish father is a very lapsed Catholic and her Chinese mother an indifferent Presbyterian, both professors at Berkeley and both supportive of her decision to come out in high school. Seema has always maintained she’s not bothered by Islam’s strictures against their relationship: Those crazy mullahs, they’ve nothing better to do. But these two women still seem to control Seema after all these years out.

“Oh my!” The plump gray-haired receptionist exclaims, opening her eyes wide at the odd foursome accompanying Seema. “So many new faces today. Isn’t that nice, having so many people to take care of you?”

Fiaz says, “I’m just here for the candy. They’ll do all the work.” He banters with the receptionist, making an elaborate act out of choosing from the bowl she offers—Nafeesa must have strawberry, while Tahera gets mango—and Leigh uses the diversion to sidle over to Seema.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Seema whispers. She strokes Leigh’s arm with the lilies, keeping one eye on her mother and sister.