Oh, she said, maybe later. She was raking alongside the driveway with languid, leisurely strokes. She didn't like sweet drinks, Ziba knew not that she would ever be so rude as to say so.
Dave went over to Bitsy and accepted a glass of lemonade from her. Then he bent and whispered to the girls. Jin-Ho said, Oh, and handed her tumbler back to Bitsy. Susan said, Here, Mama, and shoved her own tumbler at Ziba. They followed Dave across the lawn toward Maryam. Bitsy raised her eyebrows at Ziba, but Ziba had no idea.
Maryam? Dave was saying. Won't you sit down? I brought you a glass of lemonade.
Oh, thank you, but Sit down, Mari — june! Sit down! Susan said, and Jin-Ho said, Please, please sit down. They were tugging at her arms and giggling. Maryam seemed puzzled, and no wonder; the only place to sit was directly on the ground. But she did allow herself to be dragged down, finally, until she was seated tailor-fashion on a stretch of mossy grass already cleared of leaves. Then Dave handed her the lemonade.
In the distance, Sami was telling Lou, It's like the insurance companies have completely forgotten that gambling is their job description. They won't insure a house if it has ever in its life had a leak; never mind that the leak has long ago been Dave called, Sami?
Sami broke off and looked over at him.
Girls, Dave said.
Still giggling, the girls dug something out of their pockets. They pressed closer to Maryam and started working busily just above her head. Maryam said, What? She tried to bat their hands away but they were all over her, four insistent little fists making brisk, bustling motions. It's sugar! Susan cried. We're grinding sugar!
What on?
Maryam, Dave said. Will you marry me?
Maryam stopped swiping at her hair and stared at him. The girls were still working away, but Dave said, Okay, kids, that's enough now. Reluctantly, they stepped back.
Maryam said, What?
This is a formal proposal, he said, and he dropped to his knees beside her. Will you be my wife?
Instead of answering, she looked at the girls. Sure enough, their hands were full of sugar cubes the uniform white rectangles that came in the yellow Domino box.
The sugar should have been cone-shaped. That was what they used in Iran: rough white cones of sugar some six or eight inches tall. And the people grinding it should have been grown women known for their happy marriages, and they should have worked over a veil so that the crystals would not be speckling Maryam's hair like a very bad case of dandruff. And it was never ground at proposals. That happened only at weddings.
Either Dave had been gravely misinformed or else he had decided to redesign the whole tradition. Switch it around and embellish it. Americanize it, you might say.
Maryam looked past the girls to the others: Bitsy smiling above her pitcher, Pat clasping her hands as if praying, Sami and Lou gaping, and Ziba herself… what? Probably clench jawed with tension, because it would be so sad if Maryam said no to this poor, sweet, foolish man.
Maryam looked at Dave again. She said, Yes.
Everybody cheered.
On Sunday Ziba woke with a headache from way too much champagne. It had been a rowdy celebration, extending so late that finally Maryam herself had been the one to break it up. By that time both girls were sound asleep on the couch, which Ziba would have noticed earlier if she hadn't been so tipsy. Sami had to carry Susan out to the car. (He practically had to carry Ziba.) He'd drunk very little himself because he was driving, and this morning he was cheerfully smugly, even putting on his socks while Ziba said, Oh, oh, my head, and squinted toward the alarm clock. Nine-fifteen. Oh, God, she said. Where's Susan?
Downstairs watching TV.
I feel as if I've got a bowling ball in my head. I turn this way wham! Turn the other way wham!
Want some aspirin?
I'm afraid I might throw it up.
I warned you, Sami told her.
Sami, don't even start. Okay?
He rose and padded in his stocking feet to the bathroom. She heard the medicine-cabinet door slide open. One, or two? he called back.
Four, she said.
She heard water running.
I hope Maryam doesn't feel this bad, she said.
She didn't drink all that much that I noticed.
Oh, great, was I the only one?
Well, Brad was putting away quite a bit, and it seemed to me that Pat and Lou were fairly Downstairs, the doorbell rang.
Sami stepped out of the bathroom and sent her a questioning look.
Don't answer it, Ziba told him.
But a moment later Susan called, Mama? Mari — june's here. Ziba said, Oh, God, and fell back on her pillow.
I'll go, Sami said. He set two aspirin on the nightstand, along with a paper cup of water, and left the room. After a pause, Ziba heard his chipper Hi, Mom! and then murmur, murmur normal morning voices that made Ziba feel even worse.
Well, no getting around it; she would have to show herself. She sat up to swallow the aspirin. Then she hauled herself out of bed and went to the closet for her bathrobe.
By the time she arrived downstairs, Maryam was seated at the kitchen table watching Sami fill the kettle. Whether or not Maryam had drunk much champagne, she had the drawn, unhealthy look of someone who had stayed up too late. Her black blazer turned her skin almost yellow, and she wasn't wearing lipstick.
Morning, Mari june! Ziba said. She tried to sound fresh and energetic.
Maryam said, Good morning, Ziba. Then she said, I was just telling Sami that I feel horrible.
Oh, do you really? Me too. I don't know what I could have been This is the worst mistake of my life.
Excuse me? Ziba said.
She looked over at Sami. He was standing to one side of the stove now, waiting for the kettle to heat. Mom didn't mean to say yes, he told her.
Didn't mean…?
Maryam said, I was trying to be. . She let out a little breath of a laugh, although her expression stayed grim. I was trying to be polite, she said.
Polite! Ziba echoed.
Well, what would you have done? If someone put you in a spot like that, asked you in front of everyone? Funny, Maryam said. I've always wondered about those very public proposals. The men who propose on billboards or hire a plane to fly a banner past. What if the women have no wish to get married? But there they are, trapped. On public view, and so what can they say but yes?
Ziba was speechless. After a moment, Sami cleared his throat and said, Well, ah, but it's always been my assumption that those couples have arrived at some understanding beforehand, so that the men feel fairly sure of their answer. Are you saying that you and Dave never discussed the subject?
Never, Maryam said. Then she hesitated. Or never in so many words, at least.
Sami cocked his head.
It's true we have been… a couple for some time, she said. I admit that he means a great deal to me. And my first reaction yesterday was 'yes'; I won't deny it. But not two minutes later I thought, My Lord, what have I done?
She looked at Ziba when she said this. Instead of responding, Ziba sank onto the chair across from her. She didn't know whether the hollow in her stomach came from her hangover or from dismay.
He is so American, Maryam said, and she hugged herself as if she felt cold. He takes up so much space. He seems to be unable to let a room stay as it is; always he has to alter it, to turn on the fan or raise the thermostat or play a record or open the curtains. He has cluttered my life with cell phones and answering machines and a fancy-shmancy teapot that makes my tea taste like metal.
But, Mari — june, Ziba dared to say. That's not American; it's just… male. Then she shot a quick glance at Sami, but he was too focused on his mother to take offense.
No, it's American, Maryam said. I can't explain why, but it is. Americans are all larger than life. You think that if you keep company with them you will be larger too, but then you see that they're making you shrink; they're expanding and edging you out. I could feel myself slipping away. I was thinking so for a while now! And then before I could say that, he did this thing in public.