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“whore” and “mad cow” and “bloody stupid ungrateful bitch.” I heard my mother yelling something in the background, but Nana was ignoring her as he always did, and despite my protestations that I would be OK, that I would manage somehow, Nana placed a curse on my head. In a voice dark with fury, sore with unshed tears, he said that Allah would punish me for my sins, that I would be maimed or paralyzed or left to die in a gutter.
    “You want to live alone?” he shouted. “Go on, live alone. Let somebody come in the middle of the night and rape and murder you. You deserve it.” Then, his voice quiet again, he said, “And if Allah spares you, never come home to us. You are already dead to me.”
    Then came the thud. My mother never even came on the phone. I thought of the last time I had seen them, at the airport as they were bidding me farewell, my grandfather expectant that I would return an engaged woman, my mother expressionless on the sidelines. I remember thanking them both for letting me go.
    I looked at Shazia, and she hugged me.
    “I’m making a horrible mistake,” I said then, through tears. “I should never have let you talk me into this. It seemed like a joke, but it’s not.” Suddenly I was angry with her. “They trusted me, and I abused it. You may feel like it’s OK to live without family. I do not. They are all I have. I’m changing my mind. I’m going home today as planned. I must call them back now,” I said, panic filling my voice as I picked up the phone again.
    She grabbed my upper arm forcefully, pulling me back toward her.
    “As hard as it seems now, you are doing the right thing,” she said. “It’s not your fault that your family is so intolerant. You’re almost twenty, a young woman. What—they expect you to get married and have children of your own, while still treating you as a child? Your grandfather was just angry. He will recover, and they will accept you back when you are ready. But now your life is here. I can see it in your heart, that it’s what you really want. Trust me. I’m never wrong about these things.”
    “But what will I do here?” I asked. “How will I live? Where will I live? Your mother wants me out. Who will give me pocket money?”
    “It’s OK,” Shazia said, lifting my chin up with her fingers and wiping away the tears from my cheeks. “I have it all figured out. And you know what they say— inshah Allah —if it is the will of God for you to remain here, then all the pieces will fall into place.”
    We went into the guest room, and she helped me pack my things. She then led me to Aunt Mina, who was resting in her room, so I could say good-bye. Mina assumed I was on my way to the airport, wished me well on my journey, turned over onto her side, and went back to sleep.

Chapter Five

    At my new home, Zoe was sitting cross-legged on a blue couch, chewing gum that smelled of spearmint. She reached up to kiss me hello. She had an unusually long neck, short dark hair that hugged a pretty, if rather angular, face. Her eyes were blue and friendly, her skin translucent. A strappy white T-shirt stopped just short of white drawstring pants, and around her right ankle were three gold chains of varying thickness.
    Shazia reminded me that I had met Zoe during one of our recent nightlife outings, but we had visited so many places and met so many people that by this point all these white faces were a blur.
    “Nice to see you again,” Zoe said, removing the gum from her mouth, folding it into a pink tissue and picking up a packet of cigarettes. She offered me one, but I politely shook my head. Shazia, meanwhile, reached out and pulled one out of the pack. I had seen Shazia do a lot of things in these past two weeks, but never smoke, so her ease with lighting up and inhaling took me by surprise.
    “Zoe is from the States,” Shazia informed me. “But she’s been living here a long time. What, like fifteen years or something, right?” Shazia asked