It was Ali who had refused to accept her aunt’s decision and convinced Sarah to fight for their marriage.
“Sarah,” he’d argued, “this is our life. We can’t let your aunt or my sister or anyone else make decisions for us. Especially for stupid political reasons that have nothing to do with us. We don’t care about a Green revolution. Or a blue or purple one for that matter. We just want to live our lives!”
When Sarah asked what they could possibly do, Ali made it sound easy. “We tell them that we’ve been secretly talking and that we’re already in love and we refuse to change our minds. If it comes to it, we lie and tell them that we’ve been seeing each other too and, well, we could even tell them you’re not a virgin anymore.”
Sarah had been shocked by the scandalous suggestion but also a little pleased at how far Ali was willing to go. He made her promise, before God, that she would marry no one but him. It was a thrilling moment. It almost felt as if they were married already.
It was that promise she held onto in the face of her parents’ disappointment when they learned of her clandestine contact with Ali. It was her promise that steeled her to withstand Aunt Mehri’s outrage as the wedding went forward more or less as planned. And it was that promise she held onto now. When Maman-joon gave her hands a squeeze and prompted, “So? Should I go tell everyone?” Sarah managed to make her voice and her resolve sound stronger than they felt. “Maman-joon,” she insisted as she returned her mother’s squeeze, “Ali is the only one for me. I love him and hope you can love him too.”
Maman-joon dropped her hands and looked so sad that Sarah almost regretted her answer. Was this feeling of being torn between her family and Ali to be a recurring feature of her life from now on? Sarah hated having to make choices that would hurt one or the other. Was it possible to make it all go away?
Sarah imagined for a moment how easy it could be to agree with Maman-joon and let her take care of everything. Her father would be delighted. Aunt Mehri would forgive her. And she wouldn’t have to deal with an unpredictable sister-in-law and her awful children.
But what of Ali and his clean-shaven cheeks and honey-colored eyes? What about the way his tongue ran over the chip in his front tooth whenever he was distracted?
It was lucky Maman-joon didn’t press any further, as Sarah’s delicate and divided will might have been crushed by the weight of her desire to please her parents. Maman-joon pulled Sarah into a fierce hug that painfully pushed the bands of Sarah’s corset even further into her ribs. “Oh, my daughter,” Maman-joon said. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes. I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing in allowing this to go forward. When I was your age, our elders made all the important decisions. It didn’t cross our minds to even have an opinion. But I don’t have it in me to tear you from someone you love. May God help us all understand his plan and play our part in it. Tonight, I will pray for my beautiful daughter and my new son-in-law as you start your lives together.”
“Mahdiyeh, what’s going on?” Cousin Fatimeh asked as she lumbered into the alcove. Cousin Fatimeh was a large woman with her sister’s height and her mother’s round build. She was a year younger than Maman-joon and her closest friend. The two of them had grown up together under the watchful eyes of Aunt Mehri and Cousin Zainab, and it was a sign of their devotion to one another that Cousin Fatimeh had stayed at the wedding despite the departure of her mother and sister.
“The hajj-agha is complaining and wants to know if you’re coming to finish the ceremony or if he should go,” Fatimeh reported in a voice that was as lumbering as her build. Sarah noticed a line of sweat beaded across Fatimeh’s upper lip. It probably hadn’t been an easy decision for her to stay.
“We’re coming,” Maman-joon said as she released Sarah and helped her wrap into her chador again. Then Maman-joon walked Sarah back to the ballroom, where Sarah responded to Ali’s quizzical look with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Azar led the ladies in joyful ululations to get the ceremony back on track, and this time when the mullah asked whether Sarah would agree to marry Ali, she answered immediately and with a strong voice that, she hoped, didn’t betray any of her confusion or doubt, “Yes, with my mother and father’s permission, I do.”
* * *
The rest of the evening passed quickly, if somewhat awkwardly, as the two families strained to conceal their dislike for one another from both the cameras and their 412 guests. The only moment Sarah truly enjoyed was when Ali—finally seeing her bare-headed and bare-armed with a hint of cleavage rising out of the heart-shaped neckline of her Marchesa wedding gown, her ringlets still intact—shook his head with besotted wonder, as if he couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was.
By the time the banquet hall started emptying out and Sarah and Ali were escorted to Ali’s white Mercedes Benz, Sarah was exhausted. Her feet hurt and her corset hadn’t let her take an easy breath all night.
It wasn’t easy negotiating all the fabric surrounding her body. As Sarah sat in the car, the sheetlike chador started pulling back, and she had to awkwardly bump her bottom up a few times to pull it over her head while trying to keep her dress from riding up along with it. Warmer than she liked to be, she asked Ali to turn on the AC.
“Chashm, azizam.” Ali turned it on full blast. Then he backed out of their parking spot and pulled over to wait for their families. Traditionally, close friends and relatives would accompany the bride and groom in a long procession of cars to the new home, where yet another party would be thrown before the exhausted couple was finally left to enjoy their first night together. Ali and Sarah had convinced everyone to forgo this additional event, given the strained relations between the two families as well as the many street demonstrations that had made it increasingly difficult to travel about Tehran. Their parents would accompany the newlyweds to ensure their safe arrival home but would then take their leave at the door.
“What a night!” Ali exclaimed as they waited.
“Oh my God,” Sarah was ready to focus on the hilarity of the evening. “Aunt Mehri, poor thing, rolling around on the sofreh aghd !”
Ali chuckled softly and then took Sarah’s hand. It was the first time he was touching her, and Sarah was surprised by how soft his thick fingers felt.
“I hope she’s okay,” he said, his voice subdued. “Those boys . . . they’ve been worse than usual since Ibrahim left the house.”
Distracted by the tingling sensation Ali’s touch had ignited, Sarah asked absently, “What do you mean?”
“So many of his friends have been arrested, Azar told Ibrahim to leave town before he got picked up too. The boys are taking it hard. Akh!” Ali rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “I don’t know why they had to mix themselves up with all of this. It just causes problems for everyone.”