This wasn’t going to go well. As soon as I stepped foot in the restaurant, I knew. My parents were sitting in the far corner, hard to see in front of the low-lit, olive-toned walls, but still visible. They didn’t see me, not yet. They were with my brother, who was just about the last person I wanted to see right now.

Worse still, they were with her, the woman they’d brought to my birthday party.

In front of the host stand now, I paused. Sure, I had known that when my father had finally agreed to talk to me that our meeting wasn’t going be exactly smooth-running, but I hadn’t thought he’d make it a family affair. Or bring some woman he was trying to foist on me.

“Can I help you, sir?”

It was a hostess, her hair slicked-back, smiling a discreet smile. I shook my head.

“No, I…”

I walked out of restaurant. I couldn’t do this. No, not now, not with my family all gathered like a firing squad ready to take me down. What they were going to say, what they’d come here for was obvious; so why even bother making my case?

The answer stopped me in my tracks: Lucy. Lucy was why this was worth it, why I had to try—as doomed as it seemed.

Going back inside, I glided past the same hostess without a word. Although the room was beautiful, with tasteful hardwood pillars and floors and its expected classy clientele, I hardly noticed. All I could see was the family at the back, with the beautiful woman, all waiting for me.

When they saw me, my father stood up and smiled as if the last time we’d spoken he hadn’t called me a disgrace.

“Khabib.”

After we embraced, he held me in place so he could give me a good visual inspection.

“You look well.”

I nodded.

“Yes, the crash wasn’t bad. Lucy came right away.”

An awkward silence, then my father sat down and gestured at the only empty seat.

“Sit down; we were just talking about you.”

The seat was, of course, right beside the woman they had brought last time. No sooner had my butt hit the seat than had my mother clasped my arm.

“Oh, didn’t we introduce you to Aliya?”

Dutifully, I shook my head and my mother launched into an eager dialogue.

“Aliya is from Al-Jembar, too, and is here visiting family. She grew up in Al-Uyun, just like you!”

“What a coincidence,” I said dully.

Now it was my father’s turn to chime in.

“Yes, she comes from a most honorable family, and has been the perfect picture of decorum since she got here.”

I nodded, shooting the poor woman a cursory glance.

“Great.”

Gently, I extricated my hand from my mother’s grasp, then turned to my father.

“About my birthday party.”

He rose a hand magnanimously and shook his head.

“All is forgiven, my boy. We all make mistakes. And, as I understand from Mahir—” he gestured to my stony-faced brother, who’d I’d actually forgotten was there at all, “living here, so far from home, in a country so different, is not without its difficulties, its…temptations.”

Now, he was the one clasping my hand, taking Aliya’s with his other.

“What’s important, is that you’ve come to see the error of your ways, and have decided to do what is right.”

My gaze flicked from his eager face to Aliya’s subdued one. And, for a minute, I imagined it. Life as my parents wanted it for me: with this passive woman by my side, all of us chatting, laughing together in my penthouse, my smiles coming a second too late, though they wouldn’t notice.

Shaking my head, once again I gently pulled back my hand.

“I’m sorry, Father, but you are mistaken.”

His empty hand, now grasping air, had become a claw.

“What?”

“I didn’t come here to apologize for what you saw, or to tell you that I did the wrong thing. No, for the first time, I’m absolutely certain I’ve done the right thing.”

“Khabib, with Aliya here, please—”

“No, mother, no. I won’t pipe down or quiet myself; I’ve done that enough. I didn’t ask for Aliya here and, with all due respect, I don’t want her here. I have a girlfriend.”

My father, who was taking a sip of his water, spat it out.

“With that…woman? The one who was spying on you?”

I stood up, nodding fiercely.

“That woman is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And, I hate to break it to you, but she’s been bending the truth to you since the first week—a position you unfairly forced her into.”

My father’s face was one scrunched-up bundle of rage.

“Regardless, you, she…Khabib, this country has gotten to you.”

“You’re right, Father; it has gotten to me. In some of the bad ways you and Mother fear, true, but not all. No, I was saved from being swallowed by this hedonistic metropolis by none other than Lucy herself. She is kind, compassionate, and refreshing. Yes, this place may have changed me, but it has not changed my most basic values—those of family, hard work, and being authentic. Don’t ask me to sacrifice one for the other.”

My father banged his fist on the table, sending the waitress, who was cautiously making her way to our table, scurrying away.

“I am not asking you to sacrifice anything other than the lies this culture has infected you with. This woman has done nothing but made a ludicrous public expression of her affection for you, nothing more. What does that even mean? Over here, they do not hold the same values we do. This woman, these people—they are not your people, are not family, and never can be. To even imagine that you would disrespect your family so entirely, when we’ve given you everything, is unthinkable.”

“I’m sorry, Father, but I can’t give this up. I care for Lucy too much.”

But my words were raindrops on hard stone. My father’s head was shaking, back and forth, back and forth, each movement getting more violent. Finally, he stood up.

“Don’t make me force you, Khabib.”

I couldn’t bear to look at him, and sat down, my head hung.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“Don’t make me do this, boy.”

“My decision is final, take it or leave it.”

Now he leaned down, hissing in my ear.

“You do this—you’re out. Out, you understand? Out. No more Samara Motors. You do this, and you’re no longer a member of this family.”

Silence. His words hung in the air, incomprehensible. Finally, I turned to his now-sitting form.

“Father, you don’t mean to say—”

“I meant what I said.”

“Mother…?”

She gestured a trembling hand at Mahir, looking as stony-faced as ever.

“Look at Mahir. He followed the family way, took a nice wife from back home. He is an honor to his family. Look at how happy he is.”

Mahir’s joke of a forced smile was the judge’s mallet striking down. I rose.

“I’m sorry, Mother, Father.”

My father’s gaze was locked on the spoon in front of him.

“Don’t do this, Khabib; I’m warning you. Don’t do this to your family.”

Now I was the one who could hardly look at him.

“I’m sorry. If you’re making me choose, I choose her, Lucy. Goodbye.”

I left in silence. I walked out of there, away. Away from my family, from everything I’d ever known and held dear, maybe even for the last time.

* * *

Afterwards, Lucy took me in my arms, holding me while I shook.

“You don’t know for sure, Khabib. Your father was probably just angry, probably didn’t mean what he said.”

“You don’t know my father.”

“Just give him time, Khabib.”

“You don’t know him. We don’t have time. We don’t even have jobs, now, because of me.”

“Really? He’d actually have us removed from the company?”

“He has probably already replaced us.”

And then, as she held me, we shook together, her crying the tears I couldn’t seem to. Then, finally, she asked.

“Khabib, are you sure about this?”

“What?”

I drew back to see that her sweet face was covered in tears.

“Are you sure that you’re doing the right thing?”

“What do you mean?”

She grimaced.

“Khabib, I love you; you know that. But I can’t help but see how much…easier everything would be for you, if you just respected your family’s wishes. I can’t ask you to give up your family for me.”

I nodded, pressing her to me once more.

“I know. And that’s why I have to. I will today, and I would make the same choice a hundred times over. The approval of my family doesn’t—and wouldn’t ever—justify losing myself and the love of my life.”

We held each other until her tears and my shaking stopped. Until she drew back, and searched my face for the answer before she asked the question.

“What are we going to do now?”

I took her hand, lifting it to my lips.

“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s going to be together.”