Page 2 of Love is So Mean
“Oh, okay. Send him some flowers.”
“Are you not going to visit him?”
“No.”
Matthew doesn’t say anything but the silence that follows this conversation confirms what he thinks and that’s fine. It isn’t the first time that I’ve had my employees look at me crazy or assume that I’m cold-hearted. I’ve been called that all my life and I’ve learned to even accept that about myself.
Matthew and the rest of my employees don’t realize I’ve heard them call me the ice queen a time or two without realizing that I was nearby. It’s fine because that’s not as big of a deal, my brother has called me a frigid bitch time and time again but he doesn’t realize it’s our father’s fault. He raised me to be this way while my brother got the opportunity to benefit off the family success and money then playing prodigal son. Plus, it doesn’t help that I am detached. That it’s too late to give me any sense of normalcy unless I became a child again… which I never would want.
“Is that all, Matthew?”
I get him back on track so that he can hang up. I don’t feel bad but I won’t go back and reminisce on childhood things I cannot control anymore. I couldn't control my environment before but now, I can and that’s what I always do. I don’t like things not being in my control. I’m not a control freak butI just don’t like something to not add up, it isn’t me. There is nothing better than learning to have everything around you going smoothly.
My father didn’t like when I branched off and decided to invest in my independent company that he couldn’t hold against me. It came at a price, which was at first a small percentage that went to him but I bought the shares back and made sure no one in my family could have a say or manipulate my business. It doesn’t matter as long as he doesn’t think he has rights to this while his company is going up in smokes and is a shit show because of my brother.
The big brother that they said would take over because I couldn’t. They didn’t let me and that’s fine. I didn’t care about it as much until my mother made it seem as though the only important thing was becoming a wife and a mother. I wanted to be that but not right away and now, at the young age of 32, I had to figure out what to do. I didn’t have that much time left to get pregnant before I had the surgery.
“Miss Al-Ameen!” Matthew calls my name and pulls me out of my thoughts.
My mind wandered as I was driving and while it’s fine, it isn’t at the same time because it means I am giving my situation more time than I need to. It doesn’t matter, I just need to get pregnant in six months then I can decide what to do after that.
There’s never been plans for me to marry for love, so all I have to do is marry for show, for the public but at the same time, I don’t want my parents to give me viable candidates that I can marry simply because they’ll turn it into a man that can be controlled by them. I want someone that knows what this is. There’s nothing more and nothing less.
“Matthew, that list of candidates I gave you last year as something that I was going to revisit, do you still have it?”
“Yes, I do. It’s on my Ipad.”
“Okay, good. Set it up and tell Enrique that the Bordeaux financial meeting has been moved up. We will have it as soon as I get there.”
“How long will it be?”
“10 minutes and you’re wasting it on the phone with me while you could be prepping for it. Prep the board room.”
“Done.”
Matthew hangs up and I already know that Enrique is going to side-eye me the entire meeting time but that’s the thing, he needs to stay on his toes. He’s competent enough, I made him my CFO.
I take a deep breath as I pull up into the building garage then park at my spot. Doubling up, I take more deep breaths and exhale out. I said 10 minutes because I need this moment to control myself. To get my emotions in check and to not ruin it all by crying.Crying doesn’t get you anywhere and it never will.Words from my father that I live with since he first told them to me when I fell and scraped my knee at the age of 6. I have never forgotten them and I never will.
Hell, I didn’t even cry two weeks ago. Being raised by two immigrant parents who were not raised where you are, is a challenge in itself. There’s factors beyond just experience, there’s also culture that makes or breaks you. I love my culture, both aspects of it. My mother’s Egyptian culture and my father’s Saudi culture made me who I am and I can’t ever say I’m not proud to be part of that. Yet, there are times where I wonder if they knew they were going to mess me up as a child or as an adult. Thoughts I didn’t start having until I got a therapist.
I didn’t realize I needed it until my anger, which was a big part of me controlling my everything, had taken a toll on me. I didn’t know what was wrong with me or what I was to do about it. Even if a huge event didn’t come from me losing my anger, I had a company to run. I’m a woman and a woman of Color atthat, I cannot afford to do anything wrong because all there is behind it is scrutiny.
One wrong move meant a decrease in my growing business. Society is still very much society and as an immigrant woman who came from wealth, it meant not only would I be judged by the men and women in Vancouver but I would also be judged by the men and women in Egypt and in Saudi Arabia. I was an Al-Ameen, the name held power, influence and sometimes even fear.
And this all means one thing, I can’t ever let anyone know my diagnosis. Nothing good will come from it. Nothing at all.
Chapter 2
Enrique
There was something off about the ice queen today. I couldn’t quite place it but her cold apathy seemed to be replaced with something more like contemplating distance. Normally, it would not have bothered me but she threw off my entire fucking schedule just to not hear a damn word I said. Hell, I don't think she even looked at me once. Sometimes I think she fucks up my day for fun.
I'd given her grace thinking it was something to do with her ill father but she quickly dismissed my assistant's attempt to provide comfort. It wasn't the dismissal that made me adopt the nickname that those around the office had given her years ago, it was how she said it.
"No one say anything else to me about that man."
Hours later the words are still in my head. How could she not care about her dad? He was so warm that it's hard to believe that she's a product of him. I used to wonder if her distance was due to being the child of such a well-known person-the weight of a parent's fame and so on-but now I’m not sure.