Dreaming in English Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Part One - GO AND WAKE UP YOUR LUCK

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Part Two - LET US LINGER HERE A WHILE IN THE FOOLISHNESS OF THINGS

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Part Three - GO AS FAR AS YOU CAN SEE, AND WHEN YOU GET THERE, YOU’LL SEE FARTHER

  Chapter 26 - MAMAN JOON, TEHRAN

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28 - TAMI JOON

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33 - MAMAN JOON

  Chapter 34 - TAMI JOON

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Praise for the Novels of Laura Fitzgerald

  Dreaming in English

  “If you want to stand up and cheer, read Dreaming in English. I loved the compelling, sweet love story. And I loved the way Laura Fitzgerald, through the eyes of an Iranian immigrant, made me fall in love with America all over again.”

  —Cathy Lamb, author of Such a Pretty Face and Julia’s Chocolates

  “A delight sweet as a sugar cube melting on your tongue as you sip hot tea, Dreaming in English beautifully showcases Fitzgerald’s trademark charm and grace in illuminating cultural differences and human universals.”

  —Monica Pradhan, author of The Hindi-Bindi Club

  “A warm, winning novel. Laura Fitzgerald elegantly crafts a story that will tug on your heartstrings while making you smile. Fans and new readers will be delighted.”

  —Mia King, author of Good Things and Sweet Life

  “You’ll cheer through every page of this enchanting book for the kind and beautiful Tamila Soroush as she fights to hold on to the man of her dreams and her newfound American freedom (not necessarily in that order). Once you know Tami’s story, you’ll never again take for granted the simple joys of wearing a sleeveless dress on a sunny day or of publicly kissing someone you love.”

  —Claire LaZebnik, author of Knitting Under the Influence and If You Lived Here, You’d be Home Now

  “What a delight to dive back into the world of Tami Soroush, an artistic and charming young Persian woman intoxicated with America and the possibilities for a new life. Laura Fitzgerald has given us another beautiful, heartfelt tale about love, family, and freedom.”

  —Carol Snow, author of Just Like Me, Only Better

  “A warm, gentle, yet unsparing story of one immigrant woman’s quest for her inner strength and worth in America. Sprinkled with unexpected revelations and twists, Tami Soroush’s funny and moving journey to find her place in a foreign land—and the formidable obstacles she must face—will keep readers turning the pages late into the night. Dreaming in English is an endearing tale of family and love that made me laugh, cry, and at times sent a chill across my skin. I rooted for Tami all the way through to the last tension-filled scene.”

  —Anjali Banerjee, author of Haunting Jasmine

  “Dreaming in English is exactly the kind of book I’m always hoping to find and rarely do: a generous, honorable, illuminating tale about family, love, and a woman’s journey to her truest self. If there is a more winning character in recent memory than Tamila, I have not met her. If only we could be friends in real life!”

  —Barbara O’Neal, author of The Secret of Everything

  “Dreaming in English is the insightful story of a young Iranian immigrant navigating love, prejudice, and her own conflicting emotions as she assimilates to Western culture. With compassion and wisdom, Laura Fitzgerald imbues Tami with hope and charm in this bittersweet look at what it means to be Iranian in today’s America.”

  —Jennie Shortridge, author of When She Flew

  Veil of Roses

  “Every mother, every daughter, and anyone who’s ever been in love should read this book! Grab the tissues. It’s a triumphant tearjerker!”

  —Vicki Lewis Thompson, author of A Werewolf in Manhattan

  “With simple but heartfelt prose, this book is a marvelous read for any woman who has had to choose between love and family or has watched her freedom and choices dwindle before her eyes.”

  —The Tampa Tribune

  “Evocative, poignant, and truly lovely. Laura Fitzgerald gives us a glimpse of a culture that’s terrifyingly different—and yet heartbreakingly the same as our own.”

  —Alesia Holliday, author of Seven Ways to Lose Your Lover

  “A fun, romantic, and thought-provoking debut novel from a promising author.”

  —Booklist

  “A gorgeously authentic voice. Fitzgerald’s narrative is infused with wit, warmth, and compassion. If you like cross-cultural books, you won’t want to put this down.”

  —Kavita Daswani, author of Salaam, Paris and For Matrimonial Purposes

  “In this winning debut, Fitzgerald has crafted the powerful story of one woman’s courage to look beyond the life she has been given—Veil of Roses is a poignant and uplifting novel full of charm, wit, and grace.”

  —Beth Kendrick, author of Fashionably Late and Nearlyweds

  “Watching Tami find her voice through such small comforts as being able to sit alone in a house, walk to school unescorted, or buy lingerie with her sister will leave readers rooting for her.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “After picking up Veil of Roses, I did everything one-handed for two days, I was so unwilling to put it down! Charming and heartbreaking and hopeful and funny, this is the rare book that completely transports the reader. Laura Fitzgerald is an amazing talent.”

  —Lani Diane Rich, author of The Comeback Kiss

  “Poignant and warm, Veil of Roses is a story about having hope, finding love, and embracing freedom. I loved it.”

  —Whitney Gaskell, author of Testing Kate

  One True Theory of Love

  “A gorgeous book. At times cheeky and poignant but always very real.”

  —Arizona Daily Star

  “An engaging read that’s tough to put down … the book seems to pick you up and carry you right along.”

  —Tucson Weekly

  Other Novels by Laura Fitzgerald

  Veil of Roses

  One True Theory of Love

  NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,

  Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

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Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, February 2011

  Copyright © Laura Fitzgerald, 2011 All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

  Fitzgerald, Laura, 1967-

  Dreaming in English/Laura Fitzgerald. p. cm.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-48626-9

  1. Iranians—United States—Fiction. 2. Women immigrants—United States—Fiction. 3. Marriage—Fiction. 4. Families—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3606. I8836D74 2011

  813’.6—dc22 2010036658

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Dear Laura,

  There MUST be a sequel to Veil of Roses. I keep reaching for the book that isn’t there and yearn for a continuation of this wonderful story. I’m 86; please hurry.

  —Margaret Tobin, Albuquerque, NM

  This book is dedicated to my wonderful readers, who convinced me there was more to the story. Enjoy!

  I did it, Maman.

  I am here, now.

  I have found a way to stay.

  I have even found love.

  I was married by Elvis Presley

  At the Chapel of the Blue Suede Shoes

  In the City of Sin.

  If you’d been here, Maman,

  I would have been married in my sister’s home.

  You would have washed my hair with your lavender soap

  And laced flowers in my hair,

  Making for me a veil of roses.

  Go, you said. Go and wake up your luck.

  But what about you?

  At last, Maman—what about you?

  Come, I say to you now.

  Come, Maman Joon.

  Come, and wake up your luck.

  Part One

  GO AND WAKE UP YOUR LUCK

  Chapter 1

  My mother wouldn’t let me cling to her; she made me stand tall. My world—the only one I knew, the only one I remembered—stood still for that last moment at Mehrabad Airport while she brushed away my tears and told me, Go, my daughter. Go and wake up your luck.

  At her urging, I did.

  All by myself, I flew halfway around the world, more than twelve thousand kilometers, from Tehran, Iran, to Tucson, U.S.A., worrying the entire time. You name it, I worried about it—first, that the dangerously outdated IranAir aircraft would simply break apart midflight. That when I spoke in America, my English would not be good enough and people would laugh at me. I was scared to see Maryam again after fifteen years of only across-the-ocean phone calls, concerned that our sister relationship would be too different, or else that it would be too much the same. I was terrified by the possibility that I might never see my parents again, and equally anxious that I would fail in my quest—my mandate—to find a husband in America before my tourist visa expired, and that I’d have to go back. I was afraid I would find a husband, only he’d turn out to be maybe not so nice. I feared that Americans might not see me for me, that they wouldn’t understand I was separate from my government, that even if some crazies in Iran thought America was Sheytan-e Bozorg, the Great Satan, I did not. I was afraid I would not be given a chance.

  Oh, how much has changed in three short months!

  This time when I fly into Tucson, I’m not alone. I’m with Ike—my beautiful Ike, with his easy smile and ocean blue eyes. He’s my husband now! We got married yesterday in Las Vegas. Everything has happened so fast there has hardly been time to think. I’ve been too excited to eat and far too excited to sleep, and this time, when things get bumpy during the plane’s descent, Ike is here to take my hand.

  “Scared, Persian Girl?” He asks this with a tease in his voice. While I’m Tamila Soroush to everyone else, to Ike I am and always will be his Persian Girl. “You’re not scared of a little turbulence, are you?”

  I rest my hand on his warm, sure skin. He’s been quiet on the flight back, studying me closely when he thinks I’m unaware, probably wondering just who this is, this woman he’s married, and I’m glad now for his light tone and gentle joking. “I’m not afraid of anything anymore,” I say.

  But Ike knows me better. “Oh, yeah?” He grins at me, a sweet, naughty-boy smile. “Kiss me, then,” he says. “Kiss me right here, right now.”

  At this, I blush. All around us on the airplane are other people—people going home; people leaving home; people traveling for work, for fun, for family, for love. The airplane is a bullet shooting through the sky. Life is happening all around me. We are all moving all the time, and I realize—finally, I realize—that I am no longer in a holding pattern, waiting for my life to begin. Like everyone around me, like Ike beside me—I, too, am hurtling toward my future, one which, if all goes well, inshallah, will take place in the land of the free and the home of the brave. And yet, when it comes to kissing Ike in public, I don’t feel very courageous. For in my homeland of Iran, the country that has woven itself into my psyche, for both better and worse, love happens mostly behind closed doors.

  “Okay,” I admit, “I maybe still have some fears.”

  “You know the best way to get over them, don’t you?” he says. “Through repetition. You’re going to have to kiss me over and over again. Public displays of affection, it’s called.”

  I feel myself blush as I give my new husband a friendly kiss on his cheek.

  “Well,” he says matter-of-factly, “I suppose that’s a start.” When he runs his fingers up my forearm, my skin tingles with possibility. Although the air on the plane is stale, I have never felt so alive. Alive, and suddenly worried.

  “What about you?” I ask. “What are your fears?”

  “Me?” He scoffs. “I’m not afraid of anything. I have no fear. None. Zilch. Nada.”

  I give him a look that asks, Really?

  “I swear, Persian Girl,” he says. “Perfect love drives out all fear.”

  “Wow,” I say. “That’s very profound.” Not to mention incredibly sweet. But I know Ike a little bit by now. “Did you come up with this yourself?”

  He grins. “It’s U2. Do you know who U2 is?”

  “U2 is a band from Ireland, and they are very socially conscious, yes?” I ask. “They have a campaign called Red that raises money to help poor people.”

  “Very good!” Ike says. “Although actually they raise money to help fight AIDS—in poor countries. So you were close—very close! But I’m surprised U2 isn’t banned in Iran. They’re kind of revolutionary, I’d think.”

  “Everything’s available on the black market, no pr
oblem,” I say. “But I know about them from here, from my English class. Danny taught us the song ‘Pride,’ which is about Martin Luther King, Jr., yes?”

  Danny’s my English teacher. He’s a hippie-style person who plays the guitar for us and teaches us American folk songs and other songs, too. The way he played the song “Pride” was using only an acoustic guitar, and he sang it with sorrow in his voice. I liked his humble version better than U2’s loud one.

  “Partly it is, indeed,” Ike says. “It’s a very cool song.” He sings, “Free at last they took your life. They could not take your pride… .”

  My new husband does not have a very good voice, I’m sorry to say. I try not to wince at how off-key he is.

  “Ike?” Thankfully, he stops singing. “Aren’t you afraid for what your parents will say about our marriage?”

  As of yet, they know nothing about it. Ike left a voice mail for his parents before he boarded the airplane to Las Vegas, saying only that he was going to meet some friends. And then he married me. He’s a planner by nature, and I’m very much aware that marrying me was not in his plans. Surely his parents will be aware of this, too.

  If that’s a flicker of doubt I see in his eyes, he quickly pushes it away. “They’re going to love you, Tami.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “They will,” he insists. “How could they not?”

  “Um—because I married their son in order to get my green card?”

  “No, no, no.” Ike corrects me. “You married their son because you love him.”

  “Yes,” I agree, for this is true, too. “But I worry they’ll overlook that point.”