By Laura Fitzgerald
A desirable sequel to the nationwide bestselling novel Veil of Roses.
understanding she may by no means be at liberty in Iran, Tamila Soroush took her mother's recommendation to "Go and get up your success" and joined her sister within the usa. Now, after a spur-of-the-moment trade of "I do"s together with her real love, Ike Hanson, Tami is raring to begin her new lifestyles.
yet now not everyone seems to be proud of their marriage, and Tami's fortunately- ever-after is not any certain factor. With an interview with Immigration looming, Tami wonders if she's acquired the proper stuff in terms of love, American-style. perhaps her success is working out. or perhaps she'll get up for herself and declare her American dream.
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Extra info for Dreaming in English
Example text
Sitting together on the couch are two girls. One is dark-skinned and young enough that she must be the six-year-old adopted girl, Camille. The other I guess to be Paige, the fourteen-year-old. She’s reading to Camille from a book written by a doctor named Seuss, Oh, the Places You’ll Go. They glance at us and then continue on. ” Ike says. Camille smiles, while Paige wrinkles her nose at him. Ike introduces me, and we exchange smiles, but before anyone can say anything, there’s shouting from another room.
He bestowed his love on me; I didn’t earn it. But I will. I’ll be the best wife ever. “This is so nice here, Ike,” I say, looking around. The ceiling has exposed beams, while the floors are stained concrete. This is modern style, I know, but the walls are thick adobe, which is traditional here in the desert. It’s a nice combination, to mix the old and the modern. ” My father-in-law. Mr. Hanson. ” I gesture to a wood-framed, leather-seated rocking chair. S. “It’s Mission style,” he says. “Made by the Quakers or the Amish or some such group.
On the phone. ” Mrs. Hanson says. “No, I didn’t,” Ike says. ” They grin at each other, and I envy this easy, teasing exchange. My father is funny, or likes to think he is, but my mother always seems so fragile, as if a deeply felt laugh or cry might cause her to crack open, to shatter. With her, we are smooth. Soft. Measured, in our emotions and our words. But Ike and his mother appear to be the opposite of this. ” Ike reaches for my hand. ” “It’s very nice to meet you,” I say to Mrs. Hanson. “You, too,” she says.