I used to get annoyed with my dad’s nonstop chatter so early in the morning. It should be illegal to have spoken conversation before the sun is up—but now that he’s not here, I’d give literally anything for a 4:00 a.m. rundown of our weekend plans.
“Are you really canvassing again today, on a weekday?” my mother asks. “I thought I misread the Google calendar this morning.”
“We were,” I tell her. “But Gabe needs us to put up signs and posters around town.”
“I’m impressed. You’re going above and beyond.” She pauses. “And is there anything we need to talk about?”
“Like what?”
“Jamie and you . . . the two of you have become close, haven’t you?”
I look up at her. She’s looking at me meaningfully.
“Yeah, we’re close.” I roll my eyes. “And how close am I to a car now?”
“After the special election, we’ll talk about it,” my mother promises. “By the way, we still have ten minutes until suhoor ends.” My mother glances at the oven clock. “Sure you don’t want a little of my chai? I made too much.”
“No caffeine. I’m crashing as soon as I finish praying.”
“I miss those days.” My mother takes a sip of tea. “But starting my day now means I can get done sooner and come home early to nap.”
“Except you never do,” I tell her.
“This case is eating up way more time than I thought.” She sighs. “But it’ll calm down after the trial.”
“Imam Jackson hasn’t announced if Eid is Sunday or Monday. You’ll take time off if it’s Monday, right?”
“It’s been so cloudy lately, I doubt they’ll see the moon to call Eid earlier. I’m betting Monday. I’ll take off either way, but I hope it falls on Sunday.”
“How’s Eid going to work?” I swallow. “You know, with Dad . . .”
“We’re both going to the masjid for Eid prayers,” my mother says. “You’ll go with whoever you stayed with the night before, and we’ll all be there for the potluck brunch. Maybe you and I could go out for manicures after, and then you and your dad could get dinner in the evening?”
“With Ramadan ending soon . . . what’s the status of the separation?” I ask her.
“We’re working on it.”
“But you had a chance to focus and reflect, didn’t you?”
“Maya, it’s not that simple.”
“It’s not that complicated either.” I stare at her. “How can you just have no timeline?”
“Because things like this aren’t neat and organized.” She looks at me. “I wish I could give you an idea of what exactly to expect. But some things, you just have to walk through to know where they will lead.”
“But what happened?” I burst out. “How can you undo everything and not even tell me why?”
“Honey, there’s no big secret. You were there. You know. You heard the fighting. . . .”
“You and I fight all the time,” I tell her. “Fighting means you stop being a family?”
“It’s complicated.” My mother’s eyes are fixed on her teacup now. “I know you want more details. Explanations. I wish I could give you an answer that would satisfy you, but I can’t. We need time to reflect and figure things out. That’s all I can say. When we know what the future holds, you’ll be the first person we tell, okay?”
It’s not okay. But I’m too tired to argue anymore.
Jamie picks me up at eleven o’clock sharp. He smiles when I get in the car, and I’m relieved he doesn’t look as upset as he did yesterday.
“Want to canvass after we’re done putting up the yard signs?” I ask him.
“Well, first check out how many he wants us to get up around town.” He nods to the backseat.
I glance back. It’s impossible to even see the cars behind us—the signs are stacked up to the car roof.
“The trunk is full too.”
“Gabe . . .”
“Yep.”
Turns out putting up yard signs isn’t that bad. It’s hot and definitely muggy, but it feels good to mix it up a little.
“This is the last stop,” Jamie says, a few hours later. We’ve papered every legal spot in Brookhaven and Sandy Springs, and stuck yard signs at every intersection. “It’s the grassy area across the street from Blackburn Park.”
Just as in all the other places, Newton’s beat us. Twenty of his signs litter the grass.
“I want to yank them out and throw them in the dumpster,” I say.
But we don’t. We angle our signs so they mostly cover his signs. A few people honk and wave as we put them in.
“All done,” he says as he sticks in the last of the signs.
“That wasn’t too bad,” I say. “Hot. But not awful.”
We duck under the awning of the strip mall to get a break from the sun as we head toward the car. Just then, I hear a familiar voice.
“Maya?”
It’s Sara. She’s standing halfway in the door of Skeeter’s custard shop. We walked by, and I didn’t even notice it.
“Sara! Hey!” My voice sounds a little too loud. Which makes no sense. Why am I surprised to see her working, of all things? I nod to Jamie. “This is Sara,” I tell him.
“Hi.” Jamie extends his hand. “I’m Jamie.”
Sara glances at his outstretched hand and grins at me before shaking it.
“Great to meet you, Jamie.”
The shop is empty. We follow her inside and sit down at a plastic round table.
“I know Maya’s fasting, but do you want anything?” she asks Jamie. “We have a great Froot Loop custard that . . .”
“Sara!” I side-eye her. “That’s just mean.”
“Ha.” She leans over and gives me a hug. “Only kidding. How about the strawberry custard? New flavor. On the house.”
“No, thanks,” Jamie says.
The doorbell chimes, and two mothers lugging four kids between them stumble into the shop.
“Give me a second,” Sara mouths, and heads back behind the counter to help them.
“You should take Sara up on her offer,” I tell him. “Everything here is delicious. I don’t mind if you eat around me.”
“Solidarity.” He thumps the table. “We can try it later once you’ve broken your fast.”
“You’ve come a long way from pushing Goldfish at me.”
“Yeah.” He blushes. “Sorry about that.”
I laugh. He looks so cute when he’s embarrassed.
“Have you been thinking any more about the toast?” I ask him.
“No.” He winces. “Or maybe, all the time. Every minute of the day? Something like that.”
“When do you have to give the speech?”
“In fifteen days, four hours, and twenty minutes. I mean, not that I’m counting or anything.”
“That’s so far away. You have more than enough time to come up with something.”
“It’s just that every idea I have is terrible.”