Then I have on dewy lip gloss, and I did my eyelashes really carefully.
I’m ready to have an amazing day.
* * *
When I get to the top of the stairs, the back-of-the-house ones that overlook the kitchen and family room, a cozy scene greets me.
Near the oval, marble kitchen table, Dania and Lamya are clustered around Sarah, their hands reaching out to touch her occasionally, excitedly talking, while Mom leans against the island and watches, beaming. She looks so proud. Happy. Nothing like how I’d imagined she’d be standing in Dad’s kitchen.
Speaking of Dad, he and Linda have matching black aprons on and spatulas held ready, waiting on a huge rectangular griddle filled with perfectly round pancakes. Dad’s wearing his jolly face, and Linda looks like she got dressed up. Gone is the uniform of leggings and T-shirt she’s normally in, replaced with a strappy blue gingham summer dress with matching strappy sandals. Her curly hair is clipped back at the sides but hangs down to her shoulders—the opposite of its usual tight bun. She extends her spatula and flips a fresh pancake onto Dawud’s plate.
Mom’s right—they are super generous and hospitable. I take it for granted because I’m their family, but they’re also extra giving to anyone connected to me and Muhammad in any way.
Muhammad and Haytham are at the table eating, Haytham with his towel still around his neck for some reason. Dawud carries his pancake past them to the adjacent family room, where the laddoos are watching Pokémon. Dawud’s a Pokémon fanatic and has been slowly indoctrinating my little brothers into the ways of the Pokémon universe from the moment he arrived.
Leaning on the frame of the doorway to the family room is Layth, scrolling on his phone.
I’m surprised to see him here.
He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt with an upside-down black apple on it.
Why is he here so early?
He looks up at that point, like my frowning gaze penetrated the top of his head, and I relax my expression and allow a small nod.
He looks back at his phone.
“Boo!”
I give a start and turn around to see a bit of Nuah peeking from the side of the two stacked boxes he’s holding, grin on his face. “Thanks for scaring me.” I feign sarcasm, even though I know he probably saw my eyes light up.
“Sorry, JY. Your brother asked me to get some boxes of wedding favors stuff from his room. We’re starting the operation right after breakfast. You’re in, right?”
I nod, a glow already starting its bloom inside me (and I’m sure spreading across my face). It strikes me that this is the first time we’re getting a moment to ourselves. Sure, it’s in full view of the kitchen and its occupants below, almost like we’re onstage, but still, it’s an opportunity.
Finally.
“Hey, I heard you’re going back to California? On Sunday?”
“Yeah,” he says, lowering the boxes so I can see his whole face. “Got a job. Plus, my roommate can’t handle the rent on his own, so this works out. He’s awesome, so it’s best to keep him happy. The Law of Landing a Good Roommate.”
“Right. I just thought you’d be spending the summer in Eastspring.” I don’t care that I’m showing that I’m upset.
He leans the stack of boxes against the banister. “When you leaving for UChicago?”
“I’m moving at the beginning of September.” It sounds whiny, but I can’t help adding, “I thought, you know, I’d see you in August. And also, it’s weird you didn’t tell me when we were e-mailing about the roast?”
“Ah, got it. Sorry.” He smiles. “Well, what about when I come up to see Khadija’s baby? You could drop by our place then too? My mom would like that. And Khadija too, I’m sure.”
What about you? the whiny voice wants to add, but I squash it by nodding. “That sounds cool.” I pause. This may be our only time before things get hectic. “Um, I also, um, wanted to tell you something.”
I pull on my sleeves, my hands working them in turns so that the frayed black cuffs cover my fingertips again and again.
Oh my God.
Why am I so nervous?
I glance down to make sure no one’s watching us, but, other than Dad, who lifts his eyes right then, everyone else is busy in their own conversations or phones.
It’s almost like I wished people had been all staring up at us so that I’d be able to cut this conversation short and just go downstairs.
Gah, this is hard. Because I have no desire to make things happen in the real world. Or, I should say, it takes me a while to decide to make things happen.
I like everything to stay in my head. The world up there feels better.
But I need things secure now, out in the open, before I go to college.
“Yeah?” Nuah asks, his body still positioned against the boxes to keep them fixed on the banister railings. He raises his eyebrows expectantly, like he’s really interested in what I have to say.
But there’s something different about those eyes under his eyebrows.
Or am I imagining it?
“Just wondered why you didn’t answer my text last night?” Way to go, Janna. Pour more whine.
“Oh, sorry. My phone is on an auto timer that shuts down messages in the evening. It ended last night at ten before you texted me.” He talks fast, like it’s nothing, so I relax. “And then this morning, I just rolled out of bed to follow Muhammad and his tasks.”
“Okay. Anyway, it was just nothing. It was about the gummies. Whether they were nice enough for you.” I try to laugh, but it comes out like a swallowed sob.
“For sure.” He shifts the boxes and glances down.
Does he want to go?
Okay, this is like ultimate cringe now. Me trying to get to something deep but making it about gummy bears.
Cut it short and go down and talk to him when you practice the roast later.
I reach out a hand. “Want help taking stuff down?”
He looks sort of relieved. Exactly how I feel.
“No, I’m okay—Actually, you know what? Take this little bag that’s dangling?” He holds out a plastic bag that he had hanging off his wrist. I take it, and we head to the kitchen.
I’m halfway down the stairs, a smile of strained relief on my face, when I see Dad.
His spatula’s raised, he’s watching us come down the stairs together, and Jolly Dad is gone.
He’s been replaced by Strangely Upset Dad.
Chapter Fifteen
I’m chatting away with Lamya, Dania, and Sarah (well, listening more than chatting) in the kitchen when I get a nudge.
“I’ve put together a plate of your favorite breakfast things. And set up a nice table for us outside—just you and me. Come out to enjoy it?” Dad’s still in his apron but his spatula is gone, so his arms are able to make perfect Vs as his hands rest on his hips.
That’s not the posture of someone who wants to “enjoy” a “favorite” breakfast at a “nice” table with his daughter.
“I actually thought I’d eat with Mom, since, you know, I haven’t seen her in a while?” I scan for Mom.
“She’s eaten already and is helping Muhammad organize stuff for the favors. They’re headed to the basement,” Dad says, undoing his arms. But then he folds them across his chest. Real friendly-like.