“I’m actually not very hungry.”
“You need to eat. And wow, I didn’t know you were so averse to eating with your dad. Who you don’t see most of the year.” At this, his face looks genuinely hurt. And he unfolds his arms and puts his hands in the pockets of his shorts.
I really don’t want to be with Dad right now.
But then he’s Dad, the guy who always wants everyone to like him so much.
I know he feels like Muhammad and I have grown to love Mom more. When he and I were a team, I was his princess, and because we saw him less—and he was so lax about some things—spending time with him used to feel like a treat. But now that I’ve been with him for almost a month, it’s not the same.
He’s pretty exacting about how he wants things to be. Which can be exhausting.
But I’m leaving on Sunday to go back to Eastspring with Mom. And I won’t see Dad again until maybe Thanksgiving or even Christmas.
The least I could do is have breakfast with him now. “Okay, maybe I’ll eat a little.”
I follow him out onto the patio, trying to push away the feeling of getting ready to rip off a Band-Aid quickly.
* * *
“Excited about college?” Dad’s asked me this several times already over the past few weeks, and I answer the same way each time (“Can’t wait! But also nervous!”), but today I add in, “Yes, and I’m feeling a bit less nervous because Dania and Lamya are going to introduce me to some people.”
It’s actually nice here on the patio because the sun isn’t unbearably hot yet.
“Ah, great. They’re nice kids.” Dad takes a forkful of scrambled eggs. “And I’m glad you brought that up. Meeting people.”
I cut a piece of pancake and dunk it into the puddle of maple syrup on the side of the plate. Everyone else looks at me funny when I eat pancakes this way, but it’s the perfect way to ensure your breakfast doesn’t devolve into a mess of soggy dough.
“You’re going to be meeting a whole lot of new people. But make sure you keep up your friendships from before,” Dad says.
“I know. Tats and I have already planned our meetups.” We’re going to get together every six weeks in alternating locations that will be around halfway points between her college and mine. We already scouted and mapped the first series of diners on Google Maps.
“And when you meet new people, make sure you check that you make sense for each other.” He clears his throat. “I’m talking about romantic relationships. Make sure you’re of similar upbringing.”
“Dad. Why are we talking about this?” I’m irked, but it’s in an I-knew-it way. So his scowls were about BOYS. “I’m not going to college to get a boyfriend.”
“I’m not saying that. But it’s inevitably going to happen. People meet people in college all the time. Mom and I did.” He looks at me pointedly. “So I’m just telling you to be aware of how important it is that your backgrounds sync. Whoever you meet.”
How is it that Mom and Dad are giving me the same advice? Make sure you’ve been brought up the same way as whoever you’re falling for.
I’m not impressed to hear it coming at me again. “Okay, Dad. Got it. Can we move on?”
He clears his throat a second time. “It’s important culturally, too.”
“What? What’s important culturally?”
“That your backgrounds are similar.”
“What do you mean? That we’re both American? Don’t fall for an international student?” The irk’s taking on a different strain. “Be nationalistic? USA! USA! Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“I mean heritage-wise. That you’re not from vastly different cultural backgrounds.”
I put my fork down. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“I’m giving you advice as a father. Isn’t that my role?” Dad puts his fork down too and reaches a hand out as if to quell something in the air. “To help you not run into problems? And I’m just saying if you choose someone from the same background, Desi or Arab—well, better if they’re Egyptian like Mom—it’s less problems.”
“I’m not listening to that advice. Ever.” I don’t know why, but I feel tears welling in me, and they’re the hot kind, the kind that are mixed with anger. “I’m not listening to prejudice.”
He stares at me without flinching. And it’s with such an I-know-what-I’m-talking-about gaze, with the “White House” in the background, that it just tips me over into full-on-angry territory.
“I’m glad I’m more like Mom. She’d never say something like what you just said.”
“Well, it’s because of your mom that I’m saying it. Because of how her family treated me due to my Indian background. Because I’m not Arab. And the same thing is happening to Muhammad. The way Sarah’s family is treating him. Because he’s not Syrian.”
I shake my head and pick up my plate. “I don’t believe that. And even if it was true, I don’t care. It doesn’t make what you’re saying right!”
“Janna, I just want to save you the headache I’ve been through!”
“You’re not saving me! You’re condemning me to your racism!” I stand and look at his always-coiffed self. “And I know it’s because of Nuah you’re bringing all this up. Because he’s Black!”
Dad doesn’t reach a hand out this time, just crosses his arms, and I rush away.
Chapter Sixteen
I hold my plate of one remaining unsoggy pancake and walk by the gazebo. Straight ahead is the dock, but I’m not heading there. It’s in view from the patio, and I don’t want to be anywhere Dad can see me.
I take a sudden left turn and follow the path through the trees that leads to the water.
In the lush grove, I pause for a moment and look up at the treetops. Leaves are fluttering here and there, and there’s a persistent hum from an insect.
I decide to sit right here, in a patch of grass next to the worn path, and eat my breakfast.
Dad’s racist.
He can’t stand the idea of me liking Nuah.
Tears sting my eyes, and big thoughts invade, like I’m going to leave this place I’m going to stay at the hotel with Mom.
I’m never going to talk to Dad again.
I take my phone out and text Tats. When are you getting here?
She’s supposed to bunk with me in my room here after the henna party. Maybe I can squeeze her in with Mom and me at the hotel instead.
I’ll be late because my date can only drive me after work so at like 7
That’s ok. It starts late anyway. Your date’s not staying over, right?
No
We’re staying at the hotel with my mom
Whyyyy I want to swim in the lake. I even bought a BURKINI
What
Because you and Sarah would be wearing one so you know
Sarah is not going to be swimming on her wedding day
But I want to. I got the same burkini as Lindsay Lohan.
I fork another piece of pancake and chew while staring at the path ahead of me. There’s something black in the spaces between the trees farther up.