“Why would I feel better?”
“Because you feel out of place or something with all us ‘rich’ people?”
He just looks at me. Then shakes his head. “Sure, Jan.”
Jan is what my friends call me at school, so I can’t stop the snicker that comes out of my mouth. And then I’m shaking my head and full-on laughing.
He stares at me and loosens his own expression. “What?”
“Jan is my actual nickname.”
He tips his head back like he’s caught and allows a smile, again an actual smile, to take over his face. And then he laughs.
I relax. When he’s not all scorny and rude, he looks like a person I’d talk to in one of my classes. Though in class he’d be considered hot, and surrounded by people, so I’d probably never actually get a chance to talk to him. “So my brother’s wedding tomorrow will be your last party in America?”
“Yeah, but maybe I’m not even going to it.” He shrugs and begins walking toward the path. “Your brother’s nice to invite me and all, but I usually avoid weddings. I’m not a big crowd person.”
I nod and let go my crossed arms and begin walking too. “Why Ecuador?”
“I volunteered in an animal sanctuary near the Amazon a few summers, and now I’m returning to work at the same place, training volunteers.”
“Are you in college? Taking a break?” I spot my half pancake waiting for me under the trees. “From studying veterinary sciences or something?”
He laughs, and this time it’s completely sarcastic. Again. “I’m not going to college. I’m not going to an institution that’s out to colonize your mind.”
“That’s not the reason I’m going either. I’m going to get my degree.”
“Uh, okay. Everyone says that. And then they come out as programmed zombies living for the weekends.” He turns to me as I pause to pick up my plate on the ground. His face is open again. “I’d rather live every day.”
We walk quietly for a bit until we come to the entrance to the path, and I spot Dad up ahead on the patio, arranging the picnic tables into one long one. He’s not alone, though, as Nuah, of all people, and Haytham are helping him.
I stop abruptly. Layth almost bumps into me.
I turn and he steps back. “I can’t go out there yet. I just got into a fight with my dad, and I can’t be around him.”
He nods and brushes his hair from his eyes with the hand still clutching his jacket and then looks up at the trees.
I do too, and it’s weird, but after staring at the aspens, birches, and oaks and the bits of sky above it all for a while, I get this feeling of not being here.
I don’t mean of not being here, in this place.
But of not being in the angry feelings of before.
Like I’m completely good, strong, capable of being me and taking on Dad. Of getting in the boxing ring with him.
Because he is wrong, and I know it with a certainty that makes me feel like I can be anywhere, in any situation, and stand tall. Like his racism just gave birth to more of who I really am. And who I’m definitely not.
I’m not him and never will be.
I look at the trees and think, Yes, I do like trees the way Nuah described me to Khadija. They’ve been around for millions of years, seen tons of crap, and still stand strong and graceful, sure of their worth to the world.
“Fighting makes you smile, huh?” Layth says, interrupting my trees-are-my-Patronus aha moment.
“I’m smiling?”
He nods.
“Maybe it’s because I’m ready to go back to help my brother get ready for his wedding,” I say. “Do you have siblings?”
He shakes his head. And then says faintly, “Used to.” And shakes his head again.
We make our way out of the forest.
Dad, Haytham, and Nuah look up at the same time at Layth and me walking toward them.
I smile at Nuah. Huge.
So Dad can’t miss it.
Too bad for Muhammad this wedding is going to turn into a little war.
Chapter Seventeen
We’re half an hour into putting together wedding favor boxes—an eerily silent half an hour for nine people gathered around a long table—when the ice-cream truck chimes. Haytham and I look at each other.
It’s ten o’clock. Ice cream has never arrived this early before.
“Permission to take a short break, sir?” Haytham raises a hand to salute Muhammad. He nods at me. “For Sergeant Janna, too?”
“You want permission to break the delicate assembly line we got going here?” Muhammad drops a blue-foiled chocolate basketball into the box in front of him. “You’re the candy almonds. Everyone loves those.”
“Ugh. Not me.” Dania shakes her head and, with the blade of a pair of scissors, curls a ribbon that ties the dua paper to the favor boxes. The dua says May God bless you both and shower blessings upon you and unite you in all that is good in Arabic and English.
“I’ll take over the almonds. They’re right next to me. I can do a double shift,” Nuah says, using an elbow to nudge the bowl of pastel almonds right next to him. “Haytham, you owe me.”
“And Janna’s dates?” Haytham’s already standing up. “Who’ll do her dates?”
“Seems to me that you’re doing that? Dates with Janna?” Muhammad says to Haytham, smirking.
I can’t believe Muhammad. And wait, is that a smile on Nuah’s face as he shakes his head at Muhammad’s “buffoonery,” as he always calls it? Why would he be smiling at a stupid joke like that?
I stay seated as Haytham hits Muhammad on the back.
“I’ll do Janna’s dates,” Layth announces. He’s sitting diagonally from me, having been cajoled to stay and help by Dania and Lamya, who are seated across from each other at one end of the table. Lamya puts little packets of fennel candy into the boxes before passing them on to Dania to add the finishing touches.
I look at Layth, but he’s not looking at me. He’s unfolding the bright yellow cardboard that makes the boxes and propping them open to lay a small square of blue tissue inside. His hair is off his face, tied back by a tiny elastic, and I see his forehead.
I don’t want to look at it.
I push the bowl of unripe yellow dates closer to Layth and get up. That’s when he looks at me, and I notice his eyes don’t hold the blank look that I first saw on him, that his eyes are kindly when they turn in my direction.
Is he thawing?
“Anyone else want ice cream?” Haytham asks. “Where are the kids?”
“They went into town with Linda to get groceries. Dawud said he needed to get something, so he went with Sarah too,” Dad says from the head of the table, where he’s working on his laptop, apparently updating wedding things. “And of course nobody wants ice cream at this early hour.”
“You can’t assume that,” I say sternly. “Anyone want ice cream?”
Everyone shakes their head. Dad shoots me a look—a smug one. Again.
“Dania? Lamya? It’s really good ice cream,” I say, pressing. They shake their heads. Haytham’s already started walking away, but I’m not going to leave until I prove Dad wrong. “Mom?”