Dawud wants to rush off to work on designing his floral ceiling, and to keep this a secret from Muhammad, he says he wants to eat leftover burgers at Dad’s, so Muhammad offers to drive him back. Sarah goes along because she has a hair appointment to get ready for the henna party.
Because pregnant Khadija’s craving deep-dish pizza, Nuah’s going to drive Mom’s car, with Haytham on board.
Mom, Dania, Lamya, and Uncle Bilal want to eat “proper food,” so they’re going to find a nice restaurant nearby.
I’m torn. Something about the way Mom flushed immediately on seeing Uncle Bilal after Jumah is reawakening my imagination regarding them.
I want to go with Nuah, but, yes, I want my mommy.
More specifically, I don’t want my mommy to go with Uncle Bilal and his family without me.
“Husna, you won’t believe it. There’s an authentic Italian halal restaurant nearby, and it’s called Magda’s.” Uncle Bilal looks up from his phone, his eyes seeking Mom’s earnestly. “Magda’s!”
“We have to eat there. That’s where we met in college. It’s meant to be!” Mom says. Her face is lit up a million watts, and its light turns to me—because I’m practically leaning over to peer at her. She adds brightly, “It’s where all of us met each other, at Magda’s apartment. Your dad, some other friends, everyone.”
I decide to go to Magda’s too.
But Khadija entwines her arm through mine. “Can I interest you in some ooey-gooey cheese-a-licious pizza?”
“Actually, I’d like to see what authentic halal Italian’s like,” I say. “Never had it, except for pizza, of course.”
“But deeeeeep dish,” she says. She looks around and pulls me to the side. “And, also, deep dish about Nuah’s girl. I found out more intel.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. With high significance.
My cheeks are flooding. It feels like every bit of blood from my toes and up is making its way to my face. I can’t talk, so I just stare at Khadija’s mauve hijab intently.
“Layth, what about you? Halal Italian or deep dish?” Uncle Bilal calls out.
I turn away from Khadija to see Layth coming out of the mosque’s intricately carved wooden doors. He’s putting his phone in the pocket of his black jeans.
“Deep dish,” Layth says.
“Janna? You’re coming with us, right?” Mom asks.
Khadija’s arm is still tangled in mine. The heat on my face is settling down, so I squeak out, “No, I think I’ll do pizza.”
Before Mom leaves, I go up to Dania—well, I think it’s her, because she’s in a turban hijab—and, pointing at Mom and Uncle Bilal, I boldly say, “Can you watch those two?” I add a buoyant laugh to make it light.
Dania blinks at her dad’s back and then looks at me, something dancing in her eyes.
“Will do,” she says with a smile.
Oh no.
Does she think the opposite of what I’m thinking?
Is she going to encourage those two?
* * *
After a hard time figuring out how to seat ourselves so the wrong people don’t end up being squished beside each other (as per Islamic rules about physical contact), I end up driving with Khadija beside me.
I’d been secretly hoping for me, Nuah, and Khadija to be in the back, but that would have meant pregnant Khadija sitting in between me and Nuah, her legs squished on the middle bump on the floor of Mom’s small Mazda, which would have been cruel.
So I drive with three guys in the back.
At stoplights, whenever I glance in the rearview, I glimpse three sets of eyes.
Three completely different sets of eyes.
But I only have eyes for one.
And he’s the only one whose glance I don’t catch in the mirror.
* * *
What’s happening—with me and Nuah—hits me when the big pizza we ordered arrives and Haytham plates a slice and presents it to me with a flourish. He nods at me encouragingly with a smile and says, “Enjoy!”
Nuah thinks Haytham likes me.
And that I like him back.
Proof: his recent laugh when Muhammad joked about Haytham’s “dates” with me and the comment he made matching us to Westley and Princess Buttercup in The Princess Bride.
Uh-oh.
That’s why Nuah’s not responding to my texts. That’s why he’s not looking for opportunities for us to talk, like I always am, and like he used to whenever he was around me before.
That’s why whenever I look at him when everyone’s talking, he’s not paying any attention my way.
Why he doesn’t even look at me now as we sit in this rounded booth, me at the end and him smack in the middle, beside Khadija next to me.
I cut a piece of my pizza, but when I raise it to my mouth, I realize I can’t eat. It feels strange, like there’s something burbling inside that’ll push the pizza right out again.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I slide it out and see it’s a text from Muhammad.
Meine aap ka paigham dair se dekha. Meine Nuah ko mangni ki mubarak baath de di. Bohat bohat mubarak ho behna!☺
This looks important. Obviously because it has the word “Nuah” in it.
I look up for help deciphering this dispatch—maybe a waiter?
None of them look desi.
Layth. He’s sitting across from me eating a slice of pizza calmly while Haytham and Nuah discuss their theories of how you make deep-dish pizza, with Khadija interjecting, laughing, at their more ridiculous suggestions.
But I don’t know Layth’s number.
I could just pass him my phone? I clear my throat and lean forward.
Which makes everyone at the table fall silent for some reason.
I don’t care, I decide. I’m good at ruses.
“Layth, can you translate this Urdu for me? But like text me the meaning? It’s for this thing for the henna party tonight.” I glance around at everyone after passing Layth my phone. Haytham nods his head, and Khadija smiles.
Nuah looks at his pizza and then at Layth, who’s peering at my phone.
Layth reads and then—ugh—immediately looks at Nuah. And then at me.
He touches my phone and then pauses. “Can I get your number from here?” And when I nod, he scrolls and swipes and then picks up his phone and texts me before handing my phone back.
Saw your message late. I already congratulated Nuah on your engagement. Congrats sister!☺
Chapter Nineteen
Muhammad’s phone rings and rings.
I’m in a stall in the pizza place bathroom.
“Janna, what’s with you? Calling incessantly? I was driving, just dropped Sarah at her appointment. Can you guys pick her up at the hotel after?”
“What did he do when you said congrats?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nuah,” I whisper into the phone in case someone comes in. Someone like Khadija. “Tell me everything.”
“He got quiet. And told me to shut up. And then I said, no seriously, man, I’m excited about you guys getting together.”
“And then what happened?” I whisper again.
“He just kept saying shut up. Then Haytham came up to us in the prayer hall because he’d finished his sunnah. Why?”