“Wow!” Zayneb raises her hands in victory. “I can’t believe it! Okay, I’m going to tell you right now that I may tag along with you guys. Be a groupie. Because you’re doing amazing work.”
“Thanks,” I say. “But it’s really Sausun that’s doing everything. I’m just helping so she can keep doing it.”
“What are you talking about? The editing is so cool. Like the time you pretended her cat was taking all the footage? And proved that animals were the ultimate humans?” Zayneb starts laughing. “Oops, I’m going to be fangirling all weekend, so I’d better do it in smaller doses, spread it out, or you’ll get sick of me.”
“Janna is amazing but too modest.” Sarah puts her other arm around me, and I swallow the feeling of claustrophobia at being held in a tight circle with Zayneb. “Come up to the room for a bit. Zayneb brought all these treats from when she went to visit her fiancé in Ottawa, and we still haven’t gotten to the ketchup chips.”
“Ketchup chips?” I make a face.
“They’re AMAZING!” Zayneb shouts, walking backward in the parking lot toward the hotel’s front doors. “Oh, Sarah, you know he’s coming tomorrow, right? Adam? We flew down from Ottawa together, and he’s staying with my brother now who’ll be driving him over tomorrow to be my plus-one. My date, finally, ooh-la-la!” She makes a mischievous face and laughs.
“You mean I finally get to meet the man?” Sarah’s face lights up. “Now I’m really looking forward to my wedding!”
“What about the guys? Haytham and… them? They said they need to get back to my dad’s.” I want to get back too. And just close the door on the world for a while.
“We’ll leave in fifteen,” Sarah promises, a bounce in her step as she follows Zayneb.
I lock the car door and tag after them, thinking maybe Zayneb’s a good distraction.
* * *
When we leave the hotel, it’s with the addition of Zayneb, who whispered to me—when Sarah was in the hotel bathroom—that Dania and Lamya said I’d promised to join in their dance at the henna party tonight. “I’ll come back with you to the house and I’ll show you all the moves before we get dressed. We’ll hide it all from Sarah.”
To the car, Zayneb wheeled an orange carry-on suitcase that had her henna party clothes and was filled with Canadian treats (ketchup chips, Kinder Surprise eggs with tiny toys in them, something called a Coffee Crisp bar, and various other things I was assured were unsurpassed in perfection) that she promised we were going to eat while we practiced dancing. I just nodded, because it took less energy to nod at the things Zayneb wanted to do.
Because Dad and Linda had insisted Sarah get ready for the party in their bedroom and had even hired a friend who was a professional makeup artist, Sarah also brought a suitcase with her with all her party clothes and stuff.
Haytham drives with Nuah up front, and Sarah asks Haytham to play bits from his Muslim Voice audition samples for Zayneb so she can get her network at college, which is apparently huge, to vote for him.
I’m by the window and luckily looking out when I hear these lyrics, because the next thing I know, I’m crying silently:
She’s like a boat that’s caught in the storm
Sees the sun through the clouds but she can’t stay warm
Now she’s in pain and she can’t bear the load
But she don’t know there’s something better down the road
I understand why I fixated on Nuah all this time.
He was the rainbow in my heart after the storm.
After the assault.
He was the one who let me be—angry, in pain, sad. He just let me find my way out of it. On my own, while always being in the background if I needed him. Sending me a million pick-me-up videos, memes, messages.
It was like I relied on him to always be in the background.
And now he’s gone.
Now she’s in pain and she can’t bear the load
But she don’t know there’s something better down the road
I thought Nuah had been that “something better down the road” who came into my life when I needed someone to.
But he wasn’t. Isn’t.
* * *
Zayneb unknowingly saves me by getting me out of the roast practice Nuah had scheduled for after Jumah.
Once Sarah goes into the house, Zayneb tells everyone, “Janna and I are going to work on a surprise for Sarah.”
In the driveway, Nuah nods and says, “JY, we’ll squeeze in practice tomorrow, then, okay?”
I don’t know if I agree or not, in my haste to get inside the house, in my haste to get away from the world I made up in my head.
Chapter Twenty
“Yeah, use both hands! Screw those lightbulbs twice up right, then bring them to your left and screw twice!” Zayneb directs me as we watch ourselves dance in the mirror in my room. Zayneb’s teaching style is comprised of translating all the Bollywood moves she’s choreographed for this dance into mundane, everyday things. “Now turn those arms into streamers and stream them to your right! Now to your left! And lightbulb screwing again! Now streamer those arms and spin around! And back to spreading that jam on your hand, now the other hand!”
I changed into pajamas in the hope of curling up to mourn the state of things alone with one of my books, but then Zayneb had knocked on the door to say that Sarah was getting her nails done so we had to practice now.
A song with the Urdu word for henna, “mehndi,” being repeatedly sung is sounding from Zayneb’s phone. Mehndi hai something something.
At least it’s a simple beat and really repetitive. And on loop, because it fades then starts again.
“You’re a fast learner!” Zayneb looks at me proudly. “You already got all the first moves.”
“Maybe it’s because I know how to screw a lightbulb and spread jam?” I do the my-arms-have-turned-into-streamers move that Zayneb demonstrated previously, while keeping up with my bopping on one foot, and then turn slowly like she did.
“You’re a natural!” Zayneb leans against the dresser and watches me dance for a while, nodding her head to the beat. “How about we position you in the middle? Currently it’s me because everyone insisted. But I can see you in the middle. Sarah will be wowed.”
“No, I can’t.” I stop dancing. “I’ll fumble.”
“But you’re amazing!”
I shake my head. “You in the middle.”
I’m not very coordinated. Why am I good at this?
I look in the mirror and see my eyes are still sort of red. I explained them away to Sarah, who asked, as allergies. Maybe I’m dancing well because I don’t care? About anything?
“What are you wearing to the mehndi?” Zayneb asks.
“A dark green sari, because my stepmom’s friend who’s organizing the whole thing told us that in Indian culture you wear green or yellow or orange to henna parties and no way was I going to wear yellow. Or orange. Can you imagine?” I make a face.
“I’m wearing orange. It’s my favorite color. The brightest orange suit I could find, in fact!” Zayneb announces.