Khadija grabs me to exclaim over my “sophisticated” outfit, but I can’t stop from squeeing over her. She’s in a deep burgundy sheath dress that hugs her belly proudly and falls off her shoulders. It’s a shimmery fabric with an underlaid orangish sheen to it, so when she moves, it’s like another dress. Her hair is tied up high and then falls in thin braids that skim her bare shoulders, which are grazed by long—super long—twinkling, gold earrings.
Dania and Lamya, in matching suits, Anarkali as well, but in pink and orange respectively, come to fawn over Khadija with me.
EVERYONE LOOKS SO GOOD.
“I confirmed that the house is free of male presence right now. So we can go practice in the basement before Sarah comes down.” Zayneb speaks low so that Sarah, near the window still getting pictures with Linda and Mom, doesn’t hear. “She’s only going to appear downstairs when her mom, aunts, and cousins have arrived, so we have time.”
“How am I going to practice in this?” I indicate my sari to Zayneb. “You said I can’t.”
“Just don’t do the feet movements. We’ll be mostly just going over our placements anyway. And guess what? We got someone for the middle.” She ta-das her hands toward Khadija. “Khadija’s going to be the seated queen at the center.”
Khadija nods. And does the screw-lightbulbs move for me as Zayneb goes to gather more dancers.
“And we’re going to drape pink and orange dupattas on her so she matches,” Dania says. “We already tried it out and it’s perfect.”
Khadija nods again and spreads jam on her face, then on her belly, before speaking. “This is Maysarah’s first official henna party.”
“The next one will be when Nuah gets hitched!” It’s a girl I don’t know well who says this. A friend of Sarah’s. And apparently a friend of Khadija’s, too, from the way she sidles up to her and puts an arm around Khadija after she speaks.
I keep my face still. But when I see Khadija switching her gaze to me, I feel my resolve crumbling.
“Let’s go.” Zayneb comes back, whispering. “I told Sarah we’re just going to check out everything downstairs.”
As we head out, Khadija starts walking closer to me, and one glance at her face tells me she’s going to bring up something I don’t want to hear, so I look around for an escape.
I back up and head to the chair by the window. “I’ll catch up with you guys. I’m next to get my makeup done.”
Chapter Twenty-One
After Deirdre finishes working on my face, I go back to my room and throw open the closet doors.
I need to get away, and I need a cloak to do so.
What I’m looking for is all the way at the back of my closet, in a pile of clothes I threw on top of my suitcase. A long black abaya with a hood, ties at the waist, and deep pockets at the side for a phone. An abaya I brought up with me to Dad’s in case I needed an extra coverall for praying.
But it’s also the perfect coverall for a brief, necessary getaway.
I tuck the two tendrils of hair into the claw clip holding my bun in place and then put on the abaya, tie the sash to close it, and lift up the hood. It falls forward onto my forehead, and when I look at myself in the mirror, I see that the hood casts a long shadow over the top of my face, so only my nose down is revealed.
Good. Because I don’t want anyone seeing my heavily done eyes with fake lashes and some kind of eyeshadow layering that makes me look like a manga character.
I open the door a crack and check if the coast is clear.
Then I slip off my shoes and go downstairs quietly. I hear some movement from the family room off the kitchen. I don’t wait to see who it is but open the doors and walk fast, barefoot, until I’m between the house and the gazebo.
Then I run.
I can feel something happening to the sari, some kind of loosening, but I don’t care, because I want to get to that secluded spot by the water to hide alone.
It’s not to cry.
It’s just to not see anyone who wants me to be smiling when I can’t right now.
* * *
The waves lightly lap the shore, and I follow their rhythm for a while before I look up at the sky.
The sun’s setting. I watch it and then decide to pray Maghrib right there in a patch of grass by the sand, with the water sounds nearby and the stillness of the approaching night.
* * *
By the time I finish, I can tell my sari’s in serious disarray.
I stand and fix my robe and tie the sash tighter and reposition my hood.
I need to get back before they notice I’m missing, before it becomes a source of drama.
I’m hoping I’ve swallowed enough of the stillness of this spot by the water to fill me with the serenity I need tonight.
The truth is that my insides are still tangled, but maybe this moment to myself, bringing the rhythm of the waves with me, will help.
I just don’t want this setback to open that other wound in me. Because anything bad happening in my life always somehow leads to that tiny dark space the assault opened in me.
I repeat the prayer I made after Maghrib: Ya Allah, don’t let this lead me where I don’t want to go.
It’s dark now through the grove of trees so I use my phone’s flashlight to light the path.
When I come out, at the side of the house between the barn and the driveway, it’s to Nuah and Muhammad standing there talking, leaning against one of the many cars parked on the grass.
Then the worst-case scenario happens, because I look up straight into Nuah’s eyes.
I try to do the nod-and-walk-away thing, but Muhammad calls out to me. “Is that you, Janna?”
I nod again but without turning.
“Why were you out there by yourself?”
I keep walking toward the driveway.
Great, he’s (they’re?) following. “Hey, stop. What’s wrong?”
“Can I talk to her?” It’s Nuah’s voice. “Janna?”
I freeze. How am I going to talk to him?
“Janna, I’m sorry you found out from Khadija.” Nuah’s voice is low. “She told me.”
“Found out what?” Muhammad sounds bewildered.
I’m not moving ahead but not turning around, either.
“I seriously didn’t know you liked me back,” Nuah says. “Honestly. I mean, I knew we were friends, but that’s it.”
I try not tear up at that. I can’t open my mouth.
It’s because I’m feeling the sting of humiliation.
“Khadija told me she told you about Sumayyah. She didn’t know about me and you, and still doesn’t.” Nuah clears his throat. “Sorry, I guess we just never had it out in the open.”
I turn around at that, but my voice is so soft, I don’t know if he’s going to hear it. “So, all the times you were asking if I was nice enough for you yet… that didn’t mean what I thought it meant?”
Maybe I’m saying it so softly because this question is more for me.
But he hears it. “It did. But it was like a wish for me. Like from the first time we met. Then things changed.” He says this gently.
“It was a wish for me, too.” I can’t hide the sadness in my voice.