“Okay, I’ll do a milk and croissant. Ask him what he wants,” Khadija says. “Layth. And come back only when you’ve got something to tell me. Tell him I can’t eat unless everyone around me is.”
I leave the line and go to the corner table. Layth’s chair is positioned so he’s leaning against the corner behind him. “Khadija wants to know what you want.”
“Nothing.”
“She has this thing where she can’t eat unless we’re all eating.” I shake my head. “I don’t get it. But I’m not pregnant, either.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just blinks blankly at me.
I don’t like that look of his. It always makes me feel like I need to keep talking, to prove myself or something. “I’m getting a decaf latte. But you might want something caffeinated? Because you’re driving all night?”
“I don’t drink coffee.” He looks away and considers the wall. “Okay, get me a hot chocolate. Small.”
I feel weirdly buoyant. To report back to Khadija, who’s at the counter now, that I got him to want something.
After giving the cashier our orders, I glance back at Layth.
His head’s bent again.
* * *
We sit with our drinks. I texted Mom already that we’d be back later due to being at Dunkin’, and once word got out to the party that’s apparently still in our room, requests came in, so now there’s a box of doughnuts on the table in front of us waiting to be taken back to the hotel.
“You okay?” Khadija asks Layth.
Before he subjects her to his signature blank look, I say, “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell us anything. We just want to know if you’re going to be okay to drive.”
“I’m fine.”
“Good,” Khadija says. “So, Ecuador?”
He nods and takes a sip of hot chocolate.
Since he doesn’t go on, I feel pressed to explain. “He’s going to work in an animal-rescue sanctuary at the edge of the Amazon. He’s going to train volunteers.”
Khadija nods. “That’s amazing.”
“Kinkajous, sloths—oh my gosh, you should see the baby sloth there right now. So cute.” I wonder if I should show the video to Khadija. To make up for Layth’s silence.
Layth sits back and brushes his hair off his eyes. Eyes that are looking at me with slight amusement. “Didn’t know you were into animals.”
When he turns those eyes warm, he looks so different.
Like I could actually spend time talking with him.
“I love them. My mom’s allergic to too many of them, though, so I just never had any of my own.” I settle back into my seat too. “I’d like a sloth, actually.”
“Yikes. That’s one of the reasons that we have rescue missions. The exotic pet trade is the largest illicit market in the world, after drugs and weapons.” Layth takes another sip. “That baby sloth you saw was a victim of attempted trafficking.”
“I didn’t really mean—” I stop and lift my latte to my lips instead of protesting. Because I actually did imagine having a sloth to come home to.
“So how long are you going to Ecuador for?” Khadija asks, breaking a piece of her croissant and holding it in her hand. She doesn’t look very enthused about eating it.
“For good.”
“Your family’s okay with that?”
I’m glad Khadija’s asking this, because I’ve been wondering this same thing, but after seeing that showdown with Uncle Bilal, I wouldn’t dare be so brave.
“My mom moved to England. She’s cool with it.” Layth shoots her that look.
It’s a don’t-ask-anything-else look.
My eyes are closed. Therefore my soul’s closed too.
“And your dad?”
Oh my God, Khadija asked another question.
“He’s awaiting trial for drunken driving. For killing my little brother two years ago. So I don’t give a shit what he thinks.”
I don’t move a muscle.
Beside me, Khadija doesn’t either.
“I’m so sorry, Layth.” Khadija sets the croissant piece down into the bag it came from. “That’s terrible.”
“I know,” he says. “But it’ll be okay when I get to Ecuador. I mean, I’ll be okay.”
I nod. “I’m sorry too,” I offer in a small voice. My heart feels like it’s been slammed against a wall.
“You know what the funny thing is? My dad was a cook in a halal restaurant. That’s what he did,” Layth says. “And when the news came out about the crash, some people were more upset that they’d been going to a drunken guy’s restaurant than they were about my brother.”
Khadija shakes her head. “That’s terrible.”
“One of the many reasons I need to get away from here.” He leans back again and tilts his head so that the top of it is touching the wall behind him. “But Muhsin’s buried in Detroit. So I gotta come back and see him.”
The embroidered name on the scout neckerchief comes to me. Muhsin.
I check Layth’s face, still tilted up, and see that his expression’s stoic. “How old was he?”
“Eight.”
Khadija sighs sadly. “Allah yarhamu. Same age as Dawud.”
Now I know why Layth cried about the handkerchief. He thought I was saying it’s special because it was Muhsin’s.
But I’d just been thinking everything he’s going to live on is in a single backpack, so whatever’s in there must be either a necessity or special.
“Making dua can help ease your pain,” Khadija offers gently. “It’s helped so many people in their darkest hours. And God does not give us a burden we cannot bear.”
Khadija’s offering the teaching most Muslims learn from when we’re very young. Which Layth probably already knows.
“I don’t know what I believe in anymore, to be honest.” Layth straightens his head and looks at us. “He was a little kid. And it shattered my mom. I don’t think she knew how to live on. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m usually not like this. I think it’s just being around family again.”
I nod, having no words to say for such unimaginable pain. In the time of my biggest pain, Dr. Lloyd helped me through it. “Have you thought of, um, counseling?”
“Been through it. That’s why I’m going to Ecuador. It came as a result of counseling. It’s my life-purpose action plan.” He sits up, like what he said just now is giving him fuel. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you guys get back?”
“Yeah.” I nod, relieved he looks more uplifted. “I’m helping organize the kids tomorrow for their parts, and we didn’t get to practice today.”
Khadija turns to me. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Sarah asked if you could help Dawud with his flower ceiling in the morning as well. He needs help putting it together.”
I’m about to groan, but then I nip that in the bud quickly—groaning about helping a kid the same age as Layth’s brother who passed away. “Okay.”
I drink the last of my latte, and, when I lower the cup, I notice Layth has stood up and has already started moving to the door, his head bent over his phone. His movements are more confident and determined, the opposite of how he’d come into the doughnut shop.