* * *
After we get our makeup done quickly, Tats and I take a walk-through of the wedding grounds before more guests come.
Everything looks perfect.
The guests Muhammad drove are already seated in chairs, dressed in diverse cultural clothing, vibrant, bejeweled, and some understated, too. I get this surge of goose-bumpy happiness just seeing them there, waiting to witness Muhammad’s commitment to love Sarah. A smile immediately takes over my face, and I find myself leading Tats to mingle with everyone, moving between the rows, me saying salaam and introducing myself to each person, Tats following behind, waving happily, a big welcoming smile on her face.
“Janna!” Zayneb’s standing in the gazebo with a sheet of paper in her hands. She’s wearing the lengha she showed me a picture of before. It’s grayish mauve with gold beading, the full high-waisted skirt and the short top, and the chiffon shawl on her shoulders all in the same color—even her hijab matches it exactly. It’s just really elegant all around. I have to say, even though I’m not into the colors she’s into, Zayneb has really good taste in clothes. Like, I can see myself being okay wearing what she has on right now.
Or maybe it’s just the confident way she’s wearing it.
There’s a guy leaning back against the gazebo railing, his arms crossed. He’s got a pretty full beard and looks very close to Zayneb’s age. It must be Adam, Zayneb’s fiancé.
Tats and I finish saying hello to Muhammad’s guests and then walk between the sets of white chairs toward the gazebo.
“This is my brother, Mansoor. Mansoor, Janna and… sorry, forgot your name!” Zayneb says to Tats.
“I’m Tats. Short for Tatyana!” Tats says with a flourish to Mansoor, the guy with the full beard, who nods back.
“I’m just practicing my little roast of Sarah,” Zayneb says, which reminds me of—groan—my roast with Nuah. “It includes a slide show, so I brought a portable projector, and Mansoor’s helping me figure out how to use it.”
We hang around for a bit, fiddling with the projector, when Zayneb suddenly looks beyond me. Her expression changes, like actually transforms. Softened, lit up, buoyant.
Now that’s the look when sunny skies invade your entire self.
I glance behind me, and there’s a guy walking toward us with a cane, though he’s young. He’s kind of tall and thin, and looks like maybe he’s partly East Asian and white, and really handsome in a quiet, old-time-movie-star way. He’s in a trim suit, also grayish mauve, and when I notice the color, that’s when it hits me: This must be Adam.
“How did it go?” Zayneb asks, her voice rising as she goes down the gazebo steps to meet him.
He stops walking, and they talk a bit away from us, and just from the way they’re looking at each other, and the way their clothes match so perfectly, I know for certain that this really is Adam.
Tats and I exchange glances, our eyebrows rising at the same time. She leans over to me and says, “Why can’t you get yourself one of those?”
I poke her, and we slip off the other side of the gazebo to check in at the house before we have to work the guest sign-in table.
* * *
As soon as I come into the house, the first person I see is Dad. He and Linda are both trying to brush the laddoos’ hair, each tackling one of them, while Mom watches from near the kitchen island, smiling.
Dad turns around to me and says, with no ill feeling, “Janna! You look stunningly beautiful!”
I’m surprised, but I give him a weak smile. “You look good too. And you, too, Linda.”
“We were thinking that we’d all wait and see Muhammad come down first. You know, like the bride walking down? Sarah’s doing that with her family, so let’s receive our groom?” Dad puts the brush in his hand down on the counter and picks up Luke. “I want to get pictures.”
I nod, but I still don’t know how to handle Dad, so I turn to the glass sliding doors. The guests are chatting happily with one another in the distance, and I kind of wish I was mingling with them again. There’s no tension over there.
Mom clears her throat. “Haroon.”
I turn from the door, surprised at Dad’s name coming from Mom’s lips. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it.
“Do you want to go up and walk Muhammad down? With Janna?” Mom looks at Dad and then at the stairs.
And a photograph blooms in my head.
It’s a photograph Mom has hanging in our apartment, right outside her bedroom. Of Dad and Mom sitting on top of the stairs at their first house, the one they had before I was born, with a toddler Muhammad sitting between them. His hands were resting on both their knees in trust, and sometimes when Mom would look at that picture, she’d tear up, but she’d always tell me it was from happiness.
“Shouldn’t it just be you and Dad, Mom?” I say, thinking of that photo. “And Linda, too—the parents? And I can take the pictures of you all coming down?”
“No, you three would be beautiful,” Linda says, nodding her head encouragingly. “Muhammad will like that.”
“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Dad’s voice is hesitant.
“Yes.” Linda reaches over to take Luke from him and looks at me, her voice certain. “Janna, go. I’ll join in on the photos when you all get down here.”
“I can take the pictures!” Tats says. “And Logan can help me, right, Logan?”
He nods and lets Tats lift him onto a chair so he can see the camera set up on a tripod, and I follow Dad and Mom upstairs.
Chapter Thirty-Four
We wait outside Muhammad’s door in silence, me close to Mom.
Dad suddenly turns around completely to me. “Janna, I’m sorry.”
I’m so caught off guard that I freeze.
Mom looks at me, confusion on her face.
“We don’t have time to talk now. But please, let’s make time.” He turns back to Muhammad’s door. “I don’t want this day to be a bad memory for you and me.”
I nod. And whisper to Mom, “I’ll tell you later.”
After the wedding, I promise myself.
And it won’t be just telling.
The door opens, and Muhammad, in a royal blue tuxedo that actually looks really nice on him, jumps back, frightened. “Oh my God! What are you guys doing? You almost gave me a heart attack! On my wedding day!”
Mom, Dad, and I laugh at his hyperbole and also his face.
“We came up to walk the groom down,” I say. “You have to position yourself between Mom and Dad, and I’ll walk behind you all.”
But when we take the first step, a tsunami of bittersweetness pours into my heart, and I can’t move. Maybe it’s the fact that when Muhammad takes those steps down the stairs, he’s actually moving on to his new life.
“Janna!” Muhammad, now at the top of the stairs, looks back at me. “What are you doing?”
“You realize you’re moving away, right?” I lift my hands to my face.
I can’t cry My makeup.
“Yeah, you mean like how I moved away for college?” His voice is playful.