“You’re kidding me, right?”
“No, I witnessed all those things.”
“No, you’re kidding me that he asked you to check if I’d be interested.”
“No, he actually did.”
She looks over at the gazebo. Haytham’s turning off his mic, and after he does, he glances right at Sausun’s face.
Well, at Sausun’s eyes, because that’s the only part of her face that’s visible.
She doesn’t say anything and just finishes drinking her pop.
I don’t speak either—because ’tis a fragile moment when Sausun doesn’t have anything to say back.
* * *
After Haytham sets up the sheets for Maghrib in the field behind the gazebo (one of his clipboard tasks), and after he gives the adhan, and after Amu leads salat for the guests who join, Sausun finally speaks as she’s putting on her Doc Martens and I’m putting on my open-toe, black summer-mesh boots, the shoes we removed for prayer.
“Tell Haytham to go back to his roots. Because that’s one beautiful adhan I just heard. Dare I say, almost as beautiful as one of Abdul Kareem’s nasheeds.”
“What would he find if he went back to his roots?” I ask playfully, zipping up the back of my second boot.
She straightens up. “He’d find a purity of purpose, by which he can see clearly the parts of the world that don’t last and the parts that do.”
“Oh my God, Sausun.” I shake my head. “The guy’s just asking if you’d be interested in getting to know him. He’s not trying to find a guru.”
“Have him declare his intentions to my father first. Who’s in South Africa at the moment. So he’d have to wait a month before we even exchange a word.” She looks at me. “Tell him I don’t play games. If he’s serious about finding out whether we work, he’ll find me serious. If he’s not, he won’t find me at all.”
I nod, ecstatic. And then I pull a total Tats. I lean in to hug her.
“Stop. It’s just a guy. Lose the drama,” Sausun commands, before walking back to where her sister’s waiting for her.
I’m about to run to Haytham when my phone pings.
Will you introduce me to your uncle? Just want to say salaam.
Layth.
I look up at the gazebo. Then to my sides.
Oh, wait, he means when he returns for a visit.
Sure. When do you come back again? To America?
You mean after I leave?
Yeah, after Tuesday.
Idk, maybe next summer?
Ok so next summer, I can introduce you.
You can’t introduce me now?
I look ahead and to my sides again, confused.
Then I turn around, and I see him by where the men are putting on their shoes.
He’s there in jeans and a gray suit jacket with a black CHEAP THRILLS T-shirt underneath.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
We sit at the table where I left Dad’s desserts.
He says he’s not hungry, but he’s interested in trying the baklaburfi because those are his two personal favorites from both cultures. He gets me to agree to split the piece with him.
He divides it neatly with a fork.
We agree to close our eyes and bite at the same time, so that we don’t see each other’s reactions, so that we just choose our own feelings on the baklaburfi.
But I open my eyes right away.
Because I want to see how he’s doing. If the sadness I saw when he drove away from the hotel is still raw on his face.
“Your brother asked me to help him drive the vans back from Chicago, so I went with him. Then when I got back here with the guests, I was going to leave. And I did leave. But then, when I stopped for a restroom break, I saw that you’d sent me your uncle’s site. And then I kept scrolling through all his stuff. For an hour, in a gas station diner. And then I thought about your brother being so nice, and your uncle, and, yeah, you.” He doesn’t look up when he speaks, just keeps seesawing a fork on the bump of an upside-down spoon. “And I had this thought: Let me go to this one wedding before I leave this place. So I drove back. Lucky for me, my uncle had a jacket he’d bought for me still in his car.”
“I’m glad you came back.” I don’t care that I said it so plainly.
“You are?” Now he looks up.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because now I can ask you why sloths are so bad as pets.”
“Still after sloths?” He laughs. “Hey, you want to know why I asked to follow you on Instagram right after we met?”
“Because I’m mysterious and compelling?”
“No, because you had a comeback that involved Che Guevara and education. And I was like, Who’s this nerd with an edge?”
“Do you want to know why I didn’t accept your follow request?” I say.
“Because you thought I was an asshole?”
“No, because I thought I’d never see you again.” I unzip my purse and take out my phone. Then I request to follow him.
He smiles again, but this time he does it after he clears his hair from his eyes, and I see that they’re not sad, his eyes.
They’re open. Like something—a shell, like Amu said?—might be breaking.
* * *
Amu hugs Layth when I introduce him as Uncle Bilal’s nephew, and add how much he likes Amu’s website.
As they’re talking, I look past them and see Nuah sitting with Khadija, Dania, and Lamya, on the steps to the gazebo. I’ve done a good job of avoiding him, and he’s done a good job of it too.
Hopefully, one day it won’t be like this between us.
I really pray it’s so.
I’m still trying not to think of the roast—which is scheduled to happen in ten minutes. Maybe Nuah will just recruit Haytham to do it with him.
Someone puts an arm around me, and as soon as I feel the gentleness of it, I know who it is.
I turn to Mom.
“He came back?” she whispers, indicating Layth with a tip of her head in his direction.
I nod, waiting for more, but she doesn’t say anything. Her eyes wander to the gazebo, to Nuah, so I take a deep breath.
“Mom, I can’t talk much about it now, but I wanted to tell you… just forget about me and”—I lean in to whisper—“Nuah. It’s a no-go.”
She draws away and looks at me in concern. “Oh no, are you okay? What happened?”
“Can you not ask about it now? I promise to tell you on our ride back home.”
In answer, she puts a hand on my back, and I let her rub it, grateful for it—all of it. The silent way she accepted my request, that she didn’t look over at Nuah again, and that now she’s just gently letting me know she cares.
Uh-oh, I see Haytham waving me to the gazebo.
It’s for the roast.
With Nuah.
* * *
Haytham looks at his clipboard. “So you guys are on right after my little cousins do their thing for Sarah. Right before Zayneb. You have about five minutes to prep if you want.”
Nuah and I stand behind the gazebo, in the space before the row of trees that surrounds Dad’s property. There are other people waiting for their turn onstage, and I’m surprised by how many of us there are.