Nuah’s tilted away a bit and gazing toward the water. “Assalamu alaikum.”
I have to answer that. It’s a greeting of peace. “Walaikum musalam?”
“No, I mean that, Janna. I want us to both stand on peaceful grounds when we’re around each other. I don’t want you to feel anything except okay when you’re talking to me.” He clears his throat and swallows. “And I hope we’ll talk to each other. Ummah-wise, you know? Because I care about you. And I always will.”
I’m just going to be transparent. I have nothing to lose. “Then why were you so distant from me? From the moment you came up here?”
“Because I was caught up in this thing with Sumayyah, and then, the more I realized that you were interested in me, the more scared I got. So yeah, I retreated from it all.”
“I wish you’d just texted me before.” I won’t dissolve, I tell myself. “To tell me about her. Like a friend would.”
“I should have.” He looks right at me, before looking down at his feet. “I’m really sorry. It doesn’t make sense how I acted. I think I just completely pushed it out of my mind, the possibility of me and you, and so it was easy to not involve you in what was happening. Maybe it was a coping mechanism—to keep you out of it.”
I think about that. I just took it for granted Nuah would always be there. Which was my fault.
“It’s okay,” I say. “You weren’t the only one who did that. Keeping people away. Maybe I’m the one who should really say sorry first.”
For taking you for granted.
“Sorry.” It comes out of us at the exact same time, with the same somber inflection, which makes us both laugh.
Even though, inside, I’m hurting.
“Are we on peaceful ground? As friends? Salaam?” Nuah asks, a smile left over from laughing still on his face.
I’m glad that I’m able to say in a steady voice, because it’s so true, “Yes. Always, insha’Allah.”
It’s only at the end of saying it that emotions rise, and I need to swallow the lump filling my throat. And though it’s hard, I know I have to apologize for something else. “And I’m sorry for not seeing the way my dad was. The way he is. I guess that makes me a part of his problem—to be able to close my eyes to it all.”
He nods. “There’s more going on than what you see. Or think. Microaggressions are hella hard to put a finger on if no one’s paying attention.”
And I’d thought it only happened out there—from non-Muslims to Muslims—and so I failed to see it right under my nose. I tear up again. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me, though. Hey, I got my job at my dream company that I’m returning to on Monday.”
And you’ve got Sumayyah to look forward to, too. “And a roommate who’ll supply you with Haribo halal gummy bears for the rest of your life,” I add, feigning jealousy on my teary face.
He breaks out in a smile at that, a genuine Nuah smile, and a wish for him blooms in my heart: that he find happiness on his road ahead—even if it’s with Sumayyah.
So I’m able to give him a real smile back.
* * *
“When you consider the potency of Muhammad’s unsocked feet, it’s troubling,” Nuah announces on the gazebo stage.
Oh man, I realize before I add my part, we sound like the ’Arrys, who Sarah had so not wanted to have at the wedding. How did this make sense to me and Nuah before? “But when you consider he takes a biannual approach to showering, it makes sense!”
When I look up from reading that out from my phone, I see Muhammad doubling over in laughter. Okay, this was a good call. To dish out humor at his level.
And, in a way, Muhammad got what he wanted all along: a blue-and-yellow wedding featuring bad humor.
Nuah and I go on and on, and there are a lot of groans and cringes from the audience, and squealing laughter from the laddoos.
And then we’re done. But I don’t get off the stage. I add one more that I do on my own.
“When you consider the relentless kindness of Muhammad, it’s awwww. But when you consider he’s the best brother in all the land, someone whose footsteps I wanna follow, one of the purest souls I know, you just wish him the most beautiful life possible in this life and the next.” Then I get off and go hug my brother.
* * *
Afterward, there’s a dabke that starts small with just a few of Sarah’s relatives—including Haytham near the lead of the line dance—but which begins to pick up guests as the drumming becomes livelier. Pretty soon, Thomas, Jeremy, and Nuah are holding hands with Sarah’s dad and uncles and cousins, trying to keep up with their steps, and I’m marveling at how this weekend all the various parts of my universe have collided into one.
Auntie Rima is smiling huge, clapping her hands to the beat of the dabke, and seated beside her, Auntie Razan winks at me like, See? There’s so much joy here.
* * *
Layth and I sit in the back row of chairs, watching the dance and the groups of people taking pictures with Muhammad and Sarah in the gazebo. We already did our family pictures, so now I’m pointing out everyone I know to Layth, who nods in between looking at his phone.
“You said you want to see videos I upload when I get to Ecuador. What about some I already did?” He passes me his phone.
It’s a younger Layth, with super-short hair and a more innocent look about him. He’s smiling at the camera with a gray baby monkey attached to his arm. The monkey’s reaching for his black leather cord necklace, trying to chew on the round pendant hanging from it.
I wonder what the pendant is and whether he’s wearing it now, but I’m too shy to look.
I say cute, and he tells me about the monkey, how her mom was shot and she was saved from being sold as an exotic pet and brought to the sanctuary and how she was so clingy.
“This was Muhsin’s favorite animal at the place, so I uploaded a ton of videos for him.” He takes his phone back. “The way it is in my head is that he watched this one before he died. ’Cause I’d just uploaded it the week before.”
“He must have.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m just happy to hear him tell me something about his brother.
“Here, this isn’t one of my videos, but I thought you’d like to see this guy.”
“Aw, a sloth!” I watch the sloth slowly stick his head out of an animal carry case set on the forest floor and, as if starring in a slow-motion movie, grasp the mossy reedlike tree in front of his cage and climb. His head rotates in mellow motions as he climbs higher. It’s like he wants to take in—and consider—everything around him.
“It’s a release-day video. After being treated at the sanctuary, he’s ready to be on his own again.”
I’m so enamored with this sloth and his handsome eyes and gentle appreciation for the world around him. I press pause on the video, my black-nail-polished fingers enlarging the picture to look at the sloth’s cute eyes. “Can anyone go there? To this place to volunteer?”
“Yeah, why? Would you want to?” He turns to me, his eyes wide. Surprised. Happy.