And… is that excited?
“I don’t know. Maybe sometime in the future… It just seems peaceful. And important.”
“That’s why I’m going back. That’s what I was talking to your uncle about. I read his whole article on the environment that he just posted a few days ago, and even though I’ve heard it from other Muslim scholars before, it’s never like the way he wrote about it. He basically said it’s one of the most important fights for all of us.” He stops speaking and looks at Amu, who’s talking to Mom and Auntie Ameera and Auntie Maysa in the aisle just a bit ahead of us. “Besides, it’s the last thing that’s keeping me believing. Nature, and how perfect it is.”
“Yeah, my uncle’s always been an environmentalist. He says there’s no escaping the environmental messages in the Qur’an. It’s a Muslim thing.”
“Then why are Muslims some of the worst when it comes to the planet? Why are there so many illegal animal trade hotspots in the Middle East? Have you seen the disgusting videos?”
“Okay, sorry, I shouldn’t say it’s a Muslim thing,” I clarify. “It’s an Islam thing.”
If I defined my faith by the evil that some Muslims do, I wouldn’t follow it. Like the monster who assaulted me.
Who thought he was a great Muslim, even after attacking me.
But I know the opposite is true too. I can define my faith by the amazing things some Muslims do. Like Amu and Muhammad and Sarah and Khadija, who, because she wouldn’t let Layth go driving off upset, got him to come back… and now I’m so happy he did.
Something about sitting here with him is therapeutic. Like when I sat by the water yesterday in my sari.
Like Layth had been sitting by the water—when I really met him for the first time.
Maybe it’s because we’re both introverts. And recharging like this, together, in the midst of a big wedding is what we both need. And it’s weird, but he’s the first person I find easy to talk with about “big” things. Like issues and topics I care about but would only share with the paper I wrote essays on before.
That I wouldn’t really say out loud to the world or my friends, even.
No one—not Tats, not Nuah, not even Sausun.
I glance at Layth, and he glances at me right at that moment.
“Janna, come on.” Tats is in the aisle, walking over to us, her hand in Jeremy’s behind her. “Muhammad wants us all in a picture. The Eastspring crowd.”
After I get up, I look at Layth. “Don’t go. Okay?”
“I won’t. Not yet.” He nods at me, and again he does it with his hair pushed off his eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
We take so many pictures—Sausun, her sister, Sandra, Ms. Kolbinsky, Soon-Lee, Thomas, Tats, Jeremy, Nuah, Khadija, and a bunch of people I don’t know that well who are friends of Muhammad’s and Sarah’s from the mosque. Mom’s friends, awaiting their turn, joke they’re going to turn off the floodlights set up to shine on the gazebo if we don’t stop hamming for the cameras.
We’re shifting and moving to shuffle off when Sarah yells, “Wait! Zayneb, you too, and get Dania and Lamya as well!”
Suddenly more people crowd the gazebo, including Layth, who Lamya brought with her.
Zayneb stands in front of the gazebo, before the steps, waiting for all of us to get ready.
“Why aren’t you coming up?” Sarah asks her.
“You guys done shifting?” Zayneb’s arms are crossed.
We all nod, some of us looking at others. In the short time I’ve known Zayneb, I’ve never heard her voice so stern.
“Okay, we’re coming.” She turns to her fiancé, who’s sitting in the front row of the guest seating, the cane he was using before leaning against the back of his chair. She helps him up by turning another chair around, so he can grab the back of it, and then gives him his cane. They make their way up the steps, Zayneb matching her speed to Adam’s.
“He’s got MS,” Lamya whispers to me.
“And Zayneb’s super protective of him right now,” Dania adds. “Because he just had an attack a couple weeks ago and he has to use a cane for a while.’ ”
We watch them get to the landing and take a spot near the front, making room beside Sarah.
* * *
People start leaving soon after.
Zayneb comes to say good-bye, and I talk to Adam for a bit. He says he likes the floral ceiling I helped make, and Zayneb tells me I should be proud as he’s an actual artist who does installations. After Zayneb reminds me to keep in touch, they go off together because Zayneb’s brother has come back to pick them up. Apparently, they’re all heading off on a road trip to California tomorrow to visit Adam’s friends.
Khadija also comes to say her good-byes. “So remember I told you about someone’s nutrition routine? Well, friend just posted an entire how-to on it. I’ll pass you her Instagram profile.”
She does it right then and there, sending me a link to Sumayyah’s profile via DM.
I nod, starting to call up my mantra—Wear a pretty dress, wear a glazed gaze, lock up—but I don’t need to finish it in my head.
I just nod at Khadija and embrace her tightly, promising to visit her when Maysarah’s born, thankful for her sweetness.
* * *
After hugging the Eastspring crew good-bye, except for Tats, who’s going to stay with Mom and me at the hotel and then drive back with us tomorrow, I’m about to find a spot to sit down when Dad shows up at my elbow.
“What did you think of the baklaburfi? I saw you and Bilal’s nephew eating it,” Dad says, bending down to pick up a napkin on the ground.
“It was good.” I’m unsure of how to respond to Dad. I don’t want a scene, and I don’t want to act like everything’s okay, either.
“I wanted to tell you that I got to know Nuah a bit more.” Dad crumples the napkin. “He’s a good kid.”
“Dad, he doesn’t like me. And I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What do you mean, he doesn’t like you?” Dad turns to me, surprised. “He’s studying engineering at Caltech.”
“Yeah?”
“Bilal’s nephew didn’t finish high school.”
I breathe in to calm down. “Dad, remember you said earlier that we’re going to talk about things at a better time? Maybe this isn’t a good time?”
Dad looks at me, and I can tell there’s turmoil happening inside him. “Look, what you said about me and Linda, how I thought that made sense, but not you and Nuah—how I thought that at first, I may add—got me thinking.”
I tilt my head and wait. He’s looking at the gazebo behind me, but his eyes are not still. They’re moving around like they’re searching for something. Maybe more careful words to say.
Which, in terms of growth from being prejudiced to not being prejudiced may be good? I don’t know.
But I wait.
“It got me thinking, because…” He suddenly looks down, sheepish.
I’ve never seen Dad look like that. Like humble. Ever. “Because I didn’t like it when I was treated like that myself. And that’s why I stay away from Linda’s family. I’ve never even met them, because of what happened with Mom’s family before. I just imagined it would happen again.”