It’s full of guests waiting for people to bring cars up, so I’m able to disappear into the crowd and go stand by the front door, with my back against the brick of the house, wondering why I feel so down suddenly.
After a bit, I see Dania and Lamya going to their car. I’ll see them tomorrow at the hotel—we made plans to eat breakfast together before checking out.
I better go into the house and pack up the stuff in my bedroom.
But I don’t go in.
I know what I’m doing: I’m waiting to see Layth drive off.
But it’s not happening.
I move to the corner of the porch, where it wraps around the side that faces the driveway, and stick my head out a bit to check if his car’s still there.
It is.
And he is.
He’s still leaning against the car, looking at something in his hands. Something he’s turning over and over, his head tilted like he’s considering something.
I step onto the side porch and pretend I just came upon him. “Oh, you’re still here!”
He looks up, and I swear his entire face lights up. I’m not imagining it. “Hey, I was just thinking of coming to find you.”
“Really, for what?” Maybe I’m lighting up too.
“ ’Cause I wanted to give you this. I’m selling my car in Miami, and I stuck this on the dashboard to remind me of Merazonia, the animal rescue. So I peeled it off.” He takes a few steps and reaches over the porch railing to pass me a plastic frame with a picture of a woolly monkey in it. The back of the frame has an adhesive band on it. “It’s not a sloth, but maybe it’ll still make you interested in volunteering?”
“Aw. Is it the same monkey in your video?” I look at it to see any distinguishing features, but I can’t tell.
“Yup.”
“Thanks. I think it will remind me of volunteering,” I say, my mind jumping leaps and bounds ahead. Maybe I can go next summer. Or even during the Christmas holidays.
“So it was a good idea. To give it to you.”
I nod. And we look at each other for a few seconds, and then he turns around to go to the car. He gets in, starts the engine, rolls down the window, and says salaam.
I just nod again, and then he’s gone.
But I don’t feel sad like I did before—because now I have a woolly monkey picture that I’m going to stick onto the dashboard of the car Muhammad’s passing down to me before he leaves for California.
It’ll remind me of the animal rescue.
And other things.
Part Four
SUNDAY, JULY 18
SENDING THE BRIDE & GROOM OFF
To do:
Love
Chapter Thirty-Nine
We’re in the water. Tats, Dania, Lamya, and me.
I’m pretty sure the Orchard’s pool has never seen so many burkinis at once. Dania’s and Lamya’s aren’t technically burkinis, because they’re in tracksuits, but Tats and I are in full Muslim swimwear.
Tats is finally having her Lindsay Lohan moment and even has her big hair stuffed into the attached cap on her head. Though we arrived late to the hotel last night, she convinced everyone to agree to a swim before breakfast.
“Promise we’ll go swimming again in our burkinis this summer?” Tats asks me as she floats on her back.
“For sure.” I float, gazing at the gray ceiling. “Though I’m going to need to order a new one. One that doesn’t fall off,” I add, giggling as I remember my introduction to Haytham.
“Oh my God, you should order this same one I’m wearing!” Tats lifts her head and yells out to Dania and Lamya, “Guys, Janna’s going to order the same burkini as mine! Like you guys are!”
“I am?”
“Yeah, and we can do synchronized burkini swimming! Maybe to that mehndi song? Do a TikTok in the water?” Tats nods, like we’re set. And then she smiles. “Ah. I feel so free in this thing.”
I let out a laugh.
I’m so glad I have Tats in my life.
* * *
Breakfast at the Glade is a quiet symphony of clinks of cutlery until our entourage arrives. It’s Tats and Dania who are the loudest—discussing the possibility of Mystic Lake being a mini Area 51 because of a vast space devoid of trees they both glimpsed—while Uncle Bilal and Mom walk behind them, amused, and Lamya and I follow exchanging memes on our phones that we can’t figure out but are too afraid to ask anyone.
After we get our food from the buffet, Mom sits right beside me. Uncle Bilal is still at the toaster waiting for his toast to pop, so I lean over and say, “I charge chaperoning fees, remember.”
She laughs and says, “Don’t worry—ours will be a long-distance arrangement. Though I hope it’s okay, I invited them to come meet us in September in Chicago? When I drive you to settle in at college? Uncle Bilal’s going to bring the girls from New York for school too, and I thought we could have dinner together and do something.”
I nod. And then lean over and put my head on her shoulder, like always. “Layth says he’s really nice. Uncle Bilal,” I say low, just so she can hear, and then look up at her. “And I liked hearing him say that.”
“Thank you,” she whispers. She pauses before adding, “Then maybe you’ll be okay if we decide on a nikah date?”
Uncle Bilal is coming over with his breakfast plate and bowl, his eyes crinkling as he smiles down at his oatmeal.
“Yes,” I tell Mom, straightening up. “Really, why wait for your breakfast dreams to start?”
She laughs and gives me a side-hug.
Dania brings her plate loaded with potatoes to sit on the other side of me, and when Mom passes a piece of her omelet for Uncle Bilal to taste, Dania looks at me, a slightly concerned expression on her face, like You okay with this? Our parents into each other?
I shrug and smile at her. She’ll know soon enough.
My heart feels pretty ready to make my world bigger.
* * *
Muhammad and Sarah come by to say good-bye before they leave for their “little” honeymoon to Niagara Falls (Muhammad’s idea) before the real one they’re taking next year (Malaysia and Thailand), with Dad and his family following in their SUV. We’re all out at the front of the hotel, and it almost becomes a bawl-fest when Logan realizes that everyone’s leaving.
He runs toward the hotel doors, all the while heaving dramatically.
I channel Haytham, go after him, get down on my knees, and tell him that when I come back, I’m going to make cupcakes with him, so if he cries now, he’s acting like I’m not coming back, and that’s not true, is it?
He shakes his head. “Can we make the same cupcakes that Haytham made?”
“Yup, I’m going to get his recipe.”
“And the same frosting?”
“The same everything.”
He shudders once more, swallows, and nods, satisfied, and then holds my hand so that we can walk back to the others.
Sarah lets out a big whoop from where she’s clustering with Dania, Lamya, and Mom, her phone out in her hands. “Haytham won the Muslim Voice!”
Oh my God, he won!