“My parents don’t like the idea of me staying here, where Muhammad is, before the nikah.” She begins to make a face but then clears it. “It’s okay—I should listen to them. Not get them upset before the wedding. I mean, more upset.”
“But don’t they know you’re staying in the barn guesthouse?”
“It doesn’t matter. They don’t like us being in the vicinity of each other overnight without being nikahfied.” She grabs the chair Khadija was sitting in, folds it, and tucks it under her arm.
We follow her quietly until we reach the patio. Then she puts the chair against a pile of others leaning against the house and shrugs. “It’s okay. I’ll check myself into that hotel your mom’s at. And then I’ll make sure to get here first thing in the morning.”
“If it’s the Orchard hotel, Nuah and I already have a room there. Maybe you can just stay with me, and Nuah can stay in the… is it really a barn?” Khadija asks, curiosity flickering on her face in the patio light.
“Really? That would work. But first check with Nuah if it’s okay? It’s much nicer than a barn. Loft bedrooms, just no bathrooms.” Sarah turns to me. “And check with your dad, too, of course.”
I nod, not sure how to feel about this new development. Nuah is going to be staying here?
It makes me feel excited but also weird, because of the potential of him seeing me in my pj’s. Which are really old, preteeny clothes that aren’t flattering.
“I’ll ask Haytham to drive us to the hotel, after Maghrib.” Sarah pulls on the patio door and steps aside to let Khadija in.
The hotel.
Mom.
Uncle Bilal.
I stop Sarah before she goes in after Khadija. “I can drive you guys, if Haytham’s okay with me borrowing his car again. I’ll stop by and see Mom again too. I didn’t get my clothes for the wedding from her before.”
“You going to be okay driving back alone?” Sarah asks, her face wearing a slight frown. “I don’t like it. You alone in the dark on those roads. I’ll ask Haytham.”
“But I’d like to see my mom.” I think. “Wait. What if I text Muhammad to wait for me before coming back from town? And then I can follow him?”
Sarah nods, and we pass the kitchen where Dad and Linda’s live-in help, Florence, is cleaning up, and go downstairs to pray Maghrib.
Perfect. Now I get to see Mom and Nuah in town.
* * *
I’m dropping Sarah off at the hotel. So I’m coming back to see you Mom!♥
Perfect. I can’t wait sweetums! And we changed our dinner to later, at 9:30. So join us at the hotel restaurant okay?
Oh.
Is that okay? We can talk after. Just us two.
But I’m going to need to come back here before it’s too late.
I can make sure dinner is quick.
I shake the feeling of Mom possessiveness that the message activates in my heart and, instead, try to fill it with happy thoughts. Nuah is here! We’re going to have fun at the wedding!
It doesn’t work.
Mom takes up a different chamber in my heart, impenetrable by Happy Nuah Thoughts.
I really don’t have that much time. I frown and add, So it’s okay, I won’t come.
There’s a pause before she replies.
Oh, then I’ll cancel the dinner.
I stare at my phone, satisfaction at her answer quelling the weirdness rising in me just a moment ago. Do I reply with Great! See you soon?
I start typing it and then pause and scroll up to our texts now.
My insecurity shows big time.
And I hate that.
Why do Uncle Bilal and his family have to be so disruptive?
I can just imagine Mom’s face falling at the fact that she can’t go through with her plans.
Janna, she just wants to meet up with an old friend and laugh about the good old days. Like if you grew up, and Thomas, Soon-Lee’s boyfriend, showed up with their kids, graying at his temples, and you wanted to find out what he’d been up to all these years.
Sighing, I erase Great! See you soon!
No, it’s okay! I’ll meet you at the restaurant! Love you.
Because I do love her.
Maybe too much.
Chapter Ten
All through Maghrib prayer a thought keeps beginning to interrupt me before I shut it down repeatedly because I’m praying: If Nuah thinks I’m hard to get, then—
When Haytham, who’s leading us in salat, says salaam to end the prayer, I let the rest of the thought invade: If Nuah thinks I’m hard to get, then who will tell him I’m not?
Well, besides me—but it’s not going to be me. Because the minute I saw him, and his cool, chill self, my brave intention to reveal my feelings to him in person retreated.
Add to that the zoolike conditions around us, with little kids crying over ice cream and a big brother bent on ruining such delicate matters, and there’s no way this is going to turn out well.
I need a new plan. I need someone to help me.
I turn to Sarah beside me. She’s already started making dhikr.
On the other side of her, Khadija, who’d been praying in a chair, has already started sunnah prayer.
I wait until Sarah’s finished her tasbih and then touch her arm. And point to the stairs.
I don’t know if this is a good idea, but maybe Sarah, with her clipboards, can help me out with a new plan.
* * *
“So you’re the one who’s hard to get for Nuah?” Sarah asks, crammed into the cleaning supplies closet in the kitchen with me. It smells like bleach.
I nod. “Because I never show my hand. So I guess he doesn’t know how I feel?”
Sarah cracks up at that for some reason. “Sorry, it’s just funny the way you nodded just now. So solemnly. Like it’s not love we’re talking about.”
“Oh,” I say, wondering how you nod at something that important without being solemn. “I mean, it’s a tricky situation. Maybe that’s why I’m being serious.”
“No, it’s not. It’s beautiful! Nuah, the amazing guy that he is, likes you, Janna! And you, amazing you, like him back. How’s that not the best thing?”
“Sh, keep your voice down!” I hiss at her. I open the closet a crack and see Florence’s back as she wraps up food. She’s got her headphones on like usual—she’s big into podcasts—and seems to be the only one in the kitchen, so I think we’re okay.
“Janna.” Sarah starts giggling again. “It’s so hilarious. Your face.”
“Will you stop, please?”
“Can you lighten up, then? It’s fun that you found out someone you like is into you. It’s not an exam, Janna.”
“He liked me first. And he’d text me wondering if I was ready. But I wasn’t then, and now I feel like I am.”
“Aw, that’s the sweetest.” She stares at me for a minute and then bursts into laughter again.
“What?”
“Your face is that way again. Like you’re facing a firing squad.” She stops laughing suddenly. “I’m sorry. I forgot what it was like to be seventeen and unsure about love.”
“Yeah, especially because you were dating then. And had lots of experience,” I add with my eyebrows raised. I found out a couple of years ago that Sarah, who I used to call Saint Sarah due to her ultra-religiosity, had actually been a different Sarah before she moved to Eastspring and took over the mosque’s youth committee. That’s why I’d opened up to her about the things I was going through back then—and I guess now, too.