“That’s not good?”
He nudges Bambi away from a tree she’s stopped to sniff. His voice is cool when he says, “I don’t trust my uncle.”
His statement holds a note of finality, but I can’t let it go. “Because…?”
“Because he is disgraceful. He will do anything to gain the money and power my baba earned honorably. I worry his influence will be bad for Aamir.”
“Bad how?”
He sighs, like the subject drains him. “The day we met—our ocean swim? That morning, I read an email from my brother. He wrote about the people he’s met since moving in with my uncle. They are not good people.”
Audrey’s voice echoes in my head: I think you should stay away from him. A shiver skitters up my spine. “What do you mean, not good?”
Mati starts walking again. In a clipped tone, he says, “Elise, I’d rather not talk about it.”
I have to hurry to keep up with his long strides.
He stays quiet for the duration of a block, though my mind is anything but. I think in frantic circles, of the Afghans responsible for Nick’s death. Of my mom’s warnings, her mention of stones and prison and lynchings. Of Audrey’s distrust, her disgust. Of my innate confidence where Mati is concerned.
I can’t decide if I’m right, or if my family’s right, or if right falls somewhere in the middle, in that gray area between their intolerance and my suddenly smitten heart. Is my acceptance of what Mati tells me about life in Afghanistan the same as naiveté? The same as oblivion?
No. He might be from a place known for violence, a place with a seemingly endless history of war, a place that’s different from America, but I have to believe he’s everything good about Afghanistan: cultured and complex, rugged and beautiful.
I have to believe we’re connected, the way Nicky once talked about.
As we make our way up the sidewalk, nearer and nearer my yard, Mati’s posture begins to relax, and I’m starting to feel better, calmer, once again sure of the rightness of my choices, my instincts—until Bambi recognizes our gate and gives an unexpected jerk toward it, yanking Mati forward. I reach out to grab his elbow, stopping his forward motion.
“Bambi, heel!”
She listens, sort of, because now she’s an easy trot to the gate and there’s slack in her leash. She waits in front of it, wagging her tail expectantly like, Open it already.
My fingers are still wrapped around Mati’s elbow.
I snatch my hand back, but he’s noticed the contact and he’s staring at me, mouth open, like he’s not sure who I am or how he came to be standing on the sidewalk with me.
“I’m sorry.” My face is sweltering and I’m sure he notices and why did I touch him?
He rubs his arm, the spot my hand vacated, like the ghost of my fingerprints linger there.
“Elise,” a friendly voice calls. “Hello, sweetie!”
Iris, manning her side of the hedge like a freaking sentry.
“Hey,” I say. Bambi howl-barks.
“Hello, precious dog,” she singsongs before eyeing Mati. “Who’s this?”
“Oh, sorry,” I say, opening our gate and pushing through. I worry about how my mother will react if she spots Mati in our yard, but I hold the gate open so he can follow—it’d be rude not to. I manage something resembling an introduction, praying Mom doesn’t dig out of her library and glance through the window. “Anyway, Mati walked me home,” I finish lamely.
“I’m happy to meet you, Iris,” Mati says, his impeccable manners amplified in the presence of an old person.
“Ryan,” Iris calls. “Come say hello to Elise and her friend.”
She wanders across the yard to resume pruning as he emerges from the back. He’s wearing a faded A&M T-shirt and a backward baseball cap, plus what I’m starting to think is a hallmark smile. “Hey, neighbor,” he says, wiping soil-caked hands on his jeans. “Long time, no see.”
“Yeah. Like, a whole day? You must be a master weed-puller by now.”
“Something like that,” he says, still grinning. His gaze shifts from me to Mati. He makes no effort to hide his curiosity. And so, I muddle through another round of introductions.
“Welcome to Cypress Beach,” Mati says, his politeness waning just slightly. “How long will you be in town?”
“Through the middle of August. I head back to Texas on the tenth.”
Mati tilts his head. “The tenth is when I leave for Kabul.”
“No shit?” Ryan exclaims. “I’ve gotta say, another month in this town would be insufferable if I didn’t have Elise to hang out with. And speaking of Elise,” he says, swinging his attention to me. “Uh, why didn’t you tell me about the MLI?”
The Military Language Institute, in Cypress Valley. It’s a language school for service members. My brother considered it but decided he’d rather start his career sooner than later. All I know about the MLI is that it’s open to all branches, and that students move to Cypress Valley to attend full-time, living in barracks on campus while immersing themselves in whatever language their aptitude tests and future job assignments point them toward. I remember Nick talking about the barracks and what a drawback they were; with the exception of a legit deployment, he didn’t want to be anywhere Audrey wasn’t.
I squint at Ryan. “Why do you care about the MLI? Planning to ditch A&M to enlist?”
“I care because it’s a wealth of possibility.” He gives me a frisky smile, winking all provocatively. “I’m looking for the next best thing, if you know what I mean.”
“I do,” I say, laughing.
I catch Mati surveying me, brow lifted in a revelatory way. Abruptly, he says, “I should go.”
“Nah,” Ryan says. “Hang out.”
Mati shakes his head. “I need to get home.” He looks at me again, questioningly, dejectedly, and it hits me—he thinks Ryan’s into me. Or maybe he thinks I’m into Ryan?
“I’ll see you out,” I say, a gratuitous gesture because we’re already out, but I need a minute alone with him.
I let Bambi off her leash to roam the yard, and then I follow Mati through the gate and onto the sidewalk. We move a few steps away from Iris’s house, clear of her supersonic hearing.
“Thanks for walking me home,” I say.
He pushes his hands into his pockets, his ocher eyes dull. “You’re welcome.” In a strained voice, he adds, “Thank you for introducing me to Ryan.”
It’s hard not to smile because, God, he is jealous. It’s cute, and complimentary, and so, so unnecessary. “There’s a reason he’s all fired up about the MLI, you know. There are a lot of guys at that school, which is what he was referring to with his ‘wealth of possibility’ comment.”
Mati’s eyes widen. “I’m … surprised. He seems to like you.”
“Yeah, because I’m awesome. But I assure you, he doesn’t like me.”
He gives me a smile that reads like relief. I resist attempting to analyze its implications.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay?”
“Thank you for explaining.”
“Thank you for listening.”
“I’ll see you and Bambi tomorrow at the beach?”
Now I’m smiling, too. “We’ll be there.”
MATI
We take walks for the next seven days, meeting at the beach after prayer, after sunrise.
There are no more inquiries about Ryan’s motives, or questions about my extremist-leaning uncle, but there is talk of everything else.
She tells me about her plan to attend the San Francisco Art Institute.
She cannot wait to return to the vibrant city.
She makes me want to travel there, too.
I learn about her vintage camera collection, her mother’s bout with writer’s block, her sister-in-law and their unwavering bond.
I learn more about her brother,
and begin to appreciate his enduring spirit.
She talks about how she loves to eat sweets, fitting, because her voice is honeyed, and she smells of vanilla.
She tells me she hates mushrooms: “So gross, Mati! They taste like dirt!”
And then, she shares a story about dandelions and her little niece.
They blow on magical blossoms,
sending seeds and wishes into the breeze.
It is my favorite of all her stories.
She makes me laugh,
and sometimes,
when she smiles,