“Oh, Elise. Think of Audrey.”
“Think of me!” It’s all streaming out of me at once—the grief and the anger I’ve kept on lockdown over the last three years, along with the resentment I’ve felt since Mom insisted on moving to Cypress Beach. “It’s thanks to you I’m stuck in this town,” I say, pointing a finger in her face. “It’s thanks to you I met Mati.”
She sets her mouth in a firm line. Her arms are crossed and her shoulders are squared; she’s exhaling puffs of air in quick succession, like an angry bull. She was like this after Nick died: insensitive to anyone’s needs but her own, paranoid, and so distressed, depressed, years passed before she could write again.
She’s afraid—stupidly afraid.
“I mean it,” she says, callous, as if I haven’t spoken at all. “I want you to stay away from him.”
elise
I spend the afternoon holed up in my room, editing the photos from Sacramento.
They’re good, with the exception of the one Mati snapped of me. The fault’s not his; technically, the picture is fine. He framed it well, setting me slightly left of center to capture an American flag undulating on a tall flagpole in the background, and the way the afternoon light hits my face has a softening effect. Too bad my expression is all sorts of dopey.
I’m trying to figure out a way to crop myself out altogether when the doorbell chimes. Bambi barks, claws clicking against the hardwood as she does her doorbell dance. I wait, listening, hoping my monster mom will emerge from her library to answer. Lo and behold, she does. I catch a few hints of murmured conversation before she calls, “Elise!”
Her tone is saccharine-sweet, so the visitor’s not Mati. I smooth my ponytail as I make my way to the foyer. There’s Ryan, all smiles. Bambi’s practically mauling him.
“Hey, neighbor,” he says, nudging my dog away. “I need a milkshake. Show me where to get one?”
“Um…?”
“She’d love to,” Mom says. Her expression asserts be nice. Of course she’s all pleasantries with Ryan. I bet she thinks she can drag him into heterosexuality, just like she thinks she can drag me away from Mati. “There’s a diner in town, The Hamlet. Their milkshakes are to-die-for. Aren’t they, Elise?”
I frown. “They’re average.”
“Average works,” Ryan says. He looks around suspiciously, like he thinks our cottage might be bugged. He whispers, “I need to get out for a while. Gram wants to teach me to knit.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“It’s not funny,” he says, bumping his glasses up his nose. “Plus … I met someone. Come with me, and I’ll fill ya in on the details.”
“Okay, yeah. I could go for a milkshake.” The Hamlet and gossip about Ryan’s love life are a thousand times better than being trapped in the cottage, stewing over how my mom acted on the sidewalk earlier.
“Have fun!” she calls, waving us out the door.
When we arrive at The Hamlet, we claim seats at the end of the counter and order shakes: Oreo for Ryan, coconut for me.
“Okay,” I say, swiveling in my stool as we wait for our drinks. “Let’s hear about this new prospect of yours.”
His smile is immediate. “His name’s Xavier. We met at the library. I was trying to escape Gram, and he was studying. He’s in the air force.”
“Your interest in the MLI paid off, then?”
His smile turns sly. “He’s a student there, studying Portuguese. They sent him right after boot camp. He’s got another six months before he graduates and gets an assignment.”
“So he’s smart?”
“Totally. And hot. Gram met him the other night. I introduced him as a friend—which he is, but you know. Anyway, she hasn’t stopped talking about how great he is.”
“Does he know you’re here short term?”
“Yeah, and it’s cool ’cause he’s short term, too.” He pauses as a waitress serves our milkshakes. He thanks her, pops straws into our glasses, then takes a gigantic gulp of his shake. After wiping his mouth with a napkin, he says, “Who knows what’ll happen, but for now, we’re caught up in that phase where everything’s new and glorious.” He pokes me with his elbow, waggling his eyebrows. “You know what I mean, right?”
I swirl my straw through my shake, mixing in the whipped cream, and shrug noncommittally. “When do I get to meet this guy?”
“I’ll set something up. But in the meantime—and this is the real reason I wanted you to come with me today—I have a confession.” He rolls his shoulders, like whatever he’s got to tell me is a big deal. I brace myself. “I heard what went down in front of your cottage this morning,” he says. “Between you and Mati and your mom.” He grimaces. “Brutal.”
“I’d say so. Wait—were you spying?”
“Give me some credit. You know how Gram is with her windows. Always open. I just—I felt for you, you know? My mom and dad are cool now, but they haven’t always been. Sucks when your parents are assholes to the person you’re dating.”
“Mati and I aren’t dating.”
He flashes me a knowing grin. “Call it what you will. Your mom was cold, and I thought it was awesome that you stood up to her. Takes balls to do that.”
But have I stood up to her? I snuck Mati to Sacramento because I knew she’d object. Plus, I’m waffling about lunch with his parents, partly because sharing a meal with them makes me so nervous my palms sweat anytime I think about it, but also because my mom would freak at the idea of my visiting their cottage.
Granted, there’s a whole lot of unfamiliar protocol and extraneous nonsense dictating this thing between Mati and me, but still … I could be more assertive.
I sip my milkshake. The coconut’s good. Above average, actually, though I will not be admitting as much to my mom. After weathering a wicked brain freeze, I tell Ryan, “Mati asked me to have lunch with him and his parents. I’m pretty sure my mom’s head will explode if I go and she finds out.”
“What’s her beef, anyway?”
I give him the abridged version of Mom’s past in New York, as well as my brother’s deployment and resulting death. “Mati might as well have been there that night, on the wrong side of the attack. My mom acts like he’s reprehensible, but he’s not. He’s…” Amazing-extraordinary-incredible. Because there’s no one word to describe Mati. He’s an intangible feeling: a force, a sense, a purpose.
“So? What’re you gonna do?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I think I want to go, but at the same time, I’m scared.”
“Of your mom?”
“Sort of. And also of making a bad impression.”
“Elise, Mati wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t think you could hang. One of my buddies back in Texas is Muslim. His parents moved to the States from Bangladesh—nice guy. I hang out at his house sometimes and seriously, it’s a lot like my house. There are a few things I had to get a handle on so I didn’t come off as, like, a heathen, but it was no big deal. Want the lowdown?”
I push my milkshake back and fold my hands on the countertop. “Okay, yeah. Lay it on me.”
“So I’m sure it’s not a universal experience, having a meal in a Muslim home, but here’s what I picked up.” He ticks suggestions off on his fingers. “Show up on time, and take a gift—something small. Take your shoes off in the foyer. Smile. Be gracious, but not timid. Don’t swear, and don’t talk about religion or politics, but compliment the food. Oh, and drink the tea. I passed at my buddy’s house once, and he told me later that his mother was offended.”
“That’s a lot to remember,” I say. A lot to screw up. And God, I swear in front of Mati all the time, plus I’ve grilled him about Islam and Afghan politics. How does he not think I’m a complete barbarian?
“Don’t stress, Elise,” Ryan says, squeezing my shoulder. “Just be your delightful self.”
I snort, because I’m totally delightful. “Easier said than done. Also, if I’d known you were a savant in all things Islam, I would’ve treated you to your milkshake.”
He grins. “Next time. And hello? This milkshake rocks. Average, my ass.”
MATI
I think about girls.