In my cavernous bedroom, I read every word of the article that’s got my mom so worked up and, yes, it’s scary, but I refuse to let fear color my perception of the world. Mati is good. If I thought for one second that he or his parents were a threat to my family, I’d cut things off immediately. I might be idealistic, but I’m not obtuse.
I think of the poem he let me read at the cemetery, how it made me want to laugh. How it made me feel cherished …
Twinkle, twinkle shiny star, she has marked him like a scar.
I know exactly what he means.
I find a paint pen in my desk drawer, silver, and haul myself onto a chair. I have to stretch, but I can just reach my black ceiling with the tip of the pen. I draw a star, small, the size of a silver dollar. I fill it in, and then I give it a neighbor. Feeling a little like Michelangelo, I step down from the chair and gaze up, admiring my work.
Twinkle, twinkle indeed.
MATI
“I have to babysit my niece tonight,” she tells me.
We are walking home from the beach, just the two of us.
We are closer than usual,
drawn to each other
like monarchs to milkweed.
Occasionally, the dog tugs the leash she holds, causing our shoulders to bump,
or our hands to brush.
Her touch smooths my rough edges.
Her tone is tentative when she says, “You should come by.”
“To your sister-in-law’s cottage?”
“Sure. Audrey’s working the late shift.”
This … is appealing.
She talks about her niece with wonder, as if she were the most precious jewel.
Like oxygen, Janie feeds the flame of Nick’s spirit.
I would be happy to meet her.
And I will be happy
(timorous, tentative, terrified) when Janie undoubtedly goes to sleep, leaving me and this beautiful girl alone in a cottage of possibility.
I stumble over a crack in the sidewalk, a renegade root that has disturbed the pavement.
I clear my throat and bury my hands in my pockets.
“I’m not sure your sister-in-law would approve.”
“It’s not like we have to tell her.”
She smiles and her expression,
framed by glossy caramel hair,
is alight with hope.
“Seriously, Mati. It’ll be fun.”
I should not go—no, I should not.
I have devoted myself
to fostering a closeness with Allah, and I strive to be a gracious Muslim son.
But that does not mean
I am not vulnerable to misdeeds.
I have tempted sin in her proximity already, engaging in meandering conversations, letting my hand drift to hers, daydreaming about her,
when I should be doing anything but.
If we are truly alone …
I will not make choices that honor Allah’s word.
But our situation is not so simple.
The feelings she incites in me—
affection, esteem, compassion—
strengthen my spirituality.
Being with her, sometimes,
feels transcendental.
Say yes, say yes, say yes!
“Can I think about it?”
Her eyes narrow;
I have given her invitation
the same response she gave mine.
“Of course,” she says, borrowing my words.
“Call me later to let me know what you decide.”
elise
I don’t really think he’ll come to Audrey’s, and I feel guilty for heaving the pressure of my invitation on his shoulders.
Why can’t I leave well enough alone?
Even when the doorbell rings thirty minutes after Aud leaves for Camembert, I don’t really think it’ll be him. My mom, maybe, or the UPS man, or some random kid selling candy bars. But when I look through the peephole set in the front door, there’s Mati, wearing jeans and a butter-yellow T-shirt, a hoodie slung over his arm. His hair’s grown since we met and it’s everywhere, sticking up in thick black tufts. He looks nervous.
Janie runs up and grabs the hem of my shirt. “Who is it, Auntie?”
I crouch next to her. “My friend. Do you mind if he hangs out with us?”
Janie’s blue eyes gleam. “I don’t mind. Open the door!”
I do. Mati smiles; he’s unquestionably happy to see me, and the feeling’s mutual. Instinct says, Throw your arms around him. Logic says, Let him lead.
He’s got a hand tucked behind his back, but he reaches out with the other. I give him mine and he squeezes my palm. My heart performs a joyful dip, and all is right in the world.
“You must be Janie,” he says, stooping to talk to my niece.
I rest my palm on top of her head. “Can you say hi to Mati?”
She smiles her dimpled smile and parrots, “Hi, Mati.”
He brings his arm out from behind his back, revealing a puffy white dandelion, ripe for blowing. “I heard you like to make wishes.”
Her face lights up. “I do! Can I make a wish now?”
“You should probably come outside. New flowers won’t grow if these seeds land on the floor of your cottage. And if the flowers don’t grow—”
“My wishes won’t come true!”
He grins. “That’s right.”
I watch from the doorway as she follows him onto the lawn. He kneels in the grass so she can take the dandelion from him. She holds it carefully, blocking it from the breeze with her little hand. “I’ll wish for cookies,” she says. “That’s what my daddy wished for when he was little like me.”
Mati opens his mouth, blinks, then wordlessly closes it. I have to look away because I’m biting hard into my lip, a vain attempt to keep tears from falling.
Oh, Janie.
She closes her eyes and gives the dandelion a mighty blow. Her lids spring open again and she watches the seeds scatter with unadulterated delight. “Thank you for my wish,” she says to Mati. “You should come inside now. Auntie is making noodles.”
“Is she? Well, I cannot miss that.”
She leads him to the door. As she passes me, she whispers, “Cookies for dessert, Auntie, because I wished for them.”
I swallow around a lump that won’t let me be. “You got it, girlie.”
She runs inside and plops down in front of the crayons and coloring books I put out to keep her busy while I work on dinner. Mati lingers in the foyer while I close the door.
“That was sweet,” I say, which sounds trite compared with his gesture.
“But I made you sad.”
“No you didn’t. You made me really happy.”
He raises a doubtful eyebrow. “That isn’t true, but I think you’ll be happy when we have cookies for dessert.”
I smile. “Thanks to you and your wishes. We’d be up shit creek if you hadn’t come by.”
He feigns shock, as if he hasn’t grown accustomed to my colorful language. “Is it okay if I stay for noodles?”
For an instant, I think of Audrey and how she’d react if she knew Mati was here. She’d be pissed—I know that for sure. And then I decide I don’t care, because she’d also be wrong.
I take a step toward him, curious as to whether he’ll let me into his space. He does. He smells good, summery and clean, like rosemary, and heat wafts off him in waves. The pace of his breathing changes, abbreviates, like maybe I do exactly to him what he does to me.
I look up and tumble headfirst into his firelight eyes. “You can stay as long as you want.”
*
We eat our noodles and because I insist, carrot sticks, and then we hang out at the table awhile, listening to Janie recite a choppy version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Apparently, she sympathizes with Goldilocks. “She was just sleepy,” she says after the part where the bears chase the intruder from their cottage.
Mati counters with a story about Buzaak Chinie, a goat whose kids get eaten by a wolf, kind of like Red Riding Hood’s grandmother. Buzaak Chinie takes rescue advice from an alligator, a tiger, and a lion before finally defeating the wolf and freeing her kids from its belly. Janie giggles at the silly voices Mati adopts for each character, particularly the falsetto he gives Buzaak Chinie.
After, we head out into the yard with a bag of frosted animal cookies. The twilight sky is clear, and the air shimmers with the warmth of summer. Mati and I sit under a trellis laced with climbing jasmine, breathing its sweet scent, and he tells me about how the flower originated in his part of the world, and that its fragrance reminds him of home.
Meanwhile, Janie marks up the patio with chalk, devouring her weight in cookies. “Look, Auntie,” she says, pointing to her drawing. “Rainbow.”
“I love it. Do you remember our rainbow song?”
“Yes.” She eyes Mati shyly, and I take her hint.
“Do you want me to sing it with you?”