“Two days with your secret girlfriend before you take off to woo your fiancé?”
“Elise.” There’s conflict in the strained way he says my name, and that old ember of hope sparks to life. “I can’t promise she won’t be a part of my life, but now, after the last week, I can’t tell you that she will. If I were thinking only of myself, the decision to return to America one day, to start a new life as a student and a writer, a life with you, would be simple. But my choices impact others, and I cannot be careless when so much is at stake.”
“Mati, if you come back to America, do it for you. Or, go somewhere else—France or Brazil or, God, Japan. Somewhere that’ll make you happy. Be with someone you choose—someone you love. Live the life you want to live.”
“Someday, maybe I could.”
I want him to say more; I want him to say I will. I want to fall asleep knowing his future holds pleasure and contentment, even if I can’t be a part of it.
“If I promise to think about it,” he says, “can I see you before I go?”
There’s a whisper in my ear, quiet, insistent words …
Stop wishing. Start doing.
“Meet me tomorrow morning,” I say. “At the beach.”
MATI
Meet me tomorrow morning. At the beach.
It is all I have wanted to do since we hung up last night.
But I could not meet her because this morning was Baba’s final scan.
I walk toward the ocean now, after midday prayer,
while the sun is high in the sky.
I am a patchwork of emotions: relieved and exhilarated,
anxious and heavyhearted.
My seams are stitched haphazardly, and I am slowly unraveling.
My time with her has run out, and I can hardly face the fact of it.
Cowardice urges me to retreat, but my soul is a compass
whose needle points to her.
She is waiting by the surf, long hair lashing in the wind.
She is radiant against the steely sky.
I will never love anyone the way I love her— I know that now.
The trick is in reconciling my feelings, with my future.
I call her name.
She turns to the sound of my voice.
She walks toward me,
her expression impossible to decipher.
She stops before I can reach for her and, for an immeasurable moment
we stand,
staring into each other’s eyes.
“How’s your baba?” she asks.
“Healthy. He has been cleared to go.”
She blinks, happy for Baba, sad for us.
Her feelings are mine, in duplicate.
“Tell him I’m glad for him,” she says.
She paints a smile with careful strokes, her eyes glittering with tears.
“So, tomorrow…?”
“Tomorrow I fly home.”
She takes a step toward me, timid, as if she is worried I will turn her away.
When I open my arms,
her hesitancy vanishes.
She walks into them,
into me, and for the first time since we argued …
I breathe.
elise
Audrey calls a while after I get home. She tells me she and Janie are coming over, then hangs up quickly, like I might tell her to stay home if given the chance.
I sprawl out on my bed to wait.
Today at the beach … All afternoons should be so lovely. Mati and I took a long walk, indulged in a kiss that’s forever etched in my memory, and said our goodbyes. He was sensible, and I was realistic. We were more composed than I thought us capable. Tears would have tarnished the good we shared—that’s what I tell myself every time sadness threatens to drown me.
My door swings open, and Audrey and Janie barrel in. Janie’s dragging bags from the local home-improvement store—they’re nearly twice her size—and Aud’s lugging gallons of paint.
“What’s all this?” I ask, sitting up.
“What do you think?” She looks around my room, nose turned up. “We’re going to fix your walls.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my walls,” I say, indignant. But okay, my walls are depressing, and I’ve known as much for a while. I’ve been hoping I’d get used to the Obsidian, but here I am, almost ready to start school, and I still feel gloom settle over me every time I set foot in here, which, lately, is often. I eye the cans Audrey’s set on the floor. “What color did you choose?”
Janie pipes up. “Mama said no pink.”
Audrey smiles. “I didn’t think you’d go for it, though I found a gorgeous cotton candy color I might get for Janie’s room. For you…” She pulls a paint strip from the pocket of her tattered jeans and shows me a blue-green square. “It’s called ‘Splashy.’ Cute, right?”
I study the color. “Reminds me of the ocean.”
“Better than a darkroom?”
I shrug, downplaying my enthusiasm. “Do you think it’ll cover?”
She taps one of the cans. “Primer. Obviously, I’ve thought of everything.”
Janie grins up at me. “I’ll help paint, too, Auntie.”
I point at the stars on my ceiling. “They stay.”
It takes a while to haul my furniture into the middle of the room and clear the walls of photographs. We’re almost done when my mom pokes her head in to ask about the commotion. When she sees paint cans and drop cloths and brushes scattered about the floor, she grimaces. “Are you girls sure you’re up for this?” she asks, eyeing me like I might disintegrate at any moment.
“Of course we’re up for it,” Audrey says. “Want to help?”
Mom smiles, running a hand over my hair as I walk by with a roll of blue painter’s tape. She’s been particularly nice since Bambi’s stint as a runaway. “I’ll pass, but let me know when you’re ready for refreshments.”
She retreats to her library—forty-eight hours until deadline—and not long after, we’re ready to crack the cans open. Janie keeps Bambi occupied, holding a bone steady while my dog gnaws. She and Audrey ooh and ahh as I roll tinted primer onto the wall. Their excitement is warranted—even this is an improvement.
Audrey gets busy with the trim. “When’s the boy next door heading back to Texas?” she asks, cutting primer along the door molding.
“Tomorrow. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when he leaves.”
“You can visit him.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Janie climbs up on my bed, floating in the center of the room like an island, and pages through the picture books her mama brought to keep her busy. I continue rolling, working up a sweat, and Aud makes progress with the edging. I can tell by the way she furrows her brow, concentrating: she’s got more than paint on her mind.
Finally, tentatively, she says, “When does Mati leave?”
I cease my work to face her. “Tomorrow. And since when do you call him by his name?”
Her paintbrush hovers idly next to the wall. She opens her mouth to respond, but then Janie pipes up. “Mama hates Mati.”
Audrey blinks at her. “I don’t hate anybody, baby.”
Janie turns the page of the book on her lap, then glances up, all innocence. “Yes you do. I heard you telling Auntie that he can’t come over. Too bad, because Mati brings wishes, and he tells silly stories.”
Aud glances at the floor, then at me. “I haven’t been very nice,” she says quietly.
“No. You haven’t.”
“Have you talked to him?”
I consider lying. To save face, to save this evening, but I can’t. I’m tired of feeling disgraceful about a relationship that’s anything but. I go back to rolling, but I watch her as I say, “I saw him today at the beach.”
“Oh.” She dips her brush, wiping off excess paint before taking it to the wall. “Is he going to marry that girl?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t know. He’s considering alternatives.”
“Because of you.”
“Not in the way you think. He writes. He’s smart, Aud. Maybe he’ll come to the US and go to school. Or maybe he’ll go to Europe and find a job at a magazine. Maybe he’ll return to Kabul and decide he loves it, or maybe he’ll go to Ghazni and meet Panra and discover she’s exactly the person he wants to spend his life with. I don’t care, so long as he’s happy.”