A Zar reunion has never before ended on the same night it began. Laila must have told. My heart aches with the thought of Samara finding out what I did.
I inch open the front door. The living room is empty. I tiptoe upstairs, desperate to make it to my room without being noticed.
“Poor Yasmin,” my mother says through her open bedroom door.
Samara replies, “Hana and the other girls got her settled in at Nadia’s. Laila seemed so upset by it all that I thought it was better if Yasmin spent the night elsewhere.”
“It’s understandable,” my mother says, “but sad. I just wish it didn’t have to ruin the girls’ night. Yasmin needed it more than any of them.”
“It didn’t ruin it. They had their initiation. That’s what’s important.”
There’s an edge to my mother’s voice. “Is it really though? The Zar sisterhood. Sticking together. Raina would likely have something to say about that.”
“When didn’t Raina have something to say?”
My mother responds with a soft laugh. “Especially to me.”
Samara sighs. “So much history. So much to remember. So much that’s hard to let ourselves remember.”
Yasmin and Laila and Henry and Chelsea. All of their wounded faces, at least half of which I am responsible for, float before me. I round the corner and plant myself in the doorway.
“Like what?” I demand. Being Jinn is so full of secrets and lies, I need a playbook to keep track.
My mother snaps her head in my direction. “Azra! Where have you been?”
I drop her high heels to the floor. “I want to know what’s so hard for you both to remember.” My mind returns to Henry and me on the black rock. Maybe having memories does make it hard to move on, but not having any makes it impossible.
My eyes dart from my mother to Sam. “But it’s not what, is it? It’s who. My father. Laila’s father. Is that why we don’t talk about them? Because it’s hard?”
Their shocked faces but thin-lipped silence fuel me. Lots of things in life are hard. And as I’ve just discovered, avoiding them doesn’t make it any easier.
“Did it ever occur to you both that it may be hard for us because you don’t … because you won’t talk about them? Don’t you want to, Sam? I know you cared for him. I know you loved Laila’s father.”
Samara lifts herself off of my mother’s bed. “Azra, I’m not sure what’s gotten into you—”
“Stop. I know about the locket.” My guilt lashes out in the form of anger at my mother. I narrow my eyes at her. “How do you think it felt to know Lalla Sam actually loved Laila’s father? That she knew it’d be important for Laila to be able to see him one day?” I push past the lump in my throat. “You … you just gave him up, didn’t you? You didn’t care about him at all. Is it the same with Raina? What happened? Did she chip your tagine so you banished her from the house? Did you just give her up too?”
Samara takes my mother’s hand. The two of them have always had each other. Guess they didn’t really need anyone else.
In my hand, my phone buzzes. A text. I close my eyes, selfish enough to want it to be from Laila, na?ve enough to hope it’s from Henry, but in my heart, knowing who it’s from. I look down. Nate. I’m both disappointed and not disappointed.
My mother releases Samara’s hand. “This doesn’t concern you, Azra.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and says stiffly, “I get that you’re upset, but whatever’s happened, it’s no excuse to talk to me, to either of us, like this. Maybe you should go to your room before you say something you’ll regret.”
A harsh laugh rumbles through my nostrils. “Sorry, Mom. I’m what you wanted me to be my entire life. A Jinn. Which means, I’m an adult. You can’t ground me.”
Without a backward glance, I march across the hall into my bedroom. I realize I’m effectively grounding myself but I have nowhere else to go.
I turn the lock and slide down my door, sitting on the floor with my back against the frame. Like that could stop my mother if she wanted to get inside.
Which she does.
A soft knock precedes her, “Azra?” The scolding gone from her voice, it now cracks as she says, “I’m … I’m sorry.”
No, no, no. This is worse. I can’t handle her hurting. Not on top of everyone else’s. Not on top of my own.
“Honey,” Samara says, “it can’t be that bad.”
Oh, but it is, Lalla Sam. I can’t face her … because I know I’ll see in her eyes the same hurt, betrayed look I saw in Laila’s.
“Please.” I don’t bother to disguise the quiver in my voice. “Not now.”
Whispers on the other side of the door.
My mother then says, “Okay, kiddo, but I’m always right here.”
“We’re always right here,” Samara says, and I hear her hand tap the door.
The light their bodies were blocking shines under my door as they retreat. It surrounds my hunched, shaking frame, highlighting me, here, alone.
My hand still clings to my phone, the message from Nate on the screen. Followed by another one, asking if everything’s okay. Right now, he’s the only one in my life separate from all of this. Looks like I’ve found a new escape hatch.
I wait until I hear my mother’s bedroom door close before unlocking my phone. I flip through pictures of Henry, Laila, and Nate before opening my messages. I answer Nate’s text, he answers mine, and I go again. With each zoom, I distance myself from today, from everything Jinn, and slowly, my guilt at texting Nate, at letting myself enjoy texting Nate, diminishes.
Nate not knowing I’m a Jinn means I have to lie to him, but as I’m discovering, it also means I get to lie to him. I lose my Jinn self and for now am just a girl learning how to flirt with a boy.
We text for so long, my back spasms from lying on the wood floor. Finally, as we’re saying good-bye, I get the feeling Nate sends the text he’s been working up the nerve to type all night.
Staff bonfire tomorrow night. Would you like to be my mate?… Date.
*face palm*