He shrugged. “I would’ve liked to see you graduate,” he said. “But you gotta do what you think is best.”
She leaned against the warm windowpane as they passed the Del Mar lagoon. Shadi had called her selfish, but her father wouldn’t even admit that he was upset, and somehow, that was even more frustrating.
When they pulled up to the house, she followed her father, who insisted on carrying her suitcase, to the front door. She stepped inside after him and suddenly stopped. The house felt different, smelled different even, as if it were a living organism whose basic chemistry had changed. Could a house change its smell in a few years? Or had she just forgotten what it was like to be home? She glanced around the living room and realized what had actually changed. Her father had taken down the photographs. Not all of the photographs—she inched forward and spotted one of her on the coffee table, her high school graduation picture on the mantel. Just the photographs of her mother. Light rectangles marked the walls where she had been.
“How could he do that?” she asked Shadi later. “She’s my mother.”
She had never cried in front of him and crying into the phone felt as embarrassing as if he’d been watching. She crouched on the carpet by her bed, dabbing her eyes with her tank top.
“Maybe it hurts him to look at her,” Shadi said.
“It’s like she was never here. Like he never loved her.”
“I think he still loves her. That’s why it hurts so much.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Still. You didn’t call to hear all this shit.”
“It’s your life,” he said, “I want to hear it.”
She closed her eyes, trying to remember the photos that had hung on the walls. She had passed these pictures every day, but now she only remembered them vaguely—her parents on their wedding day, her mother in a garden, her family at Knott’s Berry Farm. How had she not memorized them? Or maybe she had once but she was beginning to forget. Did the house smell different because her mother’s scent was gone? Or had she just forgotten how her mother smelled?
—
THE SHEPPARDS LIVED in a sleepy, sedate neighborhood, one home in a row of identical houses with wavy roofs and canopies of arching palm trees. On the front porch, a brown welcome mat read God Bless This Home—a prayer or an order, anybody’s guess. In the front entrance, tan walls were covered in paintings (two women playing lawn croquet, a funeral procession painting they had seen on The Cosby Show). A mahogany piano that looked too pristine to be played rested against the staircase, and on top of it were carefully arranged family portraits. Pastor and Mrs. Sheppard smiling in front of a chapel on their wedding day, the proud parents posing with their newborn son, and toward the end of the piano, teenage Luke in a cap and gown, glowering at the camera, too cocky to smile.
The afternoon of the wedding shower, Nadia followed voices into the backyard, where round tables, covered in deep red tablecloths, clustered on the Sheppards’ lawn. The catering crew, a passel of black teenagers in starched white shirts and aprons, ushered around the yard, pouring ice water and lemonade into glass goblets. She spotted Aubrey across the lawn, under a leafy tree surrounded by a circle of women. She wore a white dress swirled with gold that flowed to her knees, her curly black hair hanging to her shoulders, and she was laughing, her hand covering her mouth. It was striking, how perfectly she belonged here.
Aubrey beamed when she saw Nadia pick her way across the grass. She skipped over to her, throwing her arms around her neck, and their bodies collided, knees knocking.
“I can’t believe you’re back!” Aubrey said. “I missed you so much.”
“Me too.” Nadia laughed, feeling silly for hugging in the middle of the yard but unwilling to let go first.
Aubrey looped an arm through hers and guided her around the party, past women from Upper Room who seemed as shocked to see her again as if she’d floated out to space. Well, look who it is, they said. Others pulled her into hugs and said, more pointedly, well, look who finally decided to come back home. In their eyes, she was a prodigal daughter, worse than that even, because she hadn’t returned home penniless and humbled. A prodigal daughter, you could pity. But she’d abandoned her home and returned better off, with stories of her fascinating college courses, her impressive internships, her cosmopolitan boyfriend, and her world travels. (“Paris?” Sister Willis said, when she’d shared the story. “Well, la-di-da.”) Was she pretentious now? Or had leaving caused an irreparable tear between her and the other women at Upper Room? Or maybe that fissure had always been there and leaving had allowed her to see it. Halfway through the conversation, Mrs. Sheppard wandered over to the circle. She wore a pink skirt suit and heels that sank into the grass as she walked.
“Welcome back, honey,” she said, patting Nadia’s shoulder.
Nadia wanted to tell Mrs. Sheppard about all that she’d done in the past four years. Her residence on the dean’s list, her internships, her trips abroad. She’d gone away and made something of herself and she wanted Mrs. Sheppard to know. But just as quickly as she’d said hello, the first lady was gone, bustling around the yard, chatting with the other guests. She didn’t care about anything Nadia had accomplished. Any interest she might have held in her had faded years ago, as soon as Nadia ceased working for her. So Nadia swallowed her stories. She allowed Aubrey to drag her to another group of women, and when the tour ended, she made her way to a table where Monique and Kasey were seated. She hugged both of them, grateful for their familiarity.
“Enjoying the spectacle?” Monique said.
“Don’t do that,” Kasey said.
“What? Is it not? I mean, waiters? Who is she trying to impress, really?”
But who did Mrs. Sheppard need to impress? No, Mrs. Sheppard had thrown Aubrey this bridal shower out of love. Nadia imagined Mrs. Sheppard and Aubrey poring over wedding catalogues together, Mrs. Sheppard at the dress fitting, watching Aubrey twirl in the mirror, how the first lady might have teared up a little at the vision, how proud she felt that her son had found a good girl—the right girl. How happy she must be, now that she had finally won the daughter she’d always wanted. At lunch, Nadia picked at her food before scraping the remains into the trash can. She felt claustrophobic in the sweeping backyard and went inside to the bathroom upstairs, where she sat on the fuzzy toilet seat cover and texted Shadi. Miss you, stinky. He should be getting off work soon, and she wished she were back in Ann Arbor, lounging on his beat love seat or drinking coffee at a sidewalk table on Main Street, watching people pass by. She didn’t belong here anymore, not the way Aubrey did.
She had started back downstairs when she spotted Luke’s bedroom. From the hallway, it looked different, and as she eased closer, she saw that it had been converted into a guest room. No longer Luke’s room, the walls covered in football posters, a twin bed pushed against the window. She remembered sneaking into that room, how she’d always felt strange undressing in his childhood bedroom, tossing her bra atop a desk papered with red and blue footballs, slipping out of her jeans near a shelf that held Pop Warner trophies, kissing him while Jerry Rice, plastered above his bed, watched.
“I don’t live here anymore.”
Behind her, Luke Sheppard appeared in the doorway. He looked cleaned up, his stubbly cheeks shaven, and he even wore his glasses, a rectangular pair he’d bought from the drugstore. “I only wear them when I need to look smart,” he’d told her once, carefully folding them into his breast pocket. She hadn’t understood. Didn’t he always want to look smart?
“I moved out,” he said. “Got a place by the river.”
“I don’t care,” she said, embarrassed that he knew she did. “I have a boyfriend.”
“I know. The African guy.”