“I don’t know.” Hannah shrugs. “My only frame of reference when it comes to the Middle East is Osama bin Laden.”
“He was a terrorist.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought all the dudes there had beards.”
“The Middle East is a huge place—a bunch of different countries that have their own cultures. Not all the men have beards, just like not all the women wear hijabs, but misconceptions like these are how people end up believing that everyone from the Middle East is a terrorist.”
“I don’t think that! Caroline, you know I don’t think that!”
“Just making sure.”
An awkwardness settles over us, but I push through it, hitting send on a picture I took of Adam haggling at al-Gomaa. “Anyway, being cute and having a beard aren’t mutually exclusive, but Adam does not have a beard and he is very cute.”
“Very? I feel like you’re leaving something out of this story.”
“There’s nothing to tell, Hann. He’s Muslim.”
“Ooh! Forbidden romance.”
“No romance.”
My e-mail dings in her in-box and Hannah gasps. “Oh my God! He has Jon Snow hair!”
“Right?”
“Caroline, he’s really hot. Are you sure there’s noth—”
“Who’s really hot? Can I see?” Hannah’s younger sister, Michaela, appears in the corner of the frame, near their bedroom door. Hannah shrieks and shoots out of her chair to slam the door, shouting that Michaela will regret life if she doesn’t stay out. I can’t help laughing. The sisters share the room, and Michaela—three years younger than us—has always wanted to be a part of whatever we’re doing. It drives Hannah crazy.
“I miss that so much,” I say when she returns to her desk.
“You can have her. I’ll Bubble Wrap her, pack her in a box, and send her to you. Speaking of which . . . it’s box time. You first.”
Sitting on my nightstand is a box wrapped with a brown grocery bag, my address and Hannah’s return address written in black marker. We sent each other care packages, promising to wait to open them until we could do it together. Now I pull the box onto my lap and start peeling away the paper.
“Since I’ve been working so many hours, there’s a common theme to this one,” she says. “I hope it doesn’t suck.”
Inside is a four-piece box of chocolate saltwater taffy, a plush Woodstock, a small woodcarving of my name, and a tiny bottle of sand tied with a bit of twine—all things from Cedar Point.
“It definitely doesn’t suck.” I unwrap a piece of taffy and pop it in my mouth. The taste recalls memories of the amusement park. Hannah’s dad works in the maintenance department so we grew up at Cedar Point. As little girls we had favorite horses on the carousel—we called them ours and pretended to grant other park guests permission to ride them—and as we got older, we turned into bona fide coaster enthusiasts. One evening last spring, when the park wasn’t crowded, we rode the Blue Streak fifteen times in a row. “Now that I’m completely homesick, it’s your turn.”
Hannah tears into her box and pulls out one of the scarves I bought at the Friday Market. It is blue, orange, and red with a bit of orange fringe. I also added a brass Sphinx that I had Tarek buy for me (since I was still afraid to haggle on my own) and a bottle of Egyptian sand.
“This is so beautiful.” Hannah drapes the scarf around her shoulders. “Maybe I could ship myself to you instead of sending my sister.”
“I wish you could.”
“Me too.”
“I should go.” The dawn adhan will be starting soon. Even though I slept a few hours before our chat, it’s still the middle of the night and I’m tired. “Give my love to everyone.”
“Just so you know,” Hannah says, “Owen is not dating Jessie. She likes him, but he only went to Emilee’s party with her because he was too nice to say no.”
One ill-advised text message aside, Owen and I have upheld our agreement. No e-mails. No phone calls. He didn’t even respond to that text. “It’s not my business anymore.”
“Are you over him?” Hannah asks. “Because I don’t think he’s over you.”
“I’m trying to be. He needs to do the same.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“I’ll send you another box soon,” I say, thinking that when Mr. Elhadad is feeling better, I’ll ask him to drive me to Khan el-Khalili so I can find something really special for Hannah. “Love you to the moon.”
“And back.”
We log off and I sit in the darkness, listening to the incessant hum of traffic and the near-constant honking that has become the background music of my life. When the adhan begins, I open the doors and drag my chair onto the balcony to listen. It isn’t so scary anymore, especially now that I’m getting used to it, now that I know people who rise before the sun to say the prayers and perform the movements that accompany them.
My thoughts wander to Adam, and I wonder if he ever grumbles about having to wake so early in the morning and how often he goes back to sleep afterward. Hannah was correct that I didn’t share the whole story. Adam and I are in a gray zone between strangers and friends, but somehow that doesn’t stop me from thinking about him more often than I should. And it doesn’t stop my heart from thumping like a dryer full of sneakers.
After the last strains of the call to prayer fade, I climb into bed and tip into sleep almost immediately.
I wake when my cell phone beeps with an incoming text.
From Adam.
The sun is barely up and my phone says I’ve been asleep for only about five hours. It’s odd that he would text me at all, but even more odd that he would send it so early in the morning. But the oddest thing of all is that he sent the message in the hours after I’d been thinking about him, which means he must have been thinking about me, too.
My father must take a rest from driving for the next two weeks. If you need to go somewhere, please tell me and I will drive you.
What about the restaurant? I text back.
He needs his business more than I need my job and now we have hospital debt to repay.
Will you be able to go back?
There are too many people looking for work.
I stop myself from asking how long it will take to pay off Mr. Elhadad’s medical bills. This is not a boundary I have any business crossing and I don’t want to make Adam feel worse about sacrificing his job. Could it take his family years to pay down the debt? What if they can never pay it back? My heart breaks for Adam, for the dreams he has to put on hold.
I need a driver today. My thumbs fly across the keypad as I decide to keep Adam as busy as possible. My savings—mostly money earned babysitting the Wagner twins down the street—are not bottomless, but I will give all of it to him if necessary.
Destination?
Anywhere. You choose.
CHAPTER 14