“That would be nice.”
He holds my hand as we walk, as if the rules don’t apply in Mokattam. A few cars are parked off the pavement, and a street vendor has set up a couple of small tables with plastic chairs for people to drink tea as they watch the sunset. Everyone around us seems to be coupled up. “Adam Elhadad, did you bring me to a make-out spot?”
“Yes,” he says, and I love that he doesn’t even pretend it was accidental. “But my intention was only for you to see the sunset.”
I’m not sure I believe him, but it doesn’t really matter. “I’m glad we came.”
“Me too.”
The café must have been beautiful once, but now it feels like a shabby echo, with faded tile floors and peeling paint. The waiter, who leads us to a table on the terrace overlooking the sparkling city, looks tired. As if the café is taking him with it as it fades. Beer is on the menu, which surprises me. “This whole mountain is like a little pocket of scandal, isn’t it?”
“My downfall.” Adam’s tone is serious, but a smile threatens the corners of his mouth.
“Ooh, have I ruined you?”
He shakes his head no, curls bobbling, as he gives into the smile. “A little bit.”
The waiter returns, and as we order hummus and bottles of Pepsi, Magdi comes onto the terrace with a girl. Her hair is long and dark, uncovered, and she wears black leggings beneath her tunic-length top. As they approach our table, I see how gorgeous she is. A perfect match for Magdi.
I stand as Adam stands, not really knowing what to do or say in this situation. Adam greets Magdi with a kiss on each cheek, then offers a salaam to the girl, who responds in kind.
“Ahlan,” I say to her, and she smiles as she returns the greeting.
We settle around the table and Magdi introduces me to Hasnah. “She is my girlfriend in secret.”
Hasnah explains in flawless English that they met in a club. “His family would never approve of me because I’m not devout enough. They have planks in their eyes where Magdi is concerned—they see him as their good Muslim boy—so it’s easier to keep our relationship private.”
The waiter brings our food and drinks, and Magdi orders shai for himself and Hasnah. As we dip into the hummus, she tells me that she is working on a dual degree in political science and international human rights law at the American University in Cairo. “Everyone has an opinion on what Muslim women should or shouldn’t do,” she says. “But very few ask us what we want. We need a louder voice in the world. We need defenders.”
“I am your defender.” Magdi flexes his biceps and Hasnah gives his shoulder a playful push.
“This is what I love about Magdi,” she says to me, then kisses his cheek in front of everyone. “He is good-looking, uncomplicated, and I like spending time with him. That’s enough for now. We both know it’s unlikely we’ll have a future together, but we’re not hurting anyone.”
Adam pulls his lower lip between his teeth, as if he’s holding back a differing viewpoint—a smart move given what she just said about Muslim women and opinions. Magdi and Hasnah make it seem so easy, but is having a secret relationship really such a good thing? Owen used to take me to his family’s annual Fourth of July picnic. And he always came over on Christmas Day, after he opened presents at his house. I loved his family almost as much as I loved him. Then again, Hasnah has made it clear that she and Magdi are a temporary thing. I glance across the table at Adam, and even though I’ll be in Egypt for months, the thought of having to leave him behind already makes my chest hurt.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks.
I pull out my phone to check the time and notice two missed texts from my mom. Leaving the clinic, the first one says. Then, Where are you?
I text her back quickly. On my way.
Adam is quiet as we head down the mountain, and I worry that he might regret kissing me.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Kissing you does not feel wrong, but I am not comfortable with keeping secrets.”
“What is the alternative?”
The answer is in his silence. If his family is not okay with him dating, it really doesn’t matter if I am white, American, or Catholic. Even under the guise of being my driver, he is pushing up against a belief system that has been a part of his life forever. Still, I feel relieved when he takes my hand, when we are connected again. And when we reach Manial, he parks between the streetlight pools so the car is dark as we say good night. His fingertips rest on the back of my neck, his thumb near my pulse point, and his lips are warm against mine.
“You’re very good at this,” I whisper, my fingers finding the door handle. I don’t want to get out of the car, because I am afraid Adam will think too much about how I know he is a very good kisser. And that I’ll think too much about him using this newfound skill on his someday wife. But I kiss him one more time, then open the door. “Sweet dreams.”
Mom is making pancakes when I come into the apartment. “Where ya been?” she asks. “Want some?”
“Yes, please.” I tell her how Adam and I went to Tahrir Square, and show her the book of revolution graffiti. “We also went up to Mokattam to watch the sunset.”
“Oh, really?” Her eyebrows climb toward her hairline and I feel like I’ve confessed to something illicit. I rummage through the silverware drawer for knives and forks so I don’t have to look her in the eye.
“It’s just a really great view of the whole city,” I say, pulling up a photo of the sunset on my phone. “Amazing, right?”
“You and Adam have been spending a lot of time together.”
I shrug. “He’s my driver.”
“I know, but—”
“You were the one who wanted me out of the house,” I say. “Now I am and it’s a problem?”
“It’s not a problem. I appreciate that he’s helped you get more comfortable navigating the city, but I worry you’re growing too attached. This is temporary for Adam and I just think—well, it might be healthy for you to make some other friends.”
There’s no way to tell her that her concern is completely legit, that I’ve already blown past the “getting too” stage of my attachment to Adam Elhadad. “Um, sure. Since there’s a horde of new people out there just waiting to befriend me.”
“Don’t be sassy,” she warns. “You and Adam’s sister got along well.”
“Okay. Fine.”
“Your dad will be home in a couple of days and we’ve been invited to have dinner with the Elhadads.” Mom hands me a plate of pancakes and the finality of her tone says the book is closed on this subject. “You can make plans with Aya then.”
CHAPTER 20