“I don’t know.”
His answer takes me by surprise, not at all what I was expecting. I pull away and sit up. Adam shifts beside me, threading his fingers through mine. “You must understand,” he says. “Bahar has been my friend for a very long time and his opinion is important to me.”
If Hannah didn’t approve of my boyfriend, I would seriously reconsider my life choices. So I can’t fault Adam for wanting his friend’s blessing. Still, it hurts—both that Bahar doesn’t like me and that his opinion gives Adam room for doubt.
“So what do we do?”
The captain produces a cold meze plate with various dips, cheeses, olives, and bread, and I can’t help but think his timing was intentional. Adam’s reply is forgotten and I don’t press because I don’t think either of us has the answer. Instead we eat, watching Cairo drift past. On the water, the temperature feels almost cool and the city almost quiet. Soon our problems seem miles away.
“A felucca ride on the Nile is very romantic,” I say. “Are you trying to woo me?”
“What is ‘woo’?”
“Trying to make me like you.”
His eyebrows hitch up and he gives me a little smirk. “Already you like me.”
“Yes, I do.” We look at each other for a long time and even though the temptation to kiss him hangs between us, I don’t reach for it. There’s something so satisfying about just taking in his soft, dark curls and the way his smirk has melted into a shy smile under the weight of my gaze. “I like you very much.”
He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and a shiver follows his fingers, zipping down my spine like an electrical current. “I feel the same.”
Despite being shielded from the eyes of the city, we don’t kiss. We feed each other bites of hummus and baba ghanoush. We talk until we run out of words and voices to speak them, sharing the small details we don’t know about each other—birthdays, broken bones, and best memories. We fall asleep in the shade, my head against his shoulder and my arm around his waist.
Adam is still sleeping when I wake and I try to commit his profile to memory because we are living on borrowed time. Soon his father will be fully recovered and Adam will go back to work. We’ve started something we won’t be able to finish.
“You are thinking very hard.” He taps his finger on the end of my nose, bringing me back.
“Trying to figure out what you’ve got planned next,” I lie.
“You will never guess,” he says. “But I am thinking twice about going back to land. I have never had such a relaxing day.”
“Maybe we could just sail away.”
He strokes my hair, his hand coming to rest against the side of my neck. “Such a good dream.”
? ? ?
Stepping off the felucca feels like stepping back to reality and I don’t much care for it. Except Adam bristles with excitement and I can’t help but catch it. He tells me we’re going to a place called Saqiat El Sawy. “In English it means El Sawy Culture Wheel; it is a place of music, art, and film. Every day they have events, and tonight we will hear my favorite band.”
The entrance to the Culture Wheel is tucked beneath the 15th May Bridge in Zamalek, so I am expecting it to be a tightly packed little venue like some of the places we go to back home. But the complex stretches along the river, boasting several performance halls, open-air concert spaces, and a café-style seating area near the water. The whole place gives off an industrial vibe, but small trees and patches of grass here and there soften the effect, increase the charm. And the lights strung along the Nile cast a golden glow. It feels . . . magical.
There are several events happening at once—a puppet show, a calligraphy workshop, a poetry recitation, and a Japanese hula dance exhibition—but we are here to see an Egyptian reggae band. And when we enter the concert hall, Adam’s friends are waiting for us. All except Bahar.
“I would never have guessed reggae,” I say.
Adam grins. “Did I not say this?”
“You did, but I’m still surprised.”
“A lot of us like reggae, rap, indie, and we even listen to American pop music,” Hasnah says. “If anything, be surprised that heavy metal shows usually draw the biggest crowds at the Culture Wheel.”
She isn’t mean about it, but I still feel embarrassed that I bought into a musical stereotype just because Adam’s dad listens to Arabic music in the car. Adam keeps the radio off when he drives (one less distraction), so I wouldn’t have a clue about his tastes—or what kind of music people his age might like.
As the band takes the stage, I am deflated. Like I messed up with Adam’s friends. Magdi grabs Hasnah by the hand and twirls her, making her giggle. Omar bobs his head to the rhythm and sings along. Reggae here is the same as reggae everywhere, but not knowing the words makes me feel even more outside. Adam and I together, alone, are perfect. We always have things to talk about, but around his friends I realize that I don’t know very much at all. I can’t stop myself from wondering if he’d feel the same way around my friends.
Adam leans into me, his mouth beside my ear. “This song is about a small house, a poor house where the mother all the time worries about her family and the father doesn’t know how he will feed his children. But also how people may have wealth to build a thousand houses but are poor inside.” He taps his chest. “Their hearts are small houses.”
“I wish I understood.” I’m not sure if I’m talking about the language or his friends. Probably both. I want to fit in.
“With time you will,” he says, and I smile because he doesn’t know that he read my mind—again.
From the other side of the floor, Hasnah beckons us to come dance. Everyone is moving and the day has been too good to waste what’s left, so I take Adam’s hand and lead him over. By the time the band has finished their set, my hair is damp, my shirt is sticking to my back, and I have at least one thing in common with Adam’s friends.
We say good-bye to them with hugs and cheek kisses. Omar gives me a friendly wave. Hasnah takes my phone number and suggests we get together without Magdi and Adam. I tell her I like that idea.
“This day,” I say as Adam and I walk through the Culture Wheel, bathed in the glow of the string lights. A breeze blows in off the river, cooling my skin. “I can’t remember having a better day than this one.”
After three years with Owen, I should have lots of memorable days—and I do—but this one is perfect. Until my phone rings and I hear a hint of panic in my mom’s voice on the other end of the line. “Caroline, where are you?”
“Just leaving El Sawy Culture Wheel,” I say.
“Oh, thank God.”
“Mom, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”