“Remember how you said you were trying not to think about the end of the summer? It’s like that.”
“Then I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but . . . Vlad is staying in the United States,” Hannah says. “He’s going to graduate school at the University of Michigan, so with me at Toledo . . .”
“I officially hate you.”
Hannah’s laugh fades to a thoughtful silence. “Things have changed so much,” she says. “New friends. New boyfriends. Sometimes I worry you’ll come home and I won’t know you anymore.”
“I worry you’re going to forget about me.”
“I’m really sorry about the box.”
“It might be hard to sustain anyway,” I say. “But you aren’t allowed to bail on our next chat. And as much as I like him, no Vlad.”
She holds up three Girl Scout fingers. “I promise.”
“Love you to the moon,” I say.
Hannah blows me a kiss with those same three fingers. “And back.”
CHAPTER 30
My mother is angry,” Adam says when we talk about his family. He calls from his bedroom and the sound of his voice in my ear is a new intimacy. “She is against me having a girlfriend, especially one who is not Muslim, and she thinks you will change me into someone who is unsatisfied with the gifts Allah has given me. She thinks you make me want things that are not meant for a poor Egyptian boy.”
My memory casts back to our first day in Cairo when Mom accused Dad of giving Adam too much money, of raising his expectations to an unreachable level. “My mom worries about the same thing. She’s afraid I’ll break your heart.”
“You will,” he says. “But I am not afraid.”
The next new intimacy is on his next day off work, when Adam comes over to the apartment just to hang out. It feels good to sit close together on the couch, watching Liverpool highlight videos from games past. We take Stevie G. out of his cage and watch him chase his plastic ball around the living room floor. And having a boyfriend who cooks pays off in a big way at lunchtime, when Adam makes hummus grilled cheese sandwiches with feta and sliced olives. We eat them on the balcony as feluccas sail past on the river. As easy as it could be to get carried away, we keep our hormones in check. But it is nice to be able to kiss each other without worrying who might be watching. We kiss a lot.
We don’t see each other as frequently as we did when he was my stand-in driver—Adam works long hours and spends time trying to repair his relationship with his family—but we go to the movies, sometimes in English, sometimes in Arabic. I ask him not to translate the Arabic movies so I can figure out on my own what’s happening, and he laughs when I get the plot completely wrong. I don’t tell him that sometimes I get the plot wrong on purpose, just to make him smile.
We see concerts at the Culture Wheel with his friends. Bahar doesn’t always show up, but when he does, he doesn’t acknowledge me. I am sad on Adam’s behalf that their friendship is broken, but I don’t know how to fix it. Other times we hang out with my American friends and I have to remind them to slow down when they’re talking so Adam can keep up with the conversation. Once, he comes for dinner with my mom and me at our apartment. But my favorite thing is being alone with him, driving up to Mokattam, where we talk. Kiss. Dream.
September arrives with my dad’s return from the tugboat. Summer is almost over and school will start soon. Mom is at the clinic the day he gets back and our kitchen is in total disarray as Adam sets out to prove to me that his koshary is better than the recipe served at his old restaurant.
“What’s going on in here?” Dad asks, surveying the tower of pots in the sink.
“Well, sometimes when a boy and girl are alone together . . . ,” I say. “They make koshary.”
He laughs as he kisses my forehead and pats Adam on the back. Dad’s caught in a weird middle place because he’s the only parent who keeps his concerns to himself. He says the consequences of my relationship with Adam—regardless of the outcome—are part of growing up and we’re just going to have to deal with them. “Nice to see you, kid.”
My dad unpacks his duffel and takes a short nap, and then we put Adam’s claim to the test. It takes a special ability to know what a dish needs without seeing it marked down in cups and tablespoons, but Adam possesses that ability. I can’t say what makes his koshary better than the restaurant’s—as most of the ingredients are the same—but there is something more refined about it. Like it belongs on a plate instead of scooped into a margarine tub. Like this boy is destined for greatness. (Maybe I’m biased.)
“We’ve been thinking about taking the train to Alexandria for a day,” I tell Dad as we eat. “It’s only a couple of hours away and the fare is supercheap. Would that be okay?”
“Have you asked your mom?”
“Not yet.”
“We’ll need to talk before I answer this question,” he says. “When you went to Fayoum you had guides responsible for you, so I’m not completely cool with this going-alone plan. I’d worry about both of you.”
“You could come with us and, you know, pay for everything.”
Dad chuckles. “Now I see what you’re really after.”
“We could dive on Cleopatra’s palace.” I know as I say it that I’m pushing one of his buttons. Scuba diving is one of my dad’s favorite things that he doesn’t get to do very often. The last time we went was two years ago in the Florida Keys.
“Count me in,” Dad says. “We’ll go tomorrow.”
“I thought you needed to talk to Mom.”
“I’ll convince her.”
When my mom gets home from work, she rubber-stamps the trip only if Dad goes with us. “Just be supercareful,” she says, then eyes my dad. “Including you.”
“Come with us,” he says.
But Mom begs off. “I’ve got a summer cold brewing and a cataract surgery first thing in the morning. I’m going to overdose on vitamin C tonight, get some extra sleep, and hope I’m feeling better in the morning.”
? ? ?
The atmosphere in the car feels heavy and the radio is silent as Mr. Elhadad drives us to Ramses Station. He speaks in quiet Arabic to Adam, who responds in kind. I don’t understand what they are saying, but I look out the window to give them privacy anyway.
“Be sure to buy tickets for the special,” Mr. Elhadad says to my dad when we reach the station. “It is a nonstop express with comfortable seats and air-conditioning. Much nicer. More tourists, fewer Egyptians.”
Adam says something to his father and Mr. Elhadad pulls him in for a hug. He pats his son’s shoulder before getting back into the car.
“Are you okay?” I ask as my dad pays for the tickets. Adam looks a little dazed.
“I have spent my entire life in Cairo,” he says as we walk down the platform to the train. “But in three hours I will be in Alexandria, the farthest from my home I have ever been, and I will swim in the sea.”
“Are you nervous?”