I shut that down right away. I couldn’t tell him what I did for a living, and I couldn’t bear lying to him, so I proposed a pact: we’d just talk like we were old friends, no backstory necessary. He agreed, and we settled into a lively conversation about our favorite haunts in New York, politics, and a shared love for sitting alone in the balcony of the Paris movie theater until it was time to meet the tour.
The tour was great fun. It was filled with both little-known and fascinating tidbits that neither of us had been aware of. The guide showed us pictures of all the stars who rode the famed 20th Century back in the day. I think that was John’s favorite part. Mine was the Campbell Apartment, the beautiful residence of a tycoon from the 1920s turned into a cocktail bar. It was like an interior version of a secret garden.
After the tour was over, an awkwardness that we had somehow previously avoided crept in. It was clearly time for us to go our separate ways.
“Thanks for making me come with you. I loved it. I’m going to bring my kids next time,” I said, forgetting my no-backstory rule. He jumped on it.
“Oh, so you have a family?” He smiled coyly.
I gave him a little. “Twin girls, divorced.”
“I pity the fool who let you get away.” I smiled back. What a kind thing to say. What a nice guy. “You know, there’s a secret tennis court in this building that they didn’t show us. I can get court time.” Married man asking me on a date—okay, maybe not such a nice guy. I paused, trying to figure out how to respond.
“You know, my best friend just got separated. How about in two Saturdays I bring him and my wife and we double…literally!”
Not a date. At least, not with him. I didn’t know whether I was happy or disappointed with his honorable follow-up. Oh my god, I thought, what am I doing? End this now!
“I’m sorry, I, um, I don’t date separated men. They’re never really ready to date, and I don’t like being in that position.”
He responded faster than Roger Federer at the net. “Then just you and I can play. My wife won’t mind at all.”
I’m sure she wouldn’t, I thought, feeling sad and awful for not being able to tell John the truth.
“Okay, let’s do it,” I said. It’s just a tennis game, I thought. It’s not like it ends in love.
CHAPTER 22
L’Habit ne Fait pas le Moine
By Medina Karim, Shireen’s Levelheaded Sister
We arrived at Charles De Gaulle a bit later than expected. We dropped our bags at our flat and dispersed to go about our days. My father and brother went to work, my mother to shop for groceries. She instructed me and Shireen to go and collect our grandmother and bring her back home. She had been staying with our cousins on the outskirts of Paris while we were away. They live in the same neighborhood that my sister will be moving to in two weeks, after she is married. She says she might as well move back to Saudi Arabia. I know this is not true. I remind her that her fiancé is modern and even promised to teach her to drive. My sister says I am naive.
As we exit the Métro station into Paris’s eighteenth arrondissement it’s as if we have entered a different world. Though it’s well before the start of Friday’s jumu’ah (noon prayer), the police stand guard on closed-off streets, which will soon be filled with hundreds of faithful Muslims kneeling on their mats. There is no longer enough room inside the mosque to accommodate the worshippers. Shireen’s shoulders tense at the sight of it. I don’t fully understand her. If she hates being stared at as much as she always says, then I would think she would be happy to be among her own. Plus, let me explain a bit about this marriage: even though my parents arranged it, Shireen had the right to reject it. In Islam, a marriage must have consent from both the bride and the groom. The real truth is, while Shireen shares all her wild ideas and dreams with me, she would never be bold enough to go against our father. Most wouldn’t. I definitely wouldn’t. When my time comes, it will be easier. Shireen concerns herself with love, while I am more pragmatic about marriage. She is obsessed with never having kissed a man. Obsessed. I could care less. I never think about such things.