“Can’t you just let me be strong?” I drop the abaya and it falls around my feet in folds. I’m tired of her. Everything’s bigger in her mind. It’s not just about the now but about her sister, about other girls. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Maybe I’ve never felt this strong ever, and now you’re telling me it’s not enough.”
“I’m telling you to wield that strength. Sure, enjoy it, but don’t let it wear off without using it.” She walks back to the bookstore doors.
She’s such a disappointment.
Because it’s like she’s always disappointed in me.
MISFITS AND SAINTS
Mom’s earrings go with the shirt I’ve chosen for the party. But, to make them stand out, I’d have to switch up my scarf style.
I try draping it the way Sarah demonstrated on the date night I chaperoned: one end of the scarf wrapped around my neck and the other hitched up near my ears to reveal an earring.
Maybe I’m doing something wrong, but it doesn’t look the way it did at the restaurant. Both ends of the scarf stick out at odd angles, like hair that won’t settle down. Bad-hair day is nothing compared to bad-hijab day.
I take the earrings off. They’re beautiful: a filigreed pattern, like those Persian designs on mosques, supporting sapphire stones. I wonder where Dad bought them.
Maybe Dad wouldn’t like it that Mom gave them to me.
The earrings are BD. When they loved each other.
Does Mom miss that? I mean, having someone love her like that?
I wrap my scarf the regular way and return the earrings to Mom’s jewelry box. She has a shirt that matches them too.
? ? ?
Tats goes ahead of me, pushing the front door, already ajar, open with her hip. There are about ten people in the living room on our left, and she turns to them and waves. One of the guys starts laughing. “Wrong party,” he says, pointing at me.
I fight the urge to leave and instead follow Tats to the kitchen at the end of the massive foyer. “One More Night” is pumping into the hall from a room on the right.
A huge island stands in the center of the kitchen, stocked with food and drinks. Simone is leaning on the counter watching an improbably tall guy pouring himself a drink. The bottle he’s holding has fancy writing on it. Alcohol?
“Hey,” Tats says, grinning at Simone. “How’s it going?”
“Okay.” Simone nods at me. “Janna, you’re here. A drink?”
“I’ll have a Coke. The regular kind,” I add quickly as Tall Guy smiles.
“With some rum?” Tall Guy opens a Coke.
“I don’t drink,” I say, reaching for the can before he pours it.
“But I do,” Tats says. “Make mine good.”
Tall Guy laughs. Simone moves away with her drink, and I go to the window, drawn by the lights outside.
I can make out Lauren through the part in the drapes. She’s sitting back on a lawn chair beside a really good-looking guy who’s on the edge of a swinging seat. He’s talking to her, but she’s not turned to him. It looks like she’s watching the people in the pool.
I lean closer and draw away the curtain. Marjorie is sitting at the edge of the pool, laughing as someone tries to pull her in. There are a few people who’ve already been dunked, sitting or lying on the grass, drying. I look back at Lauren, who’s getting up even though the guy beside her is still talking. She glances up at the house, her gaze lingering on the door, out of which more people are spilling into the yard. Then she’s looking at the kitchen window and catches my eyes. I drop the curtain, certain my intense staring drew her gaze, in a psychic kind of way.
Tats is sipping a drink, making a face. She hands it back, and Tall Guy adds something to it. She tries another tiny sip, hands it back again. He adds two splashes from two different bottles. She makes a gagging sound. “You stink. Just give me a cooler.”
He laughs and calls her a wimp.
Tats comes over to join me on the window seat just as Marjorie shows up at the kitchen door.
“Hi, guys!” She is wearing a blue strapless top and denim shorts. “Come out! There are people waiting for you!” She widens her eyes at me.
“Really? Like who?” Tats sounds genuinely curious. “Like Jeremy?”
“Who else?” Marjorie says.
“But I thought he was over Janna,” Tats says. “Didn’t you guys know?”
Marjorie appears unsure and then looks at the window. “Lauren also wants to introduce you to people, okay?”
I knew it. It’s a setup. I look at Tats, who’s parting the curtains. Do I have to keep a promise if it’s stupid?
I stand up. I have to leave. Tats pulls me back down.
Marjorie waits. Tats gets up and starts going, but Marjorie’s standing there, looking at me.
“Janna’s going to stay behind for now, but I’m coming,” Tats says, pulling on Marjorie’s arm. “I’m here to party, not drink pop in the kitchen.”
I watch them leave. There’s a group of people waiting for drinks beside Tall Guy, and he’s making comments on everyone’s choices. I hope no one looks my way. I can’t fake friendly to a bunch of people whom I know only from their Facebook pictures beside their comments about me. Mr. Sizlin Brown Stuff is having a beer with something in it that’ll make his brain fart, according to Tall Guy. Ms. Hawt Turd is getting a Shirley Temple Black.
I turn to the window and, without moving the curtain, watch through the sliver of a gap.
Tats is right in front of Lauren. She’s moving her hands and laughing, pointing at the pool, then at the people on the grass. I can tell she’s being loud, as two guys sit up from their prone positions to watch her. A huddle of girls giggle to one another, looking her up and down, as if she’s not dressed exactly the same as them. Lauren is staring at her with a don’t-touch-me expression on her face.
God, I wish Tats would learn to tell social cues already! She’s making a needless fool of herself.
Marjorie positions herself behind Tats, copying her movements in mime form, exaggerating their crass factor. That’s it, I’m going out there to get Tats and drag her home. I owe her that at least.
But then Lauren is leaning in and listening. Tats points at the window, and I move, a fraction too late, as I catch Lauren’s gaze again before shielding myself behind the drapes. What in the world is Tats saying? My best friend over there wants to come out, but she’s scared to be out here after you guys ran a Facebook campaign against her? Could you guys pretty please promise not to hurt her feelings so she can come out and enjoy your party? Pretty please with a cherry wine cooler on top?
I can imagine her like that.
It’s only Tall Guy and me now in the room. I sip my Coke slowly, watching him pour himself another drink.
“Never tasted anything before?” He’s looking down as if talking to his plastic cup. “Even a sip from your parents?”
“My parents don’t drink,” I say. “Well, my mom doesn’t.”
“You’re missing out.” He looks at me before taking a gulp.
“Or. I’m. Not,” I say. I turn back to the window to stop him from talking. Even through the chink, I can tell Lauren is not out there anymore, and neither is Tats nor Marjorie. The drying people are spread out, though it looks like a couple ended up in the pool again. I open the drapes the whole way and peer to see out to the edges, near the fence. No one there.