I let out a dark laugh, the sound of it strained and eerie.
“Then nothing. I didn’t hear anything for a week.”
“What if she didn’t get the letter? What if—”
“That’s what I thought,” I interrupt. “I thought through everywhat ifI could. I figured maybe she just needed some time, but after that week went by, I showed up at her window again. At first she tried to ignore me, but then she finally opened it. She asked what I wanted. I asked if she got my letter. She said yes, and...”
What comes next is the part of the memory I’ve had the most success blocking out, probably because I almost blacked out at the time. I can’t even remember getting home, but if I try hard enough, the words she said come echoing back, and even six years haven’t softened them.
“She said we were just stupid kids. She said it was insane to believe we could wait for each other and that we should just move on and live our lives. She said she hoped I met a nice girl at university, someone easier to be with than her.”
“Shit,” Nabil mutters. “I mean, did you...did you try to talk to her? Maybe she was just scared or something.”
“Of course I tried, but she wouldn’t listen. It was like somethingdiedin her. She was looking at me, but there was just nothing. She said it would be better if we didn’t see each other again, and then she went and told her mom that I was bothering her. Her mom came out and threatened to call the cops on me, so I left.”
I sound hollow. That’s exactly how I felt for a long time after that: hollow. Empty. Numb. It took almost the whole first semester of university before I really let myself feel anything again.
“That was the last time you saw her?” Nabil asks with awe.
“Yep. Until you and I walked into Taverne Toulouse.”
He lets out a string of swear words that includes English, Arabic, and French. Then he spends the next few minutes asking me to repeat certain parts of the story and swearing more as he puts together some kind of mental puzzle.
“Okay. Okay. Here’s what I think,” he announces after a particularly long pause.
“Please, bestow the honor of your thoughts upon me.”
“Hemar. Listen up, okay? I think she was right.”
I sit up on the couch, and Sufjan meows in protest before jumping off my lap.
“What?”
“She was right when she said you were both just kids. You were stupidly in love. I’m sure you both made stupid choices. You shouldn’t let what happened then make you be stupid adults now.”
“How are we being stupid adults?”
“By pussyfooting around how you feel!”
I drag a hand down my face. “I don’t know how I feel.”
“Bullshit, my brother. You know how you feel about her.”
I don’t say it out loud, but there’s a big part of me that recognizes he’s right.
* * *
I only rememberto check in with Mohammad by the time I’m back at Paige’s place. She finally agreed to give me her spare keys this afternoon. I let myself into the building and head up to the apartment, going straight to her bedroom to check on her before I message Mohammad.
She’s right where I left her: propped up on her pillows, head lolled to the side.
I consider straightening her up so she doesn’t have a neck ache tomorrow, but I don’t want to wake her or repeat the screaming incident from this morning.
I stare at her like a creep for a few minutes, letting my gaze trace the angles of her face in the lamplight. I watch the rise and fall of her chest, the way it lifts her arm in its sling on top of the blankets. I wish I could travel into her dreams and talk to her there. It would be so much easier to ask the questions stuck in my throat and get the answers I crave.
I shut the door behind me and pull my phone out, forcing myself to clear my head as best I can while I scroll through the string of texts and missed call notifications from Mohammad.
Apparently he has big news that couldn’t wait until Monday.
