Youssef
CRESCENDO: An increase in volume toward a culminating point in a piece of music
“Youssef, hello. I asked you a question.”
“Huh, what?”
I turn back to my mom, expecting her to be annoyed, but she’s smiling.
“You haven’t stopped staring at her all night.”
The wedding reception is in full swing. We’ve had the ceremony, eaten dinner, and watched my sister and her new husband stuff each other’s faces with cake. Guests are now packed onto the dance floor or lounging at the tables set up around the reception hall of the hotel. The lights are low, glinting off the white and gold colour scheme Aaliyah picked out.
They’re just bright enough for me to make out Paige’s expression where she’s been sitting listening to one of my Egyptian great aunts tell some rambling story for the past twenty minutes. I wouldn’t be surprised if Auntie Mariam had given up on English altogether and just started talking in Arabic, but Paige doesn’t give any sign that she’s bored or annoyed.
Auntie Mariam is smitten. She’s so talkative she’d start telling stories to her fork if there was no one else around, but few people get the accompanying grins and pats on the shoulder she’s bestowing on Paige.
My whole family is smitten with Paige. If I had a drink for every time some cousin or aunt came up and asked ‘Whoisthat girl?’ while giving me a knowing look, I would have been passed out on the floor before we even got our appetizers. I can’t blame them; to say I’m smitten with Paige tonight is an understatement.
When she walked out of her apartment building back in Montreal, I swear I almost blacked out. It was like my brain had to do an entire recalibration of the universe, because no way in hell could this girl be coming withme. It wasn’t even the dress or the makeup or her hair—that goddamn hair I can’t stop thinking about wrapping around my fist so I can tug her head back to bite her neck.
No, it wasn’t that. It was the way she scanned the sidewalk looking for me, hovering by the door and a little awkward in her heels, before her eyes found mine through the rolled-down window of the rental car.
And then she lit up. It’s the cheesiest fucking thing, but there’s no other way to say it. She lit up like a sunrise cresting the city, like a sparkler on a summer night, like a stage painted by spotlights the second before the start of the show.
I’ve always known it, but now I know it for sure: I will never see anything as beautiful as her in my entire life.
“Youssef, you’re doing it again.”
“Oh, sorry.”
I turn back to my mom with a grin, and she bursts out laughing.
Maybe it’s the champagne, or the fact that the ceremony, dinner, ‘symmetrical’ photos, and all the other million things she was freaking out about are finally over, but my mom is straight up giddy.
“I can’t believe that’s little Paige from high school. She issostunning. Everyone has been asking me about your date.”
“And what have you been saying?” I ask as I loosen my tie a little more.
I’m in a suit, but the outfits today are as varied as the guests. A lot of our Egyptian side is here, and Aaliyah’s husband—it’s still weird to say my little sister has ahusband—is from Greece, so there are some European vibes going on too. The ceremony was secular, since neither our immediate families are particularly religious, but they did a really beautiful job making sure both cultures were part of the day. Everyone walked down the aisle to a traditional Greek song by a live band, and my dad and I sang a Coptic hymn together before they did the ring exchange.
I thought I’d be embarrassed to sing. There’s a reason I make the kind of music that involves using other people’s vocals, but I was proud to stand beside him, and even more proud when I looked out and found Paige smiling at me—not smirking or laughing, but beaming like she was proud of me too.
“I’ve been telling them you two are old friends who got back in touch recently.” She takes a sip of her champagne and then giggles—actuallygiggles. “And I’ve maybe been saying you were lovebirds in high school.”
I almost choke on my own champagne. “Lovebirds? Seriously, Mom? Okay, we’re cutting you off right now. No more bubbly.”
I jokingly reach for her glass, and she whips it out of my reach, sending liquid sloshing over the rim as she cackles.
“It’s not the champagne! It’s true! You were crazy about that girl, Youssef.” Some of her usual serious demeanour returns. “You know, when you told me your date named Paige washigh schoolPaige, I wasn’t sure how to feel. I know you were just kids, but you were so hurt that summer. I was worried. Maybe it’s a mom thing, protective instincts and all that. Then you walked in today with her on your arm, and I just...”
“Mom.” I lean in closer and squint at her. “Are you crying?”
She swats my shoulder. “My youngest child got married today! I’m allowed to be silly and emotional.”
I hold her drink for her while she takes out a handkerchief and dabs around her makeup.
“There we go. Now, listen to me, Youssef. I know you two are doing that whole no labels, young, uninhibited, commitment-phobic generational thing—”
