He stops, and I do, too. My breath catches as he presses his hand to my cheek, turning my face up. He’s melting me with that heated expression of his, eyes warm and wanting. We stand still, sharing a gaze, sharing a breath. Then he pulls me into him, and I exist in the happiest place I know, Mati’s arms, listening to the steadythrum-thrum-thrumof his heart.
“You’ll come?” he says into my windblown hair.
“Of course I’ll come.”
elise
Later, Bambi and I walk to Mati’s.
He’s out on the lawn with his father, who’s in a cushioned wicker chair. Rasoul really is looking better. There’s color in his cheeks, and the wisps of his beard have filled in a little. He’s wearing slacks and a white linen shirt, and when he spots Bambi and me, he grins. He nudges Mati, gesturing to the gate. Mati, chagrined, hops up to open it, his smile like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. He crouches to scratch Bambi behind her ears and she wags her tail like she’s forgotten all about how he spent ages throwing her slobbery ball just this morning.
“Thanks for coming,” he says as he straightens again.
“Thanks for inviting me.” I lower my voice. “Where’s your mother?”
“Inside. Remember? She doesn’t care for dogs.”
“Her loss, I guess.” But really, I’m relieved. I’m willing to be decent, to be here for Mati and Rasoul, but standing beneath Hala’s depreciating gaze as I try to keep my dog (dirty, she said during lunch) from climbing into her husband’s lap to lick his face seems insufferable.
I keep a firm grip on Bambi’s collar while making introductions.She’s thrilled to be here, and if the way Rasoul beams is any indication, he’s just as thrilled to make her acquaintance. He pats her a little awkwardly at first, a flat-palmed tap against her hairy head, but he becomes comfortable quickly. Soon, he’s hunched over her, nose-to-wet-nose, murmuring about what a good dog she is. It’s beguiling, watching a sick man find comfort in an animal he should, by all counts, treat with indifference.
Mati and I sit in the grass near his chair, watching the display with wonder. I’d bring Bambi here every day, even under the threat of Hala’s scorn and my own mother’s disapproval, just to see Rasoul so happy.
“Baba,” Mati says after a while, “will you keep an eye on Bambi for a few minutes? I have something to show Elise.”
Rasoul nods, not bothering to look up from the lovefest he’s lavishing on my dog.
Mati gestures toward the path that leads to the backyard, then pushes up out of the grass. He wanders toward the side of the cottage and I follow, curious. When we’ve rounded the corner, he reaches for my hand and leads me farther into the shade.
“What’s this about?” I ask, delighting in the feel of his palm against mine.
His eyes gleam. He points. At the edge of the cottage, just below the slab-stone chimney, sits a patch of dandelions, heads white with fluff. A slow smile spreads across my face: Where any other person would see weeds—a nuisance—Mati and I see wishes.
“This is the coolest,” I say, moving toward them.
“I knew you’d think so. When my mama finds them she’ll pull them up, but I wanted you to make a wish first. Or many wishes, if you like.”
“I have only one wish,” I tell him in an undertone.
I bend and carefully pick two dandelions. I extend one to him. He takes it, brushing my fingers with his, sending a wake of tingles up my arm.
He steps closer, crowding me in the most wonderful way. He leans in to whisper, “What is your wish,shaahazadi?”
“You,” I say, without hesitation. “You, always.”
He smiles, part wistful, part sorrowful, and I know what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, because my emotions are a reflection of his. This, today, us: perfect, but passing.
We blow our dandelions in tandem, sending their seeds to the breeze. He drops his stem onto the grass, then trails his hand down the inside of my arm, over the sheer skin beneath my elbow and the sensitive interior of my wrist. A succession of shivers ripples through me as he folds my palm into his. We watch our wishes drift away.
It is, without a doubt, the most magical moment of my life.
He uses his hold on my hand to twirl me around, until I’m facing him. He takes a step forward, trapping me between the smooth stones of the chimney and the unyielding wall of his chest. I bite my lip, hovering in that dangerous void between laughter and tears. He dips his head, skimming kisses across my throat, and I grapple for his other hand, until our palms are aligned at our sides. I exhale a tremulous breath.
His mouth on my skin…
He makes me boneless.
He finds my ear and murmurs, “Za ta sara meena kwam,” and even without context clues, his meaning is clear.
