“Mabrook,” I said to the graduate’s mother, Ali’s sister Siham. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” She greeted me with a kiss on each cheek. “Inshallah, God willing, we’ll be celebrating Adam’s graduation soon.”
“That’s coming up, isn’t it?” Shireen asked.
I nodded. “Just one more year to go.”
Ali scanned the groups of people on the deck. “Where’s the graduate?”
Siham gestured toward the backyard. “He’s out there with his high school friends.” Jamal was sitting with a group of boys. And a young blond woman in a crop top.
“Who’s the blonde?” Hamooda asked.
“That’s Jamal’s girlfriend,” Siham said.
“Girlfriend?” I echoed. Although most parents among our cousins knew their boys dated on the sly, this was the first time anyone in our generation was totally open about it.
Siham shrugged. “Yeah, they’ve been together since last summer. Why lie about it?”
“I don’t see a problem with it,” Ali said later. “It’s inevitable that this generation is going to marry out.”
“Why inevitable?” I asked.
“Come on, these kids, like our own children, were born to parents who were also born here,” he said. “The attachment to the culture and traditions of our ancestral homeland, a place we never lived, are bound to ease.”
“I guess that’s what assimilation is all about.” I wondered what it would be like to marry anyone you wanted, and not just the narrow group of people who shared the culture and religion of your forefathers. “It makes me sad, though, to think this generation will lose so many of the traditions we grew up with.”
“It is sad,” Ali agreed. “But the idea of being able to do whatever you want also sounds very freeing.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Now
My heart turned over in my chest every time I walked by Ali’s closet.
Like his home office, it was one of the places in the house so intrinsically tied to Ali that I could still feel his presence among the jumble of clothes and shoes. Even mundane things like underwear and socks took on a poignant edge. On the closet floor, a lifetime of select papers, pictures, and memories filled an old leather briefcase that I’d never seen Ali actually use. The presence of these objects drove home again and again how strange it was to have all of Ali’s worldly goods here while he was in another dimension.
Going through his closet made me feel like an interloper. This was Ali’s personal space. I’d always stayed out of it. After his death, the closet became a constant reminder of a loss that remained so incomprehensible that I still couldn’t quite believe it.
I couldn’t bear to get rid of his belongings. Now that my faith in my husband was restored, it was much too early to contemplate giving away yet another piece of him. But I did need his possessions out of my room, safely tucked away for me to revisit when I wanted to, rather than being assaulted by my loss every time I walked past his closet.
Besides, Adam and Ayla might want some of Ali’s things to remember him by once they both fully believed in him again. I’d taken to wearing an old navy sweatshirt Ali used to wear around thehouse. I went out to pick up some plastic bins at the store and got to work as soon as I returned home. I’d put my husband’s belongings away until the kids and I were ready to sort through them together. Packing away Ali’s things made me more determined than ever to exonerate my husband, especially in the eyes of our children.
I worked methodically, going through the pockets, pulling out old receipts and parking stubs. There wasn’t a lot to clean out. Ali was good at emptying his pockets at the end of the day. When I came to Ali’s suits, I lingered on the one that was still covered in plastic, the coffee-stained jacket Ali wore to work on his last day.
I drew off the plastic and inhaled the suit’s scent, which was a musty closet smell with no lingering traces of Ali. I sighed and emptied the pockets. One contained a wadded-up sticker name tag. I smoothed it out to make sure I wasn’t throwing away anything important.
Ali’s name was written on the tag in red marker. It was from a place called the Meadows, which I’d never heard of. But what caught my attention was the date. Adrenaline streaked through my veins.
July 23.
The day Ali died.
What was this place? Why would Ali be there on a workday? Maybe there had been some sort of professional meeting at the Meadows. I immediately texted Jake, the real one, to see if there’d been a work event that day at a place called the Meadows. He replied almost immediately.
Jake:??Hi Amira. Good to hear from you. I’ve never heard of the place.??
Me:??Could one of your clients be associated with the Meadows???
